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She whirled, snarled, reached for me. I stepped into her putrid embrace and touched her chest with the stake. Jaws wide, she rushed into the point. I rammed it home. It was so easy to kill the young. Too easy. The vamp paused as if frozen, her eyes on mine in the night. Humanity bled back into her gaze, puzzled and afraid. “No,” she whispered on her last breath. “No . ” She crumpled at my feet, landing between two tree limbs, her legs splayed. I knelt beside her and pulled a miniflashlight. The beam caught her full in the face.
Both were, amazingly, already asleep. Kids. “They won’t disappear in a wisp of smoke,” a soft voice said behind me. I smiled, feeling rueful, wondering if Molly had set a ward I had never detected, one that notified her when someone even approached the children’s doorway. Probably. “Just checking,” I said. Holding the tray in front of me, I turned, finding Molly in the shadows of the wide hallway. Her long, thin nightgown fluttered in the air from the open windows; her red ringlets hung down her back.
I never trusted stakes. Lore says that a stake to the heart is fatal unless the sire is close by; he can sometimes heal a scion if he gets there in time. I pulled a knife with a slightly curved blade, and lay the edge against the girl’s neck, and put my back into it, cutting. Cold blood gushed over my gloves. A beheading was both final and proof for bounty. Newly risen, newly dead again. When I was done, I set the head and the flashlight aside and grabbed the rogue by the heels.