I went to bed at 9:30 PM, and now I'm paying the price. Hi, I'm stupid.

Avery's Introduction

Where are we going?

That was the question that had been slamming through Avery's brain during the drive down Lake Shore Drive. Now he realized how wholly inadequate it had been.

The question he should have been asking was: What are you doing to me, you crazy bitch?

His head still buzzed a little, and she was talking, but he couldn't quite parse what she was actually saying. There'd been blood -- a lot of blood -- and it had soaked into everything, but she'd changed him -- That's an understatement. -- sometime between when he'd passed out and when he'd woken up. The shirt and pants weren't clean, but the bowtie was meticulously tied.

She was leading him out of her tiny Victorian cottage -- Thank god. -- and drawing him down the steps. Cockroaches scuttled away as they walked down the decaying wooden steps, the screen door banging shut behind them, the half-attached screen curling away like the house was trying to slough off a flap of dead skin. Outside was bad -- weeds choked the yard, along with bits of junk and discarded wrappers and cups from the Church's Chicken half a block down -- but inside...inside was a fucking Stygian hell.

She kept a constant stream of conversation going as she led him to her VW Beetle. Her hands had been cold before, but now they weren't anything, just flesh on flesh, firm and vicelike. She hadn't stripped off his Glock when she'd dressed him, he could still feel its solid strength under his jacket. Its weight had been a comfort before he'd entered the house. Now it wasn't anything.

And me? he thought. What the hell am I?

The questioning jogged something. Somewhere in his wetware's engine, something turned over and once again language and cognizance began to filter in. Veronica. Her name was Veronica. And she didn't seem to ever stop talking.

"The Prince is holding a party tonight," she gushed enthusiastically. "I'm sure some of the others will have taken the opportunity to sire their own childe tonight, but none like you, my dear! My darling!" She kissed him on the cheek, her lips devoid of warmth. The passenger door creaked as she flung it open, flakes of rust showering off the hinges. "We will be together forever and ever and ever!"

Avery stared at the car seat for a long moment before he climbed in and latched himself into place. Veronica. Veronica Caldwell. He was starting to believe she really was the girl from that tintype photo of the 1930s excavation he'd found at the OI. He didn't want to believe the thing she'd said about Trisha, though. Not yet. He wasn't sure what he would do if it was true.

The batshit insane woman climbed into the driver's seat and coaxed the old Bug's engine into life. Avery tuned out her babble and stared forward, reaching unconsciously inside his jacket to adjust the shoulder holster.

Insanely, he wondered if his blood had stained the leather.