Vintage Soul by David Niall Wilson Page A

possible, is to find out who he is.   If I had what he needed, he’d have to come to me again, wouldn’t he?”
    â€œI suppose he would, at that,” Windham said, nodding thoughtfully.   “I’m not going after this one, in any case.   Security is tight on that graveyard, and though there are always ways around it, most of them are too costly and difficult to make it worth my while.   I’d have to cut someone else in…”
    He glanced at Donovan shrewdly.
    â€œIt won’t be for sale when I’m done,” Donovan growled.
    It was Windham ’s turn to laugh.   “Can’t blame me for thinking about it.   I’ll keep checking, but last I heard, most of the collector’s felt the same as I do.   It’s too risky.   We figure he’ll have to go out of state, maybe out of the country to get what he needs, and that could take a long time.”
    â€œHe doesn’t strike me as very patient,” Donovan said.   “My guess is that if he can’t get someone else to collect this for him, he’ll go himself.   He’s certainly got the skill.   I don’t suppose you’d just tell me who it is and save me the trouble?”
    Windham drained his beer and stood.
    â€œI’d love to help you,” he said, “but the call that went out is anonymous.   The instructions are clear, and payment is secured through a third party – one I won’t be naming – but I doubt even he knows the face of the buyer.   I guess your new friend knows you’re coming.”
    â€œI’d be disappointed if he thought otherwise,” Donovan said.   He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded wad of bills.   He peeled two off the end and held them between his thumb and forefinger.
    â€œIf you hear anything more about this, I want to know.   If someone else takes the challenge, even if they fail, or if your contacts happen to notice a particular order going through channels out of state, I want to know about it.   Don’t wait, send a messenger.   If the information is good, I’ll double the usual fee.”
    â€œI told you,” Windham said softly, slipping the bills from between Donovan’s fingers and sliding them into the pocket of his trench coat.   “I don’t deal in information.”
    â€œStill,” Donovan flashed a smile that wasn’t quite a smile, and Windham nodded.
    Donovan watched as the thin man turned away and scuttled to the door.    It spun and he was gone.   No one looked up at his passing.
    Donovan turned back to the bar and paid for the two drinks.   He had what he needed, now it was time to put it to use before his window of opportunity – and Vanessa’s – closed.
    He turned to the door, but before he could step away from the bar, it swung open.   A pale figure in a dark sports coat, mirrored glasses that mocked the shadows, and dark hair stepped from the booth.   He was followed in quick succession by four others, each so much like the last that they might have been pressed from the same mold.
    Donovan spared them only a glance, and then headed for the door.
    â€œDeChance?” the thin, dark man said.   It was inflected like a question, but Donovan knew better.
    Donovan glanced up and, as he drew nearer to the man who’d spoken, he saw it was a vampire.   More correctly, it was five of them.   They all appeared to be in their early to mid twenties, but Donovan knew better than to make age assumptions in such a situation.   He stopped and smiled as politely as he could manage while sizing them.
    â€œI’m Donovan DeChance, yes,” he said at last.   “You are?”
    â€œJust call me Vein,” the slender young vampire said.   “That’s what everyone calls me.”
    â€œVain?”
    â€œYou heard me.”   The vampire stepped closer, but