Part 14 (1/2)

Angie's eyes widened as she threw up her hands. ”See? That's it exactly! Where the h.e.l.l's your mom? Anyway let's get out of here.”

Sara shrugged. ”I don't want to go home. Let's just go to your house, okay?”

Angie pursed her lips together, looking around the room. ”f.u.c.k this,” she said. She ripped the trophy from Sara's hands and moved over to another table, craning her neck to read the base of the trophy there. She glanced at Sara, then held Sara's trophy next to the larger one, wiggling the fingers of her other hand like Harrison Ford in ”Raiders of the Lost Ark.” She s.n.a.t.c.hed the first place trophy, leaving Sara's in its place.

She returned, handing it to Sara. ”Can we go now?”

Sara smiled. ”Uh-huh.”

Another hundred dollars. Five twenties folded in half. She stuffs them in her purse. Her profit tonight is easily more than her next paycheck.

She makes a little visit to the bathroom, to check her supply. Too bright, even with the Wayfarers on. No need to check the mirror. She knows how she looks. Her black hair falls straight down, covering most of her back. All her clothes are black, contrasting starkly against her ghostly, alabaster skin. Squinting, she peers into the bag.

Still plenty left to move before she leaves the club tonight. The night's dark energy flows through her as she taps into its incredible power.

She pivots toward the door, nearly knocking over some goody-good chick in a cowl neck angora sweater who was just coming in. Sweater Girl stares, wide-eyed.

”Sara?”

She looks closer. Sweater Girl is Megan Conlon, bearer of the news that Angie had stolen Josh.

Megan recovers, tosses her hair, pastes on a fake smile. ”Well, Sara, you're looking-”

Sara's arm shoots out, pinning Megan against the bathroom wall with her bony fingers and their unusually long nails. She tilts Megan's chin toward the ceiling, leaning in to bite. Her teeth touch Megan's neck but she screams and dives away, ducking out the door and running off into the darkened club. Sara laughs loudly as she disappears, then makes her way back to the trading floor.

Something's wrong. She scans the room quickly.

A creature stares into her eyes from next to the bar. It almost looks human: a skinny, ugly black man with a blank expression, leaning against the wall. But the eyes tell the truth. He's a demon on a mission from h.e.l.l. A fire burns in those eyes, buried beneath the sheet of ice where a soul should be.

Sara locks eyes with him, refusing to look away.

You don't know what you're dealing with, pal.

The eyes flare. Something from them reaches out, probing into her brain. She allows something inside herself to expand, repelling the intruding force.

A voice sounds in her ear.

”Oooh. A staring contest with Benny Downer. You're just going to war with everyone in this whole f.u.c.kin' club, ain't you, Princess?”

Neil. Inches from her face. She turns her gaze on him.

You should already know better.

His eyes widen. ”Oh, now you're staring at me?” he says. ”Wise up, baby. I'm gonna take you out, see? This club is mine.”

She nods, cracking half a smile. ”Give it your best shot.”

He smiles his obnoxious horse smile. ”Okay.”

Pain. It registers as a sickly yellow flash in the dark as he punches her in the stomach again. And again. And again. She doubles over and he puts his hand on the back of her neck, keeping her down, shoving her through the club with his other hand. People move out of the way as she gasps for breath.

”Little too much to drink,” Neil says. ”She'll be all right.”

Out the back door. Farther into the dark alley. Cameron's feet are barely visible off to the side. Neil's knee comes up into her face. Her nose drips blood and snot. She collapses. He steps on the back of her head, pus.h.i.+ng her bleeding face into the concrete.

”You wanna f.u.c.k with me?” he says. Cameron chuckles. ”Huh? I try to warn you and you egg me on?” His foot lifts from her scalp. ”Here's my best shot, b.i.t.c.h!”

The blow hits the side of her face just below the cheekbone as he kicks her like a football on a tee. She fights for consciousness, concentrating on her heart, willing it to keep pumping blood up to her brain.

A click. Or maybe a series of little clicks.

”What the f.u.c.k do you want?” Neil backs away as Alexander bends down to her, still pointing his gun at Neil as he helps her up.

”You f.u.c.king idiot!” Neil says. ”I'm doing you a favor here, man. You know it. Neither of us needs this-”

Sara exists only for the dark energy of the night. Only the hunger for that energy matters.

Immortality comes from simplicity. Only the need will last forever.

The street is dry. The town is dry. Her own body is just another animated corpse, but it still functions and so she will continue to use it: a tool for feeding her desire.

The craving alone is immortal.

A young man. Walking alone. Not pure anymore, certainly, but with some little blood to offer still. Tainted to some lesser degree than she herself.

She takes him easily to the pavement. He stretches his neck, exposing himself more fully as she takes what she needs. She leaves him writhing and empty, continuing on her search through the dry, barren landscape.

Alexander's hand lifted her up on her tiptoes as he backed her against his car. He must have dragged her when she was out cold.

He pulled her toward him and then shoved her back against the car. ”You don't deal in the club, get it? It's ours,” he said, breathing through his teeth. ”We fought for it. We're still fighting for it. Always. I saved you this time but next time I'll let him kill you. I'll let him kill you!” He turned away, rubbing his eyes, then pushed right back, inches from her face again. ”And if he doesn't get you, the others will. Not inside the club, 'cause that'd get too much attention, make it worthless for all of us. But somewhere. They'll get you, Sara. And you don't even know who they are. You'll never see them coming, but they'll get you.”

She swallowed, trying to speak.

”From now on, I don't sell to you, and you don't sell to anybody.”

Nothing.

Sara scratched at the snort bottle's smooth gla.s.s with the coffee stirrer she'd used to sniff up the few remaining specks an hour ago. She dropped the bottle on the bed. Joe's pill bottles filled a drawer but they were all empty now. Joe's purloined alcohol was gone.

The NyQuil bottle by the bed was empty, too. She'd even rinsed it and drunk the rinse water.