Free Thirst No. 5 by Christopher Pike Page A

don’t take stray calls,” Seymour says. “Not unless the person leaves a message. The Goodwins are probably no different.”
    “I can’t leave a message,” I say. “Too risky.”
    “No one knows where we’re heading,” Seymour says.
    “Maybe,” I say.
    Matt looks at me across the table. “You’re concerned about the person who gave Shanti the photograph.”
    “Yes,” I say.
    Brutran’s radar is alert. “Are you worried the photograph was a plant to bring you here?”
    “It’s a possibility,” I say. “But whether it was a plant or we were fortunate to find the picture, it still means that whoever’s after us knows about the veil.”
    “Are you sure?” Seymour says.
    “Let’s assume it was a plant,” I say. “And that whoever is after us wanted to draw me to this part of the country. They would only have used the photo if they knew about my past.”
    “They?” Brutran says.
    “We’ve never settled on a good name for what we’re running from,” I reply, feeling no desire to bring up Tarana. Simply speaking his name aloud disturbs me in ways I can’t explain.
    “I think I speak for all of us when I say our chasing this veil would make more sense if we knew about your past,” Seymour says.
    “I’ve promised to tell you about it and I will. Later.”
    “We can talk all night,” Matt says. “We have to make a decision. I think we all agree there’s a good chance the house is being watched. For that reason, I’d prefer if only Sita and Ivisit it. If we’re attacked, we should be able to escape, but only if we’re alone.”
    Brutran considers. “When are you planning on going?”
    “Now.” Matt stands and stretches, before pointing out the window. “There’s a motel down the block. It looks like the kind of place that would be happy to take cash. Check in and we’ll catch up with you later.”
    Seymour shakes his head. “I don’t think we should split up.”
    “Matt’s right, the house could be a powder keg,” I say. “It’s too dangerous.”
    “It’s more dangerous if we don’t have one of you nearby to protect us,” Seymour says.
    Jolie pats Seymour’s arm and says sweetly, “I’ll protect you.”
    Seymour smiles. “How will you protect me, Jolie?”
    “I can make people die with my mind,” she says simply.
    Seymour loses his smile and turns on Brutran. “You should never have shot that soldier in front of her,” he says.
    Brutran shakes her head. “I should have shot him earlier.”
    Seymour appeals to me and Matt. “I don’t know if I’m going to feel very safe at that motel,” he says.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “But ask yourself, how safe are the Goodwins right now?”
    • • •
    Before knocking on the door, I know we have the right house. The scenery is identical to what can be seen in Shanti’s photograph. The residence is surrounded by maples and birch andthere’s a small lake two hundred yards from the back porch. The trees do not crowd the home, however, and there’s plenty of room to walk around the gardens. It’s a lovely property, and I’d even go so far as to say it’s peaceful, except all the lights are out and the front door lies wide open.
    Plus I smell blood.
    Matt gives me a look.
    He doesn’t have to say it. We’re too late.
    The car we’re driving comes from the motel where we deposited the others. We plan to return it well before morning, no harm done. Because it’s obvious the Goodwins have already been attacked, we don’t bother to hide our approach but park at the end of their long driveway and walk to the door. The smell of blood thickens, and it’s not a sweet smell, not even to me, a vampire. Blood spilled in violence never smells fresh. We hear the sound of labored breathing and draw our handguns.
    Matt leads the way. It’s dark, but that’s no obstacle for either of us. I see the couch from the photograph, where the happy couple was sitting, the wide windows that look out on the grass and trees. Yet the