Actually written last night after midnight, because Father’s Day.
Pam and I picked up Ms. Sax as an entourage of one as we headed out to look at the site where the feral had been found. Like me, Sax was dressed for the merciless February sun: full polyester bodysuit with detachable cowl and mask, gloves, and a heavy denim overcoat to block out even more UV light. Pam stuck to her usual fur coat over field leathers, with an added scarf against the cold she still felt. Judging from the elevated heartbeats all around us as we passed, we were making quite the impression among Sax’s colleagues.
Does that seem arrogant? I suspect it does. Sorry, but it’s just one of the things about vampires. We’re pretty. It’s all part of the package that makes us such good predators: the same boosts to speed and strength gives us an aura of power and grace, and being attractive and charismatic is useful when you’re trying to convince someone to let you bite them. Or just get them alone in an alley, if you’ve stupidly decided to go the predatory route.
But back to Ms. Sax. It was interesting to see her try to work out the dynamic, but we had a case to pursue, so I deigned to explain as we walked through the garage. “Lt. Grier is my keeper, Ms. Sax. Or may I call you Greta?”
“Yes, Special Agent Carter.” She sounded more than a little diffident, but young vampires can be like that. I grew up knowing that people weren’t allowed to just up and kill me, if I acted out too much and scared too many people; kids like Greta didn’t have that luxury.