Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

Edward staggered to his feet. He croaked, “How old was that thing?”

“Over five hundred,” I said.

He swallowed, and it looked like it hurt. “Shit.”

“I wouldn't try sticking any needles into Nikolaos.”

He managed to glare at me, still half-leaning against Aubrey's coffin.

I turned to the fifth coffin. The one we had saved until last without any talk between us. It was set against the far wall. A dainty white coffin, too small for an adult. Candlelight gleamed on the carvings in the lid.

I was tempted to just blow a hole in the coffin, but I had to see her. I had to see what I was shooting at. My heart started thudding in my throat; my chest was tight. She was a master vampire. Killing them, even in daylight, is a chancy thing. Their gaze can trap you until nightfall. Their minds. Their voices. So much power. And Nikolaos was the most powerful I'd ever seen. I had my blessed cross. I would be all right. I had had too many crosses taken from me to feel completely safe. Oh, well. I tried to raise the lid one-handed, but it was heavy and not balanced for easy opening like modem coffins. “Can you back me on this, Edward? Or are you still relearning how to breathe?”

Edward came to stand beside me. His face looked almost its normal color. He took hold of the lid and I readied the shotgun.

He lifted and the whole lid slid off. It wasn't hinged on.

I said, “Shiiit!”

The coffin was empty.

“Are you looking for me?” A high, musical voice called from the doorway. “Freeze; I believe that is the word. We have the drop on you.”

“I wouldn't advise going for your gun,” Burchard said.

I glanced at Edward and found his hands close to the machine gun but not close enough. His face was unreadable, calm, normal. Just a Sunday drive. I was so scared I could taste bile at the back of my throat. We looked at each other and raised our hands.

“Turn around slowly,” Burchard said.

We did.

He was holding a semiautomatic rifle of some kind. I'm not the gun freak Edward is, so I didn't know the make and model, but I knew it'd make a big hole. There was also a sword hilt sticking over his back. A sword, an honest-to-god sword.

Zachary was standing beside him, holding a pistol. He held it two-handed, arms stiff. He didn't seem happy.

Burchard held the rifle like he was born with it. “Drop your weapons, please, and lace your fingers on top of your heads.”

We did what he asked. Edward dropped the machine gun, and I lost the shotgun. We had plenty more guns.