I tried a couple of sessions with the creepy and surreal Peter Westin that night in the jail at Santa Cruz. Kyle was attempting to get him transferred to the East Coast but I doubted he would be successful.  California wanted him. Westin wore a long-sleeved black velvet shirt and black leather pants. He was as pale as paper. Thin blue veins were visible under the translucent skin of his temples. His lips were full and the pigment appeared redder than most people’s. The Sire almost didn’t seem human, and I was pretty sure that was the effect he wanted to convey.
It was emotionally disturbing and draining to be in the same room with him. Jamilla and I had talked about it briefly, and we both felt the same thing. Westin had none of the usual qualities that we associated with humans: conscience, sociability, deep emotion, sympathy, and empathy. His entire persona was that of the Sire. He was a killer, a ghoul, a real life bloodsucker.  T’m not going to try and scare you with interrogation room threats,’ I said, low-key.
Westin appeared not to be listening. Bored? Indifferent? Smart as hell? Actually, as the Sire, he was an extraordinary person to encounter: haughty, superior, intense, physically striking. He had the most piercing eyes. He’d put on an act for me in Santa Barbara - the harmless scholar recommending books about vampires.  He cocked his head and st............