any of it-and when the tiny scratch sounded behind her, she moved as smoothly and gracefully as if she
were taking her turn in a dance.
She pivoted on her left foot, drawing her bokken in the same motion, and without a break in the
movement, she stabbed straight to the vampire's chest. She drove the blow from her hips, exhaling in a
hiss as she did it, putting all her strength behind it.
"Gotta be faster than that," she said.
The vampire, skewered like a hot dog, waved his arms and gibbered. He was dressed in filthy clothing
and his hair was a bushy tangle. His eyes were wide, full of surprise and hatred, shining as silver as an
animal's in the faint light. His teeth weren't so much fangs as tusks: fully extended, they reached almost to
his chin.
"I know," Rashel said. "You really, really wanted to kill me. Life's tough, isn't it?"
The vampire snarled one more time and then the silver went out of his eyes, leaving only the look of
astonishment. His body stiffened and slumped backward. It lay still on the ground.
Grimacing, Rashel pulled her wooden sword out of the chest. She started to wipe the blade on the
vampire's pants, then hesitated, peering at them more closely. Yes, those were definitely little crawly
things. And the blankets were just as repulsive.
Oh, well. Use your own jeans. It won't be the first time.
She carefully wiped the bokken clean. It was two and a half feet long and just slightly, gracefully curved,
with a narrow, sharp, angled tip. Designed to penetrate a body as efficiently as possible-if that body was
susceptible to wood.
The sword slipped back into its sheath with a papery whisper. Then Rashel glanced at the body again.
Mr. Vampire was already going mummified. His skin was now yellow and tough; his staring eyes were
dried up, his lips shrunken, his tusks collapsed. Rashel bent over him, reaching into her back pocket.
What she pulled out looked like the snapped-off end of a bamboo backscratcher-which was exactly
what it was. She'd had it for years.
Very precisely, Rashel drew the five lacquered fingers of the scratcher down the vampire's forehead. On
the yellow skin five brown marks appeared, like the marks of a cat's claws. Vampire skin was easy to
mark tight after death.
"This kitten has claws," she murmured. It was a ritual sentence; she'd repeated it ever since the night
she'd killed her first vampire at the age of twelve. In memory of her mother, who'd always called her
kitten. In memory of herself at age five, and all the innocence she'd lost. She'd never be a helpless kitten again.
Besides, it was a little joke. Vampires... bats. Herself... a cat. Anybody who'd grown up with Batman
and Catwoman would get it.
Well. All done. Whistling softly, she rolled the body over and over with her foot to the end of the pier.
She didn't feel like carting the mummy all the way out to the fens, the salt marshes where bodies were
traditionally left inBoston . With a mental apology to everybody who was trying to clean up the harbor,
she gave the corpse a final push and listened for the splash.
She was still whistling as she emerged from the pier onto the street. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go---
She was in a very good mood.
The only disappointment was the constant one, that it hadn't been the vampire, the one she'd been
looking for ever since she'd been five years old. It had been a rogue, all right-a depraved monster
who killed human kids foolishly close to human habitations. But it hadn't been the rogue.
Rashel would never forget his face. And she knew that someday she would see it again. Meanwhile,
there was nothing to do but shish-kebab as many of the parasites as possible.
She scanned the streets as she walked, alert for any sign of Night People. All she saw were quiet brick
buildings and streetlights shining pale gold.
And that was a shame, because she was in terrific form tonight; she could feel it. She was every
bloodsucking leech's worst enemy. She could stake six of them before breakfast and still be fresh for
chemistry first period at Wassaguscus High.
Rashel stopped suddenly, absent-mindedly melting into a shadow as a police car cruised silently down
the cross-street ahead. I know, she thought. I'll go see what the Lancers are up to. If anybody knows
where vampires are, they do.
She headed for the North End. Half an hour later she was standing in front of a brownstone apartment
building, ringing the buzzer. "Who's there?"
Instead of answering, Rashel said, "The night has a thousand eyes."
"And the day only one," came the reply from the intercom. "Hey there, girl. Come on up."
Inside, Rashel climbed a dark and narrow stairway to a scarred wooden door. There was a peephole in
the door. Rashel faced it squarely, then pulled off the scarf she'd been wearing. It was black, silky, and
very long. She wore it wrapped around her head and face like a veil, so that only her eyes showed, and
even they were in shadow.
She shook out her hair, knowing what the person on the other side could see. A tall girl dressed like a
ninja, all hi black, with black hair falling loose around her shoulders and green eyes blazing. She hadn't
changed much since she was five, except in height. Right now she made a barbaric face at the peephole
and heard the sound of laughter behind the door as bolts were drawn.
She waited until the door was shut behind her again before she said, "Hi, Elliot."
Elliot was a few years older than she was, and thin, with intense eyes and little shiny glasses that were
always slipping off his nose. Some people would have dismissed him as a geek. But Rashel had once
seen him stand up to two werewolves while she got a human girl out a window, and she knew that he had
practically single-handedly started the Lancers-one of the most successful organizations of vampire
hunters on the east coast.
"What's up, Rashel? It's been a while."
"I've been busy. But now I'm bored. I came to see if you guys had anything going." As Rashel spoke,
she was looking at the other people in the room. A brown-haired girl was kneeling, loading objects from
boxes into a dark green backpack. Another girl and a boy were sitting on the couch. Rashel recognized