pzb.lostsouls-第15部分

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hed　his　insides　and　sometimes　drew　thin　dirty　blood　from　them；　and　soon　he　would　be　with　Jessy。　Tonight　he　would　avenge　her；　and　he　would　have　his　memories　of　her　again；　his　memories　of　a　child　who　danced　and　laughed；　of　a　child　who　loved　him；　who　was　not　a　dark　creature　of　sex　and　blood。　He　would　eradicate　his　damnable　sin。　He　would　redeem　himself。
　　The　air　sobered　him。　He　drew　himself　up；　refused　to　sway；　refused　to　let　his　dizziness　and　fear　overtake　him。　Tonight　belonged　to　him；　and　to　Jessy。
　　He　walked　toward　the　river。
　　
　　　Chapter　8
　　
　　Twig　kept　up　a　steady　string　of　curses　as　they　drove　into　DC。　The　streets　seemed　skewed　to　him；　the　signs　indecipherable。　Finally　he　turned　the　wrong　way　down　a　one…way　street；　screeched　to　a　halt　in　front　of　a　fancy　hotel；　and　said；　'That's　where　we're　staying。〃
　　Molochai　waved　the　parking　valet　over；　and　Twig　presented　him　with　the　keys　to　the　van。　〃Remember　which　one　is　ours；〃　he　told　the　valet。　〃We　want　this　van　back；　not　some　pussy　Volvo。〃
　　The　lobby　was　all　plush　and　marble　opulence；　red…carpet　gaudy　splendor。　They　appreciated　it　not　a　bit。　As　they　checked　in；　Molochai　gaped　up　at　the　three…tiered　crystal　chandelier；　and　Twig　palmed　the　desk　clerk's　cigarettes。
　　Their　room　was　not　as　gaudy　as　the　public　facade　of　the　hotel。　Here　on　the　twentieth　floor　there　was　only　pale　carpeting　as　thick　and　rich　as　whipped　cream。　Zillah　slipped　his　shoes　off　and　wriggled　his　toes　in　its　creamy　depths。　Here　were　only　deep；　cloud…soft　beds　and　sofas　that　one　might　drown　in；　falling　forever；　never　to　be　seen　again。　Oh　yes；　they　could　have　fun　here。
　　He　drifted　to　the　window　and　pulled　aside　heavy　draperies。　The　city　gleamed　far　below；　green　and　white；　immaculate。　The　crazy　pattern　of　the　streets　was　a　puzzle　that　wanted　deciphering。　In　the　center　of　it　all　the　Washington　Monument　soared　up；　as　clean　and　stark　as　a　bone。　Zillah　smiled　a　small　secret　smile。　The　city　was　delicious。　All　cities　were　delicious。　They　had　only　to　wait　until　nightfall。
　　From　behind　him　came　a　great　howl　of　delight　as　Molochai　and　Twig　saw　the　whirlpool　bathtub。　Zillah　turned　to　see　them　tipping　at　each　other's　clothes；　throwing　shirts　and　sneakers　and　socks　all　over　the　room　in　their　haste　to　get　undressed。　He　watched　them　for　a　moment；　still　smiling；　then　untied　the　purple　scarf　that　bound　his　ponytail　and　began　bing　his　hair　with　his　fingers；　smoothing　its　silky　length；　untangling　the　snarls　made　by　the　wind　on　the　road。　Hair　slipped　between　his　fingers；　tumbled　down　over　his　shoulders。
　　Molochai　and　Twig　stood　together　by　the　whirlpool；　naked　as　babes；　waiting　to　see　what　Zillah　would　do。　Zillah　slipped　out　of　his　trousers　and　jacket；　pulled　his　loose　black　T…shirt　over　his　head。　He　wore　no　underwear；　none　of　them　did。　Slim　as　a　girl；　he　stood　looking　at　Molochai　and　Twig；　his　skin　creamy　pale；　his　hair　the　color　of　coffee　with　milk。
　　They　moved　toward　one　another　until　their　shoulders　were　almost　touching。　All　three　bodies　bore　the　marks　of　various　piercings；　tattoos；　and　scarifications。　Living　so　long　in　the　same　unchanging　flesh　made　them　restless；　they　were　pelled　to　change　it　themselves。　Age　did　its　own　decorating　of　human　bodies…wrinkles；　wattled　flesh；　random　sproutings　of　coarse　yellowish　hair。　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　were　much　more　pleased　with　their　own　methods　of　decoration：　silver　rings；　intricate　patterns　in　ink　or　raised　flesh。
　　Twig　had　twin　strands　of　barbed　wire　tattooed　on　his　wrists；　twining　up　both　arms；　and　two　long　thin　pieces　of　metal　that　pierced　the　thin　skin　of　his　stomach　just　below　the　rib　cage　on　either　side；　capped　with　nuggets　of　hone　he　had　saved　to　have　honed　and　fitted。　Zillah　wore　silver　hoops　through　his　nipples；　Molochai's　were　pierced　with　safety　pins；　from　one　of　which　dangled　a　polished　fingerbone。　All　three　had　foreskin　rings　（because　of　the　circumstances　surrounding　their　births；　few　of　their　race　were　circumcised　as　babies）。　They　had　linked　these　together　to　pose　for　a　series　of　studies　by　a　famous　photographer　of　erotica；　Zillah　standing　on　an　inlaid…teak　stool　that　brought　his　ting　up　to　the　level　of　the　others'。
　　Zillah　put　his　hand　on　Molochai's　shoulder　and　pushed　gently　down。　Molochai　knelt　before　him　and　embraced　Zillah's　narrow　hips。　His　mouth　brushed　soft　skin　and　silky　hair。　He　put　out　his　tongue　and　felt　Zillah　shiver。　Then　Zillah's　hand　was　under　his　chin；　cupping　his　face　and　tilting　it　up。　Molochai　looked　up　into　Zillah's　eyes。　Green。　Glowing；　melting　green。
　　〃Molochai；〃　said　Zillah。
　　Molochai　was　lost　in　the　luminescent　sea　of　green；　he　could　not　answer。
　　〃Molochai。　〃
　　He　shook　himself。　〃What？〃
　　Zillah's　face　was　calm。　A　small　smile　played　about　his　lips。　〃Do　you　want　something　from　room　service？〃
　　Molochai　stared　up　at　Zillah　for　a　few　moments。　Then　he　hugged　Zillah　tighter；　and　it　was　as　if　two　jagged　edges　fitted　together　inside　him。　He　turned　and　saw　Twig　standing　jealously　alone；　watching　them。　They　each　put　out　an　arm　to　Twig；　and　he　came　to　them。
　　〃I　want　champagne；〃　said'　Molochai。　〃And　I　want　whipped　cream　and；　kidneys　and　chocolate　truffles　and　baby's…blood　ice　cream。
　　They　stood　together；　naked　and　embracing；　the　three　of　them　as　much　a　family　as　anyone　could　be；　anywhere；　ever。
　　In　the　foamy　waters　of　the　whirlpool　Zillah　pulled　Molochai　and　Twig　to　him　and　dipped　his　tongue　into　their　mouths；　sweet　with　cake　and　cream；　sharp　and　sour　with　champagne。　Once　more　they　began　their　game　of　spit　and　skin　and　passion；　of　slippery　hands　and　soft　bites；　and　sometimes　harder　bites。　They　played　the　game　they　knew　so　well；　the　game　they　had　played　for　such　a　long　time；　and　when　they　were　clone　Molochai　and　Twig　snuggled　against　Zillah　in　the　steamy　swirling　water；　their　heads　on　his　shoulders；　their　hands　linked　across　his　chest
　　The　three　closed　their　eyes　and　dreamed　their　warm　bloody　dreams。　For　a　few　hours　they　could　rest；　and　then　it　would　be　time　to　go　out　and　party　again。
　　
　　When　night　folded　like　a　deep　blue　cloak　over　the　city；　they　roused　themselves　from　their　wet　languor　and　began　pulling　on　black　shirts；　black　socks；　dirty　black　sneakers。　They　favored　black　clothes　because　dark　red　stains　would　not　show　on　them。　Zillah　put　a　tiny　silver　ankh　through　his　earlobe。　The　other　two　wore　large　dangling　crucifixes　in　their　ears。
　　Twig；　smearing　on　eyeliner　in　front　of　the　bathroom　mirror；　found　a　raw　red　crescent　on　his　chest。　〃You　bit　me；〃　he　plained　to　Molochai。　〃I'm　bleeding。〃
　　Molochai；　still　half…naked；　came　closer　and　licked　the　blood　from　Twig's　chest。　When　Twig's　nipple　puckered　at　the　touch　of　the　rough　tongue；　Molochai　snapped　at　it。　〃I'm　hungry；〃　he　said；　and　this　time　there　was　something　in　his　voice　that　told　them　he　would　not　be　satisfied　with　sweets　and　chocolate。
　　
　　When　the　sun　set；　Zillah　sent　the　valet　to　get　their　van。　They　drove　to　Georgetown；　taking　wrong　turns；　being　stopped　by　streets　that　suddenly　turned　one…way；　weaving　around　and　around　traffic　circles；　swaying　against　each　other　every　time　the　van　navigated　a　curve。　They　had　drunk　more　champagne　back　at　the　hotel；　and　by　this　time　they　were　too　blasted　to　care　whether　they　got　lost。
　　By　persistence　and　luck　they　arrived　in　Georgetown　before　midnight。　The　sidewalks　swarmed　with　people：　tourists　out　for　a　big　night；　students　wearing　school　sweatshirts；　a　group　of　black　kids　with　roller　skates　and　stocking　caps　spray…painting　arcane　graffiti　on　a　wall。　Molochai　pressed　his　face　to　the　window。　〃'Fresh；〃　he　read　before　the　van　was　past。
　　Twig　licked　his　lips。　〃They　better　be。〃
　　〃Trendies。〃　Zillah　waved　his　black…nailed　hand　in　an　elegant　gesture　of　dismissal。　〃Trendies；　all　of　them。　We'll　find　better　ones　later；　after　these　are　home　in　bed。〃
　　They　parked　beside　a　fire　hydrant。　Zillah　took　a　satchel　full　of　empty　wine　bottles　from　the　back　of　the　van　and　gave　them　to　Twig　to　carry。
　　Molochai　looked　at　the　block　of　shops。　A　lingerie　boutique；　a　newsstand；　a　vegetarian　café。　It　might　have　been　a　street　in　any　city　in　America。　〃There's　no　magic　in　this　town；〃　he　plained。
　　Zillah　touched　Molochai's　lips　with　the　tip　of　a　sharp　nail。　〃There's　magic　in　every　bloodstream。〃
　　Molochai　nodded　sullenly。　He　was　hungry　again。　There　might　be　magic　in　every　bloodstream；　but　the　bloodstreams　in　the　French　Quarter　were　tastier。
　　It　was　Twig　who　found　the　girl。　He　had　a　nose　for　Indian　curry。　The　window　was　painted　CALCUTTA　PALACE　in　a　flowing　strange　script。　Below　it　a　sign　said　CLOSED；　but　the　door　swung　open　when　Twig　pushed　at　it。　The　inside　of　the　restaurant　was　decorated　like　some　fantastic　far　eastern　fairy　tale：　red　silk　drooping　from　the　ceiling；　purple　velvet　covering　the　walls；　tables　lacquered　in　black　and　gold。
　　Zillah　looked　around　appreciatively；　then　sensed　that　Twig　had　gone　quivering　and　taut　beside　him。　He　followed　Twig's　eyes　and　saw　a　lone　dark…skinned　girl　at　the　back　of　the　restaurant　sweeping　the　carpet　with　an　electric　vacuum。　She　had　not　yet　heard　them　over　the　noise　of　the　machine。
　　As　Twig　watched；　the　girl　raised　her　arm　and　pulled　her　heavy　black　hair　back　over　one　shoulder。　The　movement　wafted　a　cloud　of　her　scent　to　him。　He　could　smell　the　oil　of　her　hair；　the　sweat　of　her　armpits；　the　odors　of　grease　and　spice　and　sandalwood　that　were　a　part　of　her　being。　And　he　could　smell　the　dusky　blood　beneath　the　skin；　hot　and　peppery；　as　exotic　as　all　India。　Her　blood　would　taste　of　chili　and　almonds；　of　cardamom；　of　rosewater。
　　He　motioned　to　the　other　two；　and　they　slid　forward；　moving　as　one　creature；　fused　in　this　act　of　killing。　The　girl　turned　and　flung　up　her　hands；　but　Twig's　mouth　stopped　her　cry；　and　they　fell　upon　her。　As　Zillah　grasped　her　head　between　his　strong　hands　and　twisted　her　neck　to　an　impossible　angle；　as　Molochai　burrowed　under　her　long　cotton　skirt　and　bit　into　his　favorite　spot；　Twig　cracked　the　bones　of　the　girl's　throat　between　his　teeth　and　tasted　spice。
　　
　　They　drove　back　to　the　hotel　sometime　in　the　hazy　zone　between　very　late　and　very　early。　Twig's　eyes　were　glazed；　with　an　effort　he　focused　on　the　road。　Molochai　lay　with　his　head　in　Zillah's　lap　nibbling　a　little　sugared　cake　he　had　found　in　the