Thunder rumbled in the distant sky.
Heavy tension smothereed the air.
The trees that lined Main Street stood still as if they were holding their breaths and waiting for something to happen.
And Ambrose ran silently down to Cline Street.
How will I convince him to leave? Idiot will try to stay out of loyalty to his past. I know he will. But I have to try. I cannot let him become another victim of Mark Caten’s vile spitefulness.
I will convince him.
The wind picked up, blowing nothing but heat.
Marvin buzzed past him on a red and green Yakuza motorcycle.
He sped down Cline Street.
Ambrose didn’t waste time with idle wondering.
He pushed himself to run faster. Faster faster faster.
Turned the corner.
The Bad Vampires Club.
He bashed his shoulder against the door, but the door had apparently been built to withstand anything.
He slashed the door with his claws.
The only thing that accomplished was wedging a nice layer of paint under his claws.
He swore a violet streak of Germanic curses and kicked the door. He tried to tear the doorknob off.
None of that did any good.
The door remained intact, closed, and locked.
He gave up on that entrance and walked around the house, searching for weak spots: an open window, a missing door, an unlatched cellar. Anything.
Everything was sealed up tight.
He trembled as he remembered Maria.