People parted around him and hushed. Dozens of eyes turned from him to me.

If it were just us two in an alley, I’d zap him with hypnosis and that would be the end of my trouble. I couldn’t risk that in a crowd. We were going to tangle mano a mano. I hoped for his sake that he’s had plenty of sex with balloon-breasts over there, because I was about to end his vacation with a vampire-swift kick to the nuts. Say good-bye to your jewels.

He grabbed a chair and threw it aside, to intimidate me, like the ape that he was.

The redheaded vampire biker chick suddenly darted from the crowd and stood before me. She dropped her top and shimmied her shoulders. The crowd whooped and banged the tables.

Mr. Fish Fear Me stopped and his eyebrows knitted in confusion. He grinned. “Outta my way little girl. I’ll get back to you after tending to business. Me and my buddy could do with a new threesome.”

The redheaded vampire grasped his arm and held him in place. “Stay with me lover boy.”

His blond companion charged forward, shouting, “Don’t mess with my man, you smelly-ass whore.” She grabbed the redhead by the hair and started kicking.

The crowd chanted, “Fight. Fight.”

Redhead looped her free arm around blondie’s neck and put her in a headlock. Fish Fear Me tried to shake loose but the redhead kept him from moving. His grin turned back to a scowl, then to worry, as he couldn’t wrench himself from her hand.

Carmen pushed through the crowd to my right. She took my arm in hers and led me along the wall to the side door.

“This way, Felix. Welcome to Key West.”

Carmen pulled me into the alley. A vampire scent trailed her, an aroma of damp moss and dried roses.

She stopped and faced me. Triangles of a neon-green bikini top barely covered her breasts. Gold-and-coral earrings dangled alongside her neck. She raised her sunglasses and revealed the reflective red disks of her tapetum lucidum. Her lips parted and showed the tips of her fangs. “Felix, it’s a good thing we came to your rescue.”

Like I needed rescuing from that fatso inside. I smiled back. “What are you doing here?”

She spread her arms. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I took in all that taut, sienna-colored skin. Her tan looked perfect, too perfect even for an expert undead application of makeup. I sniffed and detected no trace of cosmetics. This tan was real? Impossible.

“I give. What’s your secret?”

Carmen poked me in the stomach. “Geez, Felix, aren’t you first going to ask me how I’ve been? Whadda ya think?” She put an arm out for me to inspect.

I dragged my finger across her wrist, still amazed at how authentic her tan looked. “This can’t be real.”

“As real as these.” Carmen shimmied and her breasts wobbled.

Anyone else, and I would’ve been all over them. But Carmen’s sexual manner was as subtle as a bear trap and she had the reputation of wringing even male vampires dry.

But a vampire with a tan? Pigs flying. Cats doing geometry. Dogs playing poker. All those would’ve amazed me less. “And you’re not even wearing sunblock?”

“Nothing between me and the sun but this beautiful bronzed skin,” Carmen said. “And what brings you to Key West?”

“I heard you’re working on The Undead Kama Sutra.”

The ends of her smile pointed to the dimples in her cheeks. “You naughty boy.”

A bar stool crashed through the window of the saloon and landed on the street.

My hands curled into claws and my talons grew. “We better go inside and help your friend.”

Carmen laughed. “Jolie can handle a battalion of marines. Public brawling is her hobby.”

Shouts and the smashing of wooden furniture boomed out the broken window.

“Sounds like Jolie’s having lots of fun.” I started for the door, hoping that she’d left some of Mr. Fish Fear Me for me to thump around the floor.

Carmen grasped my wrist and led me out of the alley toward the two choppers. “Don’t spoil it for her.”

The thin, almost-nothing strap of Carmen’s bikini top bisected a sleek, muscular back. Her braid pointed to a trim waist. Denim shorts rode low on her hips. Her toned legs glistened like copper in the electric light of the saloon marquee.

Carmen looked over her shoulder. “You checkin’ me out?”

Maybe I should risk getting wrung dry. I put on my best smirk.

She winked. “Thanks. Otherwise there’s no point in dressing like this.”

“Where we headed?”

Carmen unclipped the keys hooked to a belt loop on her shorts. “You asked about The Undead Kama Sutra and how I got my tan. It’s time to show you.” She grasped the handlebars of the green chopper, arced her leg over the frame, and settled onto the seat.

I asked, “Did you get my messages?”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you reply?”

Carmen inserted the ignition key. “You asked what gives? I wanted you to come and find out. Show me how bad you want to know.” She cocked her thumb to the pinion seat of the motorcycle. “Climb on. We’re going to the dock.”

“I can drive. You ride on the back.”

Carmen shook her head. “Like hell. It’s my bike. You can either walk or ride bitch.”

“I’ll follow in my car.”

Carmen started the engine. She shouted above the roar from the exhaust pipes. “Quit being such a macho caga palo. Take the stick out of your ass. Forget your goddamn car. It’s not going anywhere. Just get on.”

You couldn’t argue with Carmen. I swung a leg over the rear seat. Carmen reached with her left hand and groped for my arm. She pulled it across her waist. My right arm reached around so that I clasped both arms against her very trim and firm middle. For a vampire, she was surprisingly warm, or was that my imagination?

I had barely planted my feet on the rear pegs when the chopper jumped from the curb. The front wheel tucked to the left; Carmen barely straightened it before we flipped to the side. We swerved past a yellow Porsche Carrera, missing the rear fender by millimeters.

We skimmed close to a row of parked cars. I had to jerk my shoulders aside to avoid getting slapped by the mirrors.

“There’s no rule that says you can’t drive down the middle of the road,” I shouted.

“You want to obey the rules,” she shouted back, “then stay away from me. Shut up and enjoy the scenery.”

Carmen took Duval Street and merged into traffic. We approached the harbor and parked alongside a steel-pipe barricade.

I got off the bike first, thankful that we’d made it without being flung against the asphalt. Carmen took a tightly wrapped paper bag out of one of the leather panniers. The quart-sized bag bore a crude inked stamp: YERBAS DE BOTÁNICA OSHÚN. MIAMI, FLORIDA.

Herbs of Oshún Apothecary. My mother and aunts used to shop in Mexican botánicas for folk remedies, some of which worked and others were merely superstitions-and a waste of money. “Does what’s in that bag have anything to do with your tan?” Maybe some of the superstitious recipes did work.

Carmen squeezed the bag and crinkled the paper wrapping. “I didn’t buy this to make bread.”

Typical Carmen answer. “Who’s Oshún?”

“She’s an orisha, a Santeria goddess.”

“Santeria? So this is about voodoo? You’re going to stick pins in a doll of me?”

“I don’t need pins or Santeria. I can kick your ass on my own.”

I stepped out of her reach, just in case she wanted to prove something. “How did you get involved with Santeria?”

“I’m Cuban.” Carmen crouched to fit a lock on her front brake disk. “It’s part of my heritage. The African slaves brought their beliefs to the Caribbean. You don’t know much about Santeria, do you?”

“I know some. There’s that song Babalu, by Ricky Ricardo. That’s about Santeria, right?”

“He was Desi Arnaz when he recorded it,” Carmen said. “And yes, the song is about Santeria.”