"William Mark Simmons - Undead 1 - One Foot in the Grave" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons William Mark)

"That guy—"
"The vampire," she coached gently.
"The vampire," I conceded reluctantly. "That was a nice touch. Most convincing. The frosting on the
cake, as it were."
"We didn't expect him. We should have: Bassarab's enforcers usually travel in pairs and he wouldn't
have sent just one for an intercept so far from home."
"Whoa, whoa; you're losing me here. I'm just getting used to the idea of vampires and werewolves
being for real." I staggered the length of the camper shell and sat on a padded bench beside the
fold-down table. "Uh, Ms. Garou is a werewolf . . . right?"
Mooncloud nodded.
"Well, you've mentioned this Bassarab guy twice now. Who is he and why does his hired muscle
sport fangs? And why are they after me?" I arranged the towel for comfort and modesty as I stretched
out my legs. "For that matter, why are you two after me?"
She sighed. "I'm afraid, Mr. Csejthe, the answers to your questions are a bit complicated."
No shit. I didn't say that, however; I just looked at her.
"Let's start with vampires. For the sake of argument, you will admit in the possibility of their
existence?"
I nodded. I could do that—admit to their possibility—without buying a membership in the club for
myself.
"There is ample reason for your skepticism, Mr. Csejthe. First, most human beings do not have a
close encounter with the undead and live to tell about it. Second, the wampyr have a vested interest in
keeping their existence a secret.
"While the Children of Bassarab tend to be solitary predators, they have learned that they must
cooperate to preserve their anonymity. If any of them threatens the secret of the wampyr, that one is
hunted down by agents of its own kind—enforcers—and destroyed lest it betray all others of its
bloodline."
"These enforcers, they were after me."
Mooncloud nodded, adjusting the heat under the saucepan. "Agents of the New York enclave. Their
ruler is supposed to be a direct descendant of the original Bassarab and has taken his name. That is as
much as we know. Beyond that it is not hard to guess at basic motivations. Your existence is more than a
scientific curiosity, Mr. Csejthe. Your medical documentation is a threat to the unmasking of enclaves
everywhere."
"Enclaves?"
Garou's voice crackled from the intercom: "Merde! Must you explain everything to this pup? Let the
Doman tell him what he will. No more."
"The Doman?"
Mooncloud sighed. "Lupé, you are only adding to our guest's curiosity—"
"Guest!"
"—and making my attempts to reassure Mr. Csejthe that much more complicated. You drive and let
me worry about the explanations."
The intercom grunted.
"Or I shall send our guest up to sit in the cab with you and let you answer all his questions."
Oh, great.
There was a tinny growl from the tiny speaker but no further comments.
"Enclaves, Mr. Csejthe, are population centers where vampires gather and agree to live under a set
of laws that insure food and safety for all. The leader of this social underground adjudicates the laws,
settles disputes, and looks after his own. He—or she—is known as the Doman for that particular
enclave. New York is the largest, but Seattle, where we are taking you, has a fairly strong enclave as
well."
"What if a vampire does not wish to retain membership in an enclave?" A tangy aroma was beginning