The vampire had a car. An old blood red Bolt, something Henri only recognized through his older brother’s automotive enthusiasm. “Is that still a green car?”
“So I hear,” the vampire said, sliding into the driver’s seat. Henri sat down in the passenger’s seat, closing the door. It was smaller than he thought it would be. Fit the vampire perfectly though, somehow. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
Right, he hadn’t just stepped into the car to be driven away and fed upon. “Nuevo García.”
The vampire knew where that was it seemed, because he didn’t ask for more than that. The car started out, as quiet as these vehicles ever were.
“You know, there are people who think that you won’t say anything because you were chased off from trespassing.” Henri shot him a look. The vampire continued to stare out at the road, unaffected.
Henri turned his eyes out the front, watching the car going in the correct direction to take him homeward. “It doesn’t really matter.” No one was ever going to do anything about Bloody Bones. Too much effort, he guessed.
As long as Henri never went down that way again, he should have been fine.
Yet suddenly the city seemed terrifying.