Bloodshot

I gave three quiet cheers for Minnesota. In Seattle a dusty inch of anything white and chilly means the city lapses into full-on panic mode, as if each falling flake crashes to earth with its own individual baggie of used hypodermic needles. It’s ridiculous.

I was getting the hang of arson. It really sends a message, you know? Not only will I kill your dudes and steal your shit, but I will burn your place down behind me.

I hate meeting new people even new clients who intend to give me money. I try to be pleasant but I'm not very good at it. The best I can usually pull off is 'professional if somewhat chilly.' It's not ideal no. But it beats 'awkward and bitchy.

I hate to make the comparison here, but think of me as one of those expensive boutiques. If you have to ask about the cost, you probably can’t afford me.

They obviously weren't trying to recruit us, which was sort of a shame. I imagined a full unit of vampire soldiers and I got a little giddy, and distracted. Bad idea, maybe. But it'd be epic, wouldn't it?

I immediately felt better about killing him. I’ve never known a Trevor who wasn’t a total douchebag. It’s just one of those names that goes so nicely with selfish, arrogant, malicious behavior—and really, what did I know about this guy? Nothing, except that his name was Trevor and he’d been nabbed in the midst of breaking-and-entering. That was plenty.

Did you even use anything at all in that bag of yours?" "No, but I might use some of it later." And I almost certainly would, once I got rid of this crybaby and picked up my drag queen.

For just this moment, we have the closest thing to an advantage we're likely to get. And if we don't use it, we're gonna lose it." Look at me busting out all the tired old metaphors. Like I'd been saving them all winter just waiting for an opportunity to trot them out.

Adrian had a Guinness because I guess he felt like drinking a loaf of bread or something. That's what it smelled like, anyway.

I don’t see why not,” I all but snapped at him. “His body was experimented upon, and there are records of it. What else would you call it?” “I don’t know. Necropsy?

You‘re a hard negotiator, Ray-Baby." "I‘m going to get a lot harder if you call me that again." "Give me a minute. Less than a minute. I‘m almost certain I can make a filthy joke in response to that." "No", I told him. "No, for the love of God, don’t.

He was carrying bulky loot; I could see it under his zipped-up sweater. And when I unzipped it with a one-handed rip, I saw that he was wearing a bandolier loaded with grenades. I have no doubt that a wide, manic smile spread across my pretty little face.

You see, sometimes when you work by yourself in a field such as ours, it helps to share knowledge among professionals. I'm not saying that we watch one another's back or anything, because we don't. It's more of a back-scratching than a back-watching affair, as in, "You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours." Officially, none of us has ever heard of any of us.

But the other half of my motivation came from farther back in my brain, in the curious part that I inherited. It came from the spot in my skull that feels the burning need to unravel puzzles, finish crosswords, indulge in Internet games, and read all the mystery books I can get my grubby little paws on. Like it or not, need it or not, and want it or not, I can't leave a good mystery alone.

I fully planned to burn the place down behind me on general principle. I was getting the hang of arson. It really sends a message, you know? Not only will I kill your dudes and steal your shit, but I will burn your place down behind me. Yes, I will.

There was nothing I could do but squirm faster and try to trust Adrian, who was surely one of the most competent mere mortals I’d met in years. He had a (small, girlie) gun, he had his wits, and he had … I don’t know. Maybe a silver bikini under his commando-wear, for all I knew.

If Mattel ever makes a Drag Queen Barbie, they damn well ought to pattern that doll’s proportions after Sister Rose. Those were legs that could crack a horse’s ribs, and they knew how to move.

if there’s one thing other than traffic in Seattle, it’s coffee. You can’t swing a dead squirrel without hitting a Starbucks, or failing that particular evil empire, an indie establishment.

I’d learned that Holtzer Point was a top secret facility in St. Paul, Minnesota. I’d gathered that much already, but it was nice to have it confirmed by a series of websites that appeared to have been composed by middle-school-aged conspiracy theorists with a passion for stupid-looking animated graphics.

I’d seen better days, but I wasn’t about to instigate widespread panic with my appearance, either. I made a show of washing up and pretending that I was an ordinary, civilized woman who was, perhaps, recovering from a bad date—and who had most certainly not been hiding bodies in anybody’s basement.

You can learn a lot about someone by his teeth. Or her teeth. Especially vampires. For some of us, hygiene goes out the window when our body temperature drops. We might not need much in the way of deodorant, but I swear—a little Listerine never hurt anybody.

Vampirism is like Photoshop for the flesh – it fills out, rounds off, smooths over, and brightens up everything. I'Ve seen cancer patients turn into supermodels with a good undead infusion.

Adrian said, “You sure know how to win friends and influence people.” “That’s why they call me Raylene. It’s Greek for ‘charming.’ ” “You’re so full of shit,” he observed.

Sometimes you get a good eyeful of a man-sized action figure—and he knows what you are, and what you can do … and you know what he is, and what he’s done before, or what he’s helping other people do. And you just can’t stand it because for all his bluster and bullshit he’s weak and horrible, and cowardly, and if he caught you, he’d do terrible things to you—the kinds of things that were done to Ian and Isabelle.

Fuck you,” he said, resorting to that last argument of vice presidents.

I can’t place your accent.” “Oh. I wasn’t aware that I had one,” I said coyly. I knew I didn’t have one. I’d been in the Northwest long enough to have matched the bland diction that’s so common there. Unless you want to argue that the absence of an accent is an accent in itself, in which case I’d have to kick you in the shins. And I can kick very hard.

As an old acquaintance of mine used to say, “If you can’t duck it, fuck it.” I’m pretty sure he knew it was duct and not duck, but I’ll forgive him for the sake of the rhyme.

Do they know?” “Know what?” “About your car,” she whistled quietly between her teeth. “Not unless they’re magically tracking me by the pixie dust that spills out of my ass. It

I found a narrow slot in which to leave my vehicle. I had to bash the bumper of an SUV to squeeze into the nook, but I didn’t exactly shed a tear over the event and no, I didn’t leave a note. That’s what they get for parking too close to a fire hydrant, with one wheel on the curb. An asshole who leaves his (or her) vehicle in such a fashion deserves whatever automotive detailing inconvenience comes his (or her) way.

If you’ve never been to Atlanta, then let me save you a bit of grief. If someone tells you something’s on “Peachtree,” you must demand that they get more specific. There are probably a dozen incarnations of Peachtree, going in at least that many directions through every part of town.