Laws of the Blood 2: Partners by Susan Sizemore Page A

to spare on the holidays.”
    Char didn’t hesitate any longer. She managed a stiff smile for the woman. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
    The first thing Char noticed was the smell of lemon-scented cleanser when she stepped into the entryway of the shelter. The room held a desk with an ancient Macintosh computer, a number of battered chairs, plastic shelving, and battered filing cabinets. The furniture in this room was old and scarred and nothing matched, but there was an air of comfort to the place. Maybe it was the colorful scattering of afghans and quilts on the chairs, or the play area with buckets of used plastic toys set up in one corner, or the warm blue and yellow tint of the walls. Char didn’t know what made the place seem homey. She had never been in a shelter of any sort before and hadn’t known what to expect of a place that took in the addled, desperate, and addicted.
    “Most of my people have jobs,” Della told her as Char followed the former companion down a long hallway toward the rear of the building.
    “Really?” Char heard a murmur of voices in the distance and the sound of rattling dishes. She could smell turkey, cigarette smoke, and about forty mortals.
    They passed a succession of brightly painted doors along the way. Crayon and watercolor drawings decorated the walls between the rooms. Della answered, “Really. Not all homeless people are stoners and crazies. Some women who come here with their children have two jobs and still can’t make ends meet, so they have to sleep here. Those aren’t the regulars, though. Those are the ones who get on their feet eventually and find somewhere they can afford to live. The regulars.” She stopped and turned to face Char, speaking quietly, though they were alone in the hallway. “There’s some hopeless, shiftless, useless pieces of shit that wander in and out of here. Some have been leaving and not coming back lately.”
    But did that have anything to do with vampires? Char wondered. “Transients have a way of disappearing.”
    “I don’t need to be reminded about the facts of my world, Charlotte.”
    “Of course not. But—”
    “Hush.” Della’s expression went from hard and not quite sane to warm and welcoming again. “Dinner first. We’ll talk later.” She opened the door at the end of the corridor and led Char into a large, crowded dining room.
    It was late enough that most people were finished with the meal. Some lingered over pumpkin pie and coffee at a couple of long tables. Some were in the kitchen area cleaning up. A large group of women and children were gathered in front of a television on one side of thedining room. A haze of cigarette smoke curled up from the people at the tables, but no one but Char seemed disturbed by it.
    She tried not to cough or glare at the smokers. Della pointed at an empty table near the entrance, and Char sat down to wait while Della went into the kitchen. Char practiced putting up a mental barrier to keep her presence inconspicuous, but no one paid her any mind anyway, so she decided she was overreacting and quit it. Maybe no one was curious about her, but she was always interested in what was going on around her. She suspected she eavesdropped on strangers in public places because she was no good at making contact with them. She hated to think she was that pathetic and told herself she was studying mortal behavior—and in this case looking for suspects or some sign of what was going on in this town that might involve the missing nestling.
    And there was definitely something wrong. That she couldn’t feel it or define it left her cold and frightened. It left her feeling like there were holes in her head—and who knew what might leak out if they weren’t plugged with some answers. She’d gotten lost in her hometown, Char remembered with a shudder as she waited for Della. It was not possible, but it had happened.
    “What’s going on?” Char asked after Della set a heaping plate and glass of milk