American Monsters. Derek Landy

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      “We?”

      “Clarissa was there. The girl from last night.”

      “Did she make it?”

      “She’s fine. And, before you ask, she had no interest in going to the cops. They’d probably just send her home, and that’s the last place she wants to be. I put her in a cab, gave her some money and a bonus as, I don’t know, hazard pay for meeting me. I’ll call the cops once we’re on the road, tell them what’s been happening here.”

      “Where are they now?” Milo asked, signalling the waitress for the cheque.”

      “The cops?”

      “The manager and his nutcase friend.”

      “Oh. The nutcase ran off.” She paused a moment. “The manager’s dead.”

      Milo nodded. “How?”

      Amber didn’t like the look on his face. She didn’t like the suspicion that she’d gone too far.

      “It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “They came at me with a chainsaw. The nutcase caught the manager in the neck. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

      “Did you shift?”

      She hesitated.

      “Amber?”

      She sat forward, angry but keeping her voice down. “What did you expect me to do? They had a chainsaw.”

      “They both saw you shift, and one of them got away.”

      “Now you’re telling me I should have killed them?”

      “No. You’ve got to be more careful about who sees this stuff. What about the girl?”

      “She didn’t see anything.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes. My secret identity is secure.”

      The waitress came over and Milo paid, gave her a smile that sent her away happy.

      “That,” Milo said, once they were alone again, “was a hell of a night you had.”

      “Thank you,” said Amber. “Yes, it was.”

      “We should probably get going.”

      She folded her arms. “I’d hate to make you rush your coffee.”

      “Don’t worry, it’s not very good.”

      “I was being sarcastic.”

      “I wasn’t. It’s really not very good.”

      They left the diner and got in the Charger. As usual, despite the heat of the day, the inside of the car was cool, and it welcomed Amber as much as Amber welcomed it. They pulled out on to the street, drove towards the highway. When they neared it, Milo glanced at her. “Which way?”

      Amber closed her eyes, focused on her parents. Bill and Betty Lamont swam into her thoughts in all their glorious perfection, with their bright smiles and trim frames and casual attitude to murdering their kids. It didn’t take long for the compass that had grown in Amber’s gut to start tugging her in their direction. She pointed.

      “East,” said Milo.

      She opened her eyes, sat back in her seat. “Apparently.”

      “No actual address?”

      “That’s not how it works.”

      He shrugged. “Just thought this time might be different.”

      “Why would it be?”

      “I’m an optimist, Amber,” he said, taking one of the on-ramps. “I think every time will be different.”

      They took the I-10 out of California. It was nice being able to use the highways and interstates again. They weren’t the ones being chased – not this time. Amber wondered if her parents were feeling the same kind of desperation she’d felt when they’d been the ones in pursuit. She hoped they were.

      It took a little under six hours to get to Phoenix. They arrived in the early afternoon and had lunch at the House of Tricks, right on the patio. Amber had the cheesecake for dessert. It was astonishing. Milo stuck a candle in it while she ate, and lit it.

      “Happy birthday,” he said.

      “Do I get to make a wish?” she asked.

      “So long as you don’t expect it to come true.”

      She smiled, and blew the candle out. She didn’t bother making a wish.

      Milo had a non-alcoholic beer and they sat there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and the trees, until Amber’s gut pulled them back to the car and on to the road.

      While they drove, she slept, and dreamed, and in her dream she was back at Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers. She found her brother sitting with his head down. “I went to the police,” he said. “I told them. I thought they could help.”

      Amber heard gunshots, and she ran to the corner of the building, saw a police officer in an old-fashioned uniform stumbling back, trying to reload his revolver. The tall man in the undertaker clothes stalked after him, tossing away the lifeless body of the cop’s partner.

      The cop managed to fire once more, straight into the undertaker’s chest, before the undertaker smacked the gun out of his grip. Then the undertaker held up his hand, and his palm opened, revealing teeth, and he clamped his hand round the cop’s throat, and the cop cried out, tried to pull away, but the taller man was too strong. Blood ran down the cop’s neck, staining his uniform, and the undertaker stood there, eyes closed.

      James walked up behind Amber. “He’s a monster,” he said. “Sucks the life out of people.”

      “A vampire,” she said. “He’s called a vampire.”

      James shrugged. “Don’t know the word. If you say so. He still has Molly, somewhere in there. I’ve been trying to get in. Yesterday I grew claws. I might be a monster, too.”

      “Our parents are the monsters,” Amber said. “Not us.”

      He shrugged again, and, while the undertaker was busy feeding on the cop, the door to the funeral home opened behind him. Amber’s demon-self beckoned James through, and he ran over and slipped in.

      Her demon-self walked over to Amber.

      “Is this real?” Amber asked her. “It feels … real. But not.”

      “It’s a dream,” said her demon-self. “The Shining Demon’s blood is letting you latch on to the memories of your dead brother from 1914. Pretty freaky, if you ask me.”

      “So СКАЧАТЬ