With my new tan, I didn’t have to worry about giving away my undead persona. Then I remembered how well that had worked with Belinda, the shrew who’d thrown me out. This time I would use hypnosis, mainly to keep Sarah from going psycho on me.

She splayed her knees and cradled the bong in the hammock formed by her skirt. “You know what I like about you, Felix?”

That I’m outrageously handsome? That I make you want to fling off your panties and dive for my zipper?

“My ex only wanted one thing from me. I don’t get that vibe from you at all.”

You don’t? I’m a vampire, my sexual vibe should be as loud as a Chinese gong. I glanced at my hands. Was this dimming of my vampire allure a symptom of the spider bite? Why wasn’t Carmen affected? She had a great tan and still left a trail of erections and moist panties in her wake.

Sarah kept toking on the bong and complaining about her ex, how he was obsessed with doggie style, road head, and finger-banging her in the checkout line. “I mean,” she whined as she exhaled a jet of reefer smoke, “it was so physical.”

What had I done to be cast in this role of sexual confessor? Unlike a priest, I had never taken a vow of chastity.

Sarah put the bong on the floor and reached for me. Had she changed her mind? Maybe all this sex talk had made her horny?

She spilled into my lap, her arms drunkenly propping themselves on my shoulders. She smelled like the crowd at a reggae concert. I steadied her by the waist and turned her hips so that she settled on my left thigh.

She buried her warm face into the crook of my neck. “Felix, I’m glad you’re here with me. I feel so comfortable. It’s good that we’re just friends.”

Just friends? Were there two more emasculating words in the English language? I was El Macho Supernatural and she wanted to cuddle like I was an oversize puppy.

She began to snore. Apparently, I wasn’t even worth a cuddle.

I leaned forward to pull her away from me. Her head lolled back and I cradled it in my hand. Her neck, deliciously firm and succulent, stretched before me.

I wouldn’t take sexual advantage of a woman, but a fanging? I was a vampire, and sinking my fangs into her neck to suck her blood violated none of the rules I’d grown up with.

The undead hunger sharpened. My upper lip twitched and my incisors grew.

Carefully, hesitantly, as if I were biting a balloon and afraid to make it pop, I put my lips to her neck. I closed my eyes and felt for her pulse to guide my fangs to their mark.

I flexed my jaw, and the keen points of my teeth pierced her tender skin.

The human nectar bubbled into my mouth. Type A-negative, very nice. I forced my enzymes through the wound to deaden the pain and induce amnesia. She relaxed as if her bones had softened.

I savored her blood like it was exotic wine. I didn’t drink much, only enough to make my stay here in the van worth my while.

I lapped the healing enzymes across the punctures. Sarah remained slack-jawed, her eyelids closed in lazy slumber. I wiped a kerchief across the drips of blood on her neck and laid her limp body on the carpeted floor of the van.

I sat still for a moment to enjoy the almost-orgasmic pleasure of this fresh blood meal. We hadn’t had sex, but the fanging was a nice consolation prize. My kundalini noir made a sinuous dance that slowed as the afterglow ebbed.

The approach of a man broke the last of the spell. He wore the red vest of a parking valet and got into a Mercedes sedan a couple of spaces over. I removed my contacts and read his aura. Nothing special.

What about Goodman?

I got out of the van and checked the back of the hotel around the annex. The guards were doubled up and walked the fence. Unless I knew what I wanted in the annex, better that I wait before risking trouble.

The light of an approaching dawn brightened the sky. Time to go.

I returned to the van and used Sarah’s cell phone to call Carmen. She was in her car and on the way out of the garage. I kissed Sarah’s neck and quietly stepped free of the van.

Carmen drove by in her Audi sports car, saw me, and stopped. I smoothed my jacket, adjusted my belt, and put on my sunglasses. I got into the passenger seat and told her what I’d done since we split up.

“We’re at the Grand Atlantic and you spent the night in a van?” Carmen shook her head. Her hair was gathered into a twist held in place with a jeweled letter opener. She wore a red leather hoodie over her dress.

I asked, “Where’d you get that?”

“I like presents.” Carmen wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a frat house.” She cruised through the garage. “I hope you at least got lucky.”

“Lucky enough.” The taste of Sarah’s blood lingered on my palate.

Carmen zoomed through the exit and into the sunlight. She squinted and put on her sunglasses. “Anything on Goodman?”

“No. You?”

“Nada.” She tuned the stereo and adjusted the volume. “What’s the next move?”

“Infiltrate the hotel and find Goodman. I’ll tell you when.”

We arrived at my motel. Carmen stopped in the parking lot before the entrance.

I asked, “Where are you staying?”

“A married chalice couple owns a cozy little mortuary in Bluffton. They have the plushest caskets to nap in. You should visit.”

“Later.” I got out of the Audi and held the door open. “My place is comfortable enough.”

Carmen slipped her sunglasses down her nose. Her eyes glowed red as lasers. “When are we going back to the Grand Atlantic?”

“Tonight. First, let me see what my hacker has found. Then we’ll make a plan.” I shut the door.

Carmen drove off. I passed through the entrance of the motel. When the entrance door returned with a hiss, I heard something alarming and sinister.

A faint pop…like the striker in an M60 fuse igniter.

My reflexes kicked into vampire speed but too late. I had started backtracking through the door when the bomb exploded.

The blast came from under a magazine stand to the right. Had I been stepping forward, the explosion would’ve smashed me against the wall like a bloody sponge. Instead, the blast hurled me backward through the door and I landed on my ass on the asphalt parking lot.

I sat for a moment, dazed, my arms held up before me, like a Hiroshima bomb victim. Smoke rose from my trousers and coat sleeves. Shards of glass stuck out of my clothes like quills. My face and hands stung from the hammer blows of the concussion.

My kundalini noir sputtered in confused pain. I blinked to clear the spots from my eyes. The explosion had broken my sunglasses and knocked my contacts out. A hundred church bells rang in my head.

I staggered to my feet. Shattered glass lay below the gaping windows of the motel lobby. Torn blinds and window sashes jutted like torn ligaments from the blackened openings. The scarred double doors hung askew from their broken hinges at the entrance.

The ringing in my head became a loud hum. The hum softened and I heard car alarms screaming in the parking lot.

Faces blanched with terror stared from the motel windows. Red auras bobbed like bubbles. People clustered in the exits to my left.

I brushed away the glass sticking out of my body. Skin hung from my right temple and I held the flap in place. Blood oozed from the wound and the countless other cuts in my skin. The blood ran down my face and dried to brown flakes that broke apart into powder.

A wave of nausea rose in me, hot and crippling. My knees weakened.

But I couldn’t rest. I had to flee. The police would be coming soon. My naked vampire eyes would give me away.

A familiar chopping sound cleaved through the hum in my head. The sound echoed over the parking lot.

A black Jet Ranger raced into view above the trees. The helicopter turned sideways and I recognized the man sitting in the open copilot’s door. Goodman.