By P. N. Elrod
Approximately tortured to dying by means of a brand new York gangster, Vampire P.I. Jack Fleming gave the punk his simply truffles. yet now the mob bosses wish revenge.
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Extra resources for A Song in the Dark (Vampire Files, No. 11)
He had good aim, holding the muzzle steady on my unmoving form, the sound sharp yet toylike under the wide sky. The smoke was swept away by the icy wind, and for a few crucial seconds I had to ﬁght its force to keep from being carried off as well. I’d surrendered just enough solidity so the bullets passed right through my near-ghostly body, spanging hollow into the barn’s tin walls behind. Being just outside the nimbus of the light, I gambled that I could get away with such a risky stunt in front of witnesses.
They couldn’t see me like this. God, what was wrong? The pain rose, tripled, tripled again. My head would explode from the pressure if I didn’t— Then peace, sudden as ﬂicking a switch, plunging me into sweet gray nothingness. I’d vanished. Sometimes that happened to me involuntarily when I got too badly hurt to control the reﬂex. How I’d wished for it when Bristow had been skinning me, but a piece of ice pick buried deep in my back prevented that escape. SONG IN THE DARK 37 This was like heaven after hell.
I dragged him up again and pulled his gun from my belt. He favored a revolver. I clapped it against the side of his skull to get his attention, then shoved the muzzle into his nose. “I will kill you, Hoyle. ” To drive the point home, I threw him on the ground and quick-ﬁred close to his head, using up the remaining three bullets. The gun didn’t seem to make any sound at all, but for Hoyle it must have been a hell of a roar. Arms up, he convulsed away from where the lead struck snow inches from his face, then held still, staring at the gun, not me.
A Song in the Dark (Vampire Files, No. 11) by P. N. Elrod