"No one to wake up?" he asked, as if he hadn't reacted in any other way to Stefan's comment. "You might be right. It is still poor manners to keep someone waiting at the door, isn't it? Which one of her minions are you?" He held up a hand. "No, wait, don't tell me. Let me guess."
While Stefan waited, all of his usual animation completely shut down, the stranger walked all the way around him, pausing just behind us. Unconstrained by anything but the leash, I turned to watch.
When he was directly behind Stefan, the other vampire bent down and scratched me behind my ears.
I usually don't mind being touched, but as soon as his fingers brushed against my fur I knew I didn't want him touching me. Involuntarily, I hunched away from his hand and into Stefan's leg. My fur kept his skin away from mine, but that didn't keep his touch from feeling filthy, unclean.
The scent of him lingered on my fur and I realized the unpleasant odor that had been clogging my nose was coming from him.
"Careful," Stefan told him without looking around. "She bites."
"Animals love me." The remark made my flesh crawl it was so inappropriate coming from this... creeping monster. He crouched on his heels and rubbed my ears again. I couldn't tell if Stefan wanted me to bite him or not. I chose not, because I didn't want the taste of him on my tongue. I could always bite him later if I wanted to.
Stefan didn't comment, nor did he look anywhere except straight in front of him. I wondered if he would have lost status points if he'd turned. Werewolves play power games, too, but I know the rules for them. A werewolf would never have allowed a strange wolf to walk behind him.
He left off petting me, stood up, and walked around until he faced Stefan again. "So you are Stefan, Marsilia's little soldier boy. I have heard of you-though your reputation is not what it once was, is it? Running away from Italy like that would soil any man's honor. Somehow, still, I expected more. All those stories... I expected to find a monster among monsters, a creature of nightmares who frightens even other vampires-and all I see is a dried-up has-been. I suppose that's what happens when you hide yourself in a little backwater town for a few centuries."
There was a slight pause after the other vampire's last words.
Then Stefan laughed, and said, "Whereas you have no reputation at all." His voice was lighter than usual, sounding almost rushed, as if what he was saying was of no moment. I took a step away from him without meaning to, somehow frightened by that light, amused voice. He smiled gently at the other vampire and his tone softened further as he said, "That's what happens when you are newly made and abandoned."
It must have been some sort of vampire super-insult because the second vampire erupted, reacting as if Stefan's words had been an electric goad. He didn't go after Stefan, though.
Instead, he bent down and grabbed the bottom of the king-sized box spring and jerk-lifted it and everything above it over his head. He swung it toward the hall door and then around so that the ends of the box spring, mattress, and bedding were balanced for an instant.
He shifted his grip and threw them all the way through the wall and into the empty hotel room next door, landing on the floor in a cloud of Sheetrock dust. Two of the wall studs hung splintered, suspended from somewhere inside the wall, giving the hole in the wall the appearance of a jack-o-lantern's smile. The false headboard, permanently mounted into the wall where the bed had been, looked forlorn and stupid hanging a foot or more above the pedestal of the bed.
The vampire's speed and strength didn't surprise me. I'd seen a few werewolves throw temper tantrums, enough to know that if the vampire had been truly angry, he wouldn't have had the control it took to manage the physics of swinging the two unattached mattresses together through the wall. Apparently, as in werewolf fights, battles between vampires have a lot of impressive fireworks before the main show.
In the silence that followed, I heard something, a hoarse mewling noise coming from behind the closed bathroom door-as if whatever made it had already cried out so much it could only make a small noise, but one that held much more terror than a full-throated scream.
I wondered if Stefan knew what was in the bathroom and that was why he'd been afraid when we were in the parking lot-there were things that even a vampire ought to be afraid of. I took a deep breath, but all I could smell was the bitter darkness-and that was getting stronger. I sneezed, trying to clear my nose, but it didn't work. Both vampires stood still until the noise stopped. Then the stranger dusted his hands
"I am remiss," he said, but the old fashioned words sounded false coming from him, as if he were pretending to be a vampire the way the old vampires tried to be human. "You obviously do not know who I am."
He gave Stefan a shallow bow. It was obvious, even to me, that this vampire had grown up in a time and place where bowing was something done in Kung Fu Theater movies rather than in everyday life. "I am Asmodeus," he said grandly, sounding like a child pretending to be a king.
"I said you have no reputation," Stefan replied, still in that light, careless voice. "I didn't say I didn't know your name, Cory Littleton. Asmodeus was destroyed centuries ago."
" Kurfel, then," said Cory, nothing childlike in his manner at all.
I knew those names, Asmodeus and Kurfel, both, and as soon as I realized where I'd heard them, I knew what I had been smelling. Once the idea occurred to me, I realized the smell could be nothing else. Suddenly Stefan's fear wasn't surprising or startling at all. Demons were enough to scare anyone.
"Demon" is a catchall phrase, like " fae," used to describe beings who are unable to manifest themselves in our world in physical form. Instead, they possess their victims and feed upon them until there is nothing left. Kurfel wouldn't be this one's name, any more than Asmodeus was: knowing a demon's name gave you power over them. I'd never heard of a demon-possessed vampire before. I tried to stretch my mind around the concept.
"You are not Kurfel either," said Stefan. "Though something akin to him is allowing you some use of his powers when you amuse him well enough." He looked toward the bathroom door. "What have you been doing to amuse him, sorcerer?"
Sorcerer.
I thought those were just stories-I mean, who would be dumb enough to invite a demon into themselves? And why would a demon, who could just possess any corrupt soul (and to offer yourself to a demon sort of presupposes a corrupt soul, doesn't it?) make a deal with anyone? I didn't believe in sorcerers; I certainly didn't believe in vampire sorcerers.