Free I Travel by Night by Robert R. McCammon

fought the demons.
    He had not stayed long at the festival. He had not let himself get very close to Mary Alice, or Cassie, or the young man his little girl had married and the child who was his grand-daughter. He had stayed far apart, in the darkness, and he had shivered because he smelled so much warm blood and he was so in need. And at last he had fled that scene of happiness and torture, and thought that somewhere in the family cemetery his gravestone was probably there but his grave was empty, for he was one of the more than three thousand missing or captured soldiers at Shiloh who had never come home.
    That night he had almost drained to death a vagrant at the trainyards, but he had stopped short of killing the man. After that, he had to find out how strong he was, and how much he could endure, for he was not a monster and did not intend to become one.
    Lawson kept rowing, and as the dark water chuckled around him and the insects flew about him but did not bite for his ichor was a bitter wine, he knew he was on his way to an evil destination where evil creatures sought to destroy him with a young girl’s life in the balance.
    But he travelled by night. It said so on his business card, along with All Matters Handled . He had been a lawyer, a husband and father, a soldier, and now…a vampire fighting to hold onto what remained of his humanity, and by doing so putting himself in harm’s way for many humans who needed his help, for he was truly an ‘adventurer’ now, to keep his wits and his mind sharp and what remained of his human heart beating.
    He would not give up the rest of himself to Christian Melchoir or any denizen of the Dark Society without a battle that would fracture the world. When he passed away from this earth, he desired to die as a human, and there was only one way.
    Grim and determined, Lawson travelled on toward morning.

Seven.
     
    He heard the boat coming long before it reached him. He heard the slide of the oars and the movement of the green water. He waited, wrapped up in his black shrouds in the shadows of the cypress trees, as the boat neared. In another moment he smelled above the foulness of the swamp the aromas of lavender, leather, lemon soap and hot blood. He knew then who had been watching him last night, and now following him. He waited, one hand on the Colt with the rosewood grip, for her to bring her skiff nearly alongside. Then all was silent except for the gurgle of gas bubbles rising from the bottom and the croaking of hundreds of frogs in their slimy soup. He knew she was sitting there looking at him, trying to make heads-or-tails of this. He tensed only a little bit, when he heard her slide her six from her holster and cock it, but she noted the movement.
    “Come out of there,” she commanded.
    He yawned under his veil.
    “Did you hear me? Come out!”
    “It’ll take me a minute or two,” Lawson answered. “You won’t let that shooter go off, will you?”
    “Just do what I say.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Forgive me if I’m a little cranky. This is not my best time of the—”
    She fired a shot into the air that made birds shriek in the trees and for a few seconds silenced the frogs.
    “Day,” Lawson finished. He released the Colt’s grip, winnowed his hands out and began to unwrap himself. Though he was covered by deep shadow, the glare of sun off the water was painful to him. It was, at best, a needles-and-pins sensation that grew more painful by the minute and at worst was the sensation that his flesh was being burned off his bones. He moved slowly and carefully to free himself, as his joints were sore. His temples throbbed and his teeth ached. When his head—minus his Stetson—emerged from the shroud, he saw the young woman draw back through the dark-tinted goggles that gave a measure of protection to his eyes. Even with the dark lenses, he had to narrow his eyes against the glare; they felt dried-out and tormented by small pieces of grit.
    Lawson got his shoulders