The Parisian Codex

22 - Fight for your Rights

The silhouettes were blurry but instantly recognizable. The shrimp on the left was Laurel. The large guy on the right, Hardy.

My vision cleared as they approached, and when Laurel bent down to grab me by the collar, I could again make out every detail of his unattractive physique. I noticed he was pale and still bore the trace of my fangs on his neck.

"You should be on sick leave," I muttered.

"Monsieur Mathieu doesn't believe in sick leave," Hardy informed me.

The big man had remained standing, no doubt because of the crutch he was leaning heavily on.

"Not really a question of faith," I said.

"Where's Tamara?" barked Laurel.

When I didn't answer—what could I say?—he shook me by the collar and added: "We know she joined you here. She was here two minutes ago."

I straightened up and sat down. Surprisingly, I regretted Kitten's absence. His nasty temper and sharp little claws would have shredded Laurel's face in an interesting way.

"First," I said, "her name is Olga. Secondly, she's not coming back to work for Mathieu. Finally, since you saw her alive, you can tell your boss that I didn't kill her, and he can get off my back."

Laurel's eyes gleamed with the desire to hit me, but a third man came up behind me, his step heavy and his breathing panting.

"She's nowhere to be seen," he breathed.

I knew that voice. It was the guy who'd shown me Olga's room, Jerome.

"So, will you let me go?" I said to Laurel.

Laurel opened her mouth, probably to say something unpleasant. I didn't give him the chance. I sent the bone of my forehead against the cartilage of his nose. (Guess who won.) Laurel staggered backward, and I got to my feet.

"Listen..." I said.

A hand came down on my shoulder: Jerome was attacking from behind. I don't blame him. Attacking from a blind spot is often a good tactic. But not against a vampire: I grabbed his hand, dug my fingers between his ligaments to force him to let go, and sent him soaring over my head. He landed in the wet alley with a thud and decided to stay put. Good man.

Opposite me, Laurel was whimpering about the fate of his nose, and Hardy had grabbed his crutch with both hands, ready to hit me.

I'd had enough of these two-bit henchmen. I was going to bleed them dry once and for all. That would give their buddies something to think about.

I was about to pounce on Hardy when Zagan's words came to me.

"What is a vampire if not a kind of demon?"

I stared at Hardy for a long moment, the face of the monks of Saint-Germain overlaid on his gorilla mug. Some corner of my brain clicked back into gear for the first time in centuries. Morals, ethics and their ugly sister, conscience.

Damn you, Zagan!

I grabbed Hardy by the collar of his coat and lowered his head until his face was level with mine:

"The only reason I'm not ending you and your buddies is that I've got better things to do elsewhere. Tell your boss to give you a rest, or I'll send an OSHA inspector his way. Your elders fought for these rights, for God's sake. Respect them!"

I pushed the colossus back hard enough for him to land on his buttocks, turned on my heels and set off at a run.

***