Thorn by Fred Saberhagen (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

last maneuvered his Jeep as far as the highway. It was a dirt road, smoothly graded and two lanes wide, that could pass for a state highway in this part of the boondocks. Gliddon looked both ways into darkness, at zero traffic. He considered, then suddenly reversed the Jeep. A few yards back he had noticed a branching road, and now he found this again and backed into it for a few more yards, until he had reached a place that he was sure would be out of sight of the highway by day.

      He stopped the Jeep there, and grinned over at his young companion. “Afraid this is as far as you go, kid.”

      “I’m going to California,” the boy repeated vaguely. He rubbed at the dried mess around his lips, looked at his fingers, then touched one with his tongue. He appeared to be trying to remember something.

      “Sure. This is Hollywood and Vine. Hop out. I’m gonna fix you up with a job in the movies.”

      “I’m going to get a job out there making films. My home’s in Chicago.” But the kid got out on his side, obediently enough.

      As Gliddon stepped out of the Jeep on his own side, he remembered something else. “Hey, kid, you were pretty good that night in Phoenix. Better than any of the girls. I wish we could have finished good friends, the way we started.” He walked through the beams of the headlights and put a hand on Pat’s shoulder. “I wish we could get a little fun in right now. But I’m in a hurry.” And Gliddon, remembering the wounded finger on his own right hand, drew back his left arm and with a practiced, lethal snap sent the blade of his hand with full power against the youngster’s neck.

      And Gliddon shouted, blinded by the pain and shock. It felt like he had struck a thick wooden pole.

      Before he could begin to think of what to do next, the kid had taken him by the right arm. And somehow Gliddon, try as he might, could not pull free.

      “Your finger is bleeding, gosh,” the boy said. There was something in his voice that was not sympathy, and was certainly not fear either. Whatever it was, it made Gliddon look closely at the kid’s face, and then try again to pull away. When Gliddon saw those dried stains around the childish mouth. And how Pat’s teeth had changed. When the boy displayed them in a merry smile.

Epilogue

      And then all at once the seat at Joe’s right hand was empty no longer. For a moment he wondered if he had dozed off, and so given the young lady a chance to sit down unnoticed. But then he understood.

      The brown-haired girl in the high-necked gown was smiling at Joe. She was quite attractive, and he at once caught the strong family resemblance to Judy. Glancing back at Judy briefly now, Joe saw that she was deeply asleep.

      He turned back. He wasn’t exactly used to this sort of an experience yet, but similar things had happened to him before and he could handle them. He returned the smile. “I think,” he said, “that I spoke to you on the telephone once, Miss.”

      “It’s Mrs. Harker, actually.” Her voice was soft and charming, slightly British. “But please call me Mina. Vlad has told me a good deal about you, and I really feel we are already friends. And since we are sharing a ride tonight I wanted to say hello. And to reassure you, perhaps, on one or two points in connection with these recent—events, that have been so distressing.”

      A stewardess, passing in the aisle, looked vaguely unsettled by the sight on an unremembered passenger. But the stewardess naturally had plenty of other things to worry about already— there was no problem, really, with a pleasant-looking, undemanding young woman who simply sat chatting with a man. No need to concern oneself; and Joe’s understanding grew of how the whole vampire business could remain a secret even while it went on and on and on.

      “Well,” said Joe, “I’m glad you say ‘reassure’. The one kid, Pat O’Grandison, is still missing, and the painting also. And Mr. Thorn, of course. Otherwise there are just bodies all over hell, in mansions, in Jeeps, in garages and old adobe ruins.”

      “Yes,” Mina agreed with a sigh. “It has been a terrible business. Just terrible.” She looked at her nails, as any young lady might. They were neatly manicured, Joe noted, and not very long. Certainly nothing at all talonish, not at the moment anyway. She added: “And I don’t think they are going to have any success in looking for the painting.”

      “Oh no?”

      “It is my feeling that the real owner might by now have put it away safely somewhere.”

      “Oh.” Joe turned his head to glance once more at Judy, who had not moved. “According to Judy, he was rather crazy, there at the end. She says it was very lucky that you showed up when you did. I was wondering…”

      Mina smiled again. “Vlad’s going to talk to you himself,” she said. “Say hello to Kate for me. If you think it wise.” She leaned back, and was gone. But the seat remained empty only for a moment.

      Joe flinched, just slightly. He couldn’t help himself.

      If Thorn noticed that infinitesimal recoil, he gave no indication. He smiled lightly at Joe and patted him on the arm. “Thank you, Joe, for your support.”

      Joe tried to make his arm relax on the seat divider. “You’re welcome. Er … ah … Mina told me there’s no use our looking for that painting any longer?”

      “Your sense of justice, Joe, may be soothed to know that for the first time in centuries, it is now in the hands of its true owner.”

      Joe didn’t have to ask who that might be. He wondered suddenly if the painting, disguised somehow, could be cargo on this very plane. He wasn’t about to try to find out.

      “There is one more point, Joseph, on