Laurell K. Hamilton
Kiss The Dead
Book 21 in the Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series, 2012
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
To Jonathon, my husband, who understands that the journey is long, but worth the ride. To Shawn for all those calls about police work and for just being that lifeline call over the last two decades. All mistakes in this book are mine and mine alone; there never seems to be time for him to see all of the book. To Jess, who has taught both Jonathon and me that mischief is both fun and damn near necessary in our lives. To Pilar, my sister of choice, who taught me that it’s never too late to have a happy childhood. To Missy, welcome aboard, a continuity editor at last. To Steven, who helped me with research I didn’t even know I was doing. To Bryan, who managed to inspire and challenge me in unexpected ways. To Mitch, good luck in New York.
I kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee: no way but this;
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
– Speaking to the corpse of Desdemona,
and kissing her, Othello dies
1
ON TV, INTERROGATION rooms are roomy and have big windows so that you can watch everything. In reality, the rooms are pretty small, and there are almost never big picture windows; that’s why real police footage is grainy and black-and-white, rather than Technicolor gorgeous. The interrogation room was painted pale beige, or maybe it was taupe, I’d always been a little fuzzy on the difference between them. Either way it was a bland color described by real estate agents as a warm neutral; they lied. It was a cold, impersonal color. The small table was all shiny metal, and so was the chair. The idea was that the prisoners couldn’t scratch their names, or messages, in the metal like they could have in wood, but whoever thought that had never seen what a vampire, or a wereanimal, could do to metal. There were plenty of scratches in the shiny tabletop, most done with just fingernails, superhuman strength, and the boredom of hours of sitting.