A draft of cool November air followed Henley coming in, and Peter had to press his hand down flat against his personal journal to keep the pages from fluttering. He raised his eyes from his notes to follow Henley’s path across the small space, and her strange, furtive movements didn’t escape his notice. Frowning, he lowered his feet from the end of the bed, leaning forward in his chair. “You alright, love? You look fucking spooked.” His eyes darkened a little. “You happen to catch a glimpse of our uninvited guests?”
Surely if an angry mob was enough reason to leave, the dead suddenly rising was more than reason to hightail it, and yet Management still hadn’t let them pack up and leave. A subtle reek of decay was starting to linger over this whole area, strengthening with each day and each influx of not-so-fresh reanimated corpses staggering towards the carnival. They may be infinitely slower and braindead compared to the smart, sadistic demons he’d dealt with before, but he still wanted nothing to do with them. For someone like Henley, who, near as he could tell, had nothing like vampires or their less impressive cousins in her life up until now, this probably really shook her up.
Then he caught sight of Henley’s arm, and the angry open wound there. A chill swept down Peter’s spine, razor-edged teeth flashing in his mind. He was at her side before he’d realized he’d moved at all, his hands gentle but firm as he caught her by the palm of her hand. He didn’t really need a closer look to confirm what he’d already recognized as a bite wound from some human-shaped monster.