The smart ones mostly stick to the El Hombre Invisible tricks that urban monsters have worked out over centuries. A hundred and fifty, two hundred years old, they’re beautiful. A pretty blond cheerleader type with big eyes and the kind of smile that got Troy burned to the ground. In the Xeroxed passport photo Marshal Wells gave me, she looks like she’s about seventeen. It isn’t fun work, but it pays the bills. Right now, though, I’m hunting one that’s trying for a Nobel Prize in getting completely up my ass. Since most of them started out as civilians, the percentage of decent vampires to complete bastards is about the same as regular people. They’re just another kind of addict in a city of addicts. Personally, I don’t have anything against shroud eaters. That’s about how much fun it is hunting a vampire.
IMAGINE SHOVING A cattle prod up a rhino’s ass, shouting “April fool!”, and hoping the rhino thinks it’s funny.
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