pzb.lostsouls-第51部分

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she　took　me　out　on　a　kill。　She　found　a　child　begging　for　milk　money　in　some　gutter　far　from　the　lights　of　the　city；　and　she　bent　as　if　to　whisper　something　to　the　child　and　sank　her　teeth　into　that　soft　face。　When　she　had　drunk；　she　undressed　me　and　smeared　the　child's　blood　over　my　body。　She　lathered　me　with　it。　And　then　。　。　。　then　her　exquisite　tongue　lapped　me　clean。。。　〃
　　〃Wait　a　second；〃　said　Ghost。　He　was　afraid　that　soon　Arkady　would　start　panting　and　clutching　at　himself。　〃How　e　she　was　so　scared　of　getting　pregnant？　What　would　have　happened？〃
　　〃Did　happen；〃　said　Arkady。　〃Poor　Richelle；　her　worst　fear　came　true。　One　night　she　went　to　her　favorite　club；　the　Cafe　Zeitgeist；　without　me。　She　met　a　boy　。　。　。　just　a　boy；　she　told　me。　Perhaps　sixteen　or　seventeen。　She　took　him　behind　the　club；　into　an　alley。　I　don't　know　whether　she　meant　to　feed　upon　him　or　only　to　engage　him　in　her　usual　sort　of　love。　She　needed　blood；　but　semen　would　do　in　a　pinch。　〃For　a　snack；　you　might　say。
　　〃At　any　rate；　he　was　a　randy　boy。　He　became　too　excited　by　Richelle's　beauty。　Perhaps　by　the　smell　of　bloody　lust　she　exuded。　Richelle　should　have　been　able　to　overpower　him；　she　was　very　strong；　but　she　had　drunk　too　much　vodka…that　was　easy　to　do　at　the　Cafe　Zeitgeist；　where　they　flavored　the　vodka　with　essence　of　rosewater。　The　boy　ripped　her　dress　open　。　。　。　and　he　took　her　by　force。〃
　　〃Fucker；〃　said　Steve。　He　let　his　head　thump　down　on　the　glass　counter。　〃But　some　girls　don't　hafta　be　raped；　huh；　Ghost？　Some　girls　just　。　。　。〃　He　mumbled　and　subsided。
　　〃What　would　happen　if　she　got　pregnant？〃　asked　Ghost。
　　〃It　would　have　eaten　its　way　out　of　her；〃　Arkady　told　him　with　relish。　〃It　was　half　vampire。　Even　in　the　womb　they　are　killers。　Our　babies　are　born　without　teeth；　Richelle　told　me；　but　even　so　they　manage　to　chew　their　way　out。　Perhaps　they　have　a　set　of　womb…teeth。　Perhaps　they　claw　their　way　out　with　their　tiny　fingers。　But　they　kill；　always　they　kill。　Just　as　I　ripped　my　mother　apart。
　　〃I　begged　her　to　see　one　of　the　back…alley　surgeons；　to　have　the　child　removed　as　one　would　excise　a　cancer；　but　she　refused。　By　that　time　she　was　half…mad　with　fear。　It　would　know；　she　insisted。　It　is　too　late。　It　has　already　started　eating　me…I　can　feel　it　churning　inside　me；　shredding　my　womb　。。。。
　　〃So　Richelle　took　a　little　stiletto　that　she　sometimes　wore　in　her　boot…to　slit　her　lovers'　veins；　of　course；　though　she　could　use　her　teeth　when　she　wanted　to。　She　had　very　sharp　teeth。　Teeth　that　could　give　pleasure　as　well　as　pain。
　　〃She　tried　to　cut　the　child　out　of　her　body。　I　found　it　in　the　ruins　of　her　belly；　half…hidden　behind　coils　of　entrails；　it　was　shrivelled；　bloody；　long　dead。　It　was　still　tiny；　as　large　as　a　red　bean。　But　I　found　it　because　her　fingers　were　cupped　around　it。　She　had　been　trying　to　pull　it　out。　She　did　not　want　to　die　with　it　still　inside　her。〃
　　Ghost's　mind　was　rocketing　in　too　many　directions；　rebounding　off　the　walls　of　his　skull。　A　voice　in　his　head　was　saying；　Wait　a　second；　wait　a　second。　Maybe　we　need　to　think　some　more　about　this　business　of　killer　vampire　babies　that　eat　their　way　out　of　their　mothers'　wombs。　Maybe　we　need　to　think　a　whole　LOT　about　it。　That　voice　was　still　faint；　but　getting　louder。
　　At　last　Ghost　was　about　half…drunk　on　the　sherry　too。　Apparently　it　was　strong　stuff　if　you　could　keep　it　down。　So　he　was　able　to　keep　his　voice　steady　when　he　said；　〃I　don't　get　it。　Richelle　was　your　friend。　How　e　you're　afraid　of　them　now？〃
　　Arkady　lowered　his　eyelids。　〃You　might　say　I　have　a　bone　to　pick　with　them　now。　You　guessed　right；　Ghost。　Ashley's　lovers　were　vampires。　A　different　sort　of　vampire。　They　appreciate　the　taste　of　blood　but　do　not　need　it。　They　feed　on　willing　souls；　they　e　into　your　dreams　and　try　to　find　a　niche　in　your　brain；　but　they　are　real；　and　if　you　let　them　in；　they　will　destroy　you　as　surely　as　any　bloodsucker。　These　were　Ashley's　lovers。　The　lovers　who　killed　him。〃
　　〃Where　are　they　now？〃　asked　Ghost。
　　〃They　took　no　blood　from　Ashley；　but　they　sucked　from　him　something　just　as　vital；〃　Arkady　went　on；　apparently　unhearing。　〃They　sucked　his　youth；　his　beauty。　That　is　what　they　live　upon；　they　only　feed　on　the　lovely。　They　left　him　a　husk。　Ashley　could　never　have　lived　without　his　beauty；　the　nerves　of　his　skin　ran　to　his　soul…〃
　　He　stopped；　sighed；　shook　his　head。　〃They　are　beautiful　too；〃　he　said。　〃They　took　all　of　Ashley's　beauty；　and　their　own　beauty　remains。　They　rejuvenate　it　often。　And　I　cannot　tell　you　why　I　let　them　live　upstairs。　Perhaps　I　hope　that　one　day　I　will　have　my　chance　for　revenge。　Perhaps　I　am　simply　too　afraid　of　them　to　refuse　them　anything。〃
　　Ghost's　thoughts　still　ricocheted。　His　skull　felt　too　fragile；　his　mind　might　burst　it。　He　put　a　hand　to　his　forehead；　and　his　palm　came　away　damp　with　sweat。　It　was　the　sherry；　the　stuffy　room。　But　more　than　anything　it　was　the　tales　Arkady　had　told。　Terrible　love　that　sucked　away　beauty；　that　could　invade　your　dreams；　babies　that　could　only　be　born　in　blood　and　agony。　What　can　we　do？　he　wanted　to　ask　Arkady。　How　can　we　help　our　friend　now；　before　the　vampires　tear　her　apart　inside　and　out？
　　But　he　couldn't　say　that。　Not　in　front　of　Steve。
　　And　he　was　pretty　sure　he　already　knew　the　answer。
　　
　　　Chapter　27
　　
　　Nothing　awoke　to　bright　afternoon　sunlight　filtered　through　dirty　glass　and　dusty　window　shades。　He　could　see　only　a　pair　of　indistinct　humps　beside　him；　and　for　a　moment　reality　did　another　of　those　slow　giddy　rolls：　he　recognized　no　part　of　this　place。　He　had　never　seen　it　before。　There　were　no　stars　on　the　ceiling　as　in　his　old　room；　no　thrumming　of　wheels　and　rich　smell　of　old　bloodstains　as　in　the　van。
　　He　hitched　himself　up　on　his　elbows　and　blew　a　limp　sheaf　of　hair　away　from　his　eyes。　To　his　left　curled　Zillah；　deep　in　his　catlike　sleep。　On　his　right　slept　Christian；　laid　out　straight；　narrow；　immensely　long；　his　eyes　and　mouth　shut　tight。　Molochai　and　Twig　must　be　on　the　floor；　cuddled　in　some　er。　Nothing　couldn't　see　them；　but　he　thought　he　heard　their　breathing；　deep　and　moist。
　　He　yawned；　licked　his　lips。　What　was　that　taste　in　his　mouth？　Fuzzy　and　rancid　and　somehow　green　。　。　。
　　Nothing's　eyes　had　begun　to　slip　shut。　Now　they　flew　open　again。　He　pushed　the　covers　away；　scrambled　over　Zillah；　ran　to　the　window。　He　stood　for　a　moment　with　the　shade…pull　in　his　hand；　wondering　what　he　would　see　outside；　hoping　it　hadn't　all　been　a　drunken　dream。
　　The　shade　clattered　up。　No　one　else　in　the　room　stirred。　Nothing　pressed　his　face　to　the　window。　Below　him　lay　a　narrow　alley　strewn　with　broken　glass　that　sparkled　in　the　sunlight；　and　beyond　that　stretched　a　vista　of　bright　streets。　Royal？　Bourbon？　Dimly　he　remembered　names　from　last　night；　magic　talismanic　names；　names　of　streets　where　anything　might　happen。　He　saw　tiny　dark　shops　that　beckoned　to　him；　and　he　knew　how　they　would　smell…cool　and　dank　and　spicy；　full　of　weird　treasures。　He　saw　wrought…iron　balconies　hung　with　colored　flags　that　fluttered　and　winked　like　some　silken　sea。　He　saw　gleaming　whitewashed　retaining　walls　spotted　with　soft　brick…red　where　the　paint　had　peeled　away；　and　behind　them；　crumbling　buildings　that　must　surely　house　spiral　staircases；　palely　lit　ballrooms；　secret　chambers　whose　walls　were　stained　with　the　leavings　of　blood　sacrifice。
　　It　was　real；　it　was　there；　it　was　his。　New　Orleans。　He　had　made　it　all　the　way　from　the　false　home　of　his　childhood　to　the　true　city　of　his　birth；　to　the　wondrous　glittering　French　Quarter；　to　the　very　room　where　he　had　emerged　between　Jessy's　blood…slicked　thighs。
　　Christian　had　arrived　before　them　and　secured　their　lodging。　The　bar…the　legendary　bar　where　Zillah　had　met　Jessy；　had　made　love　to　her　among　the　dusty　cases　of　wine　and　liquor…was　closed；　its　windows　boarded　up；　but　Christian's　room　was　still　empty　and　he　had　no　trouble　renting　it　again。　The　landlady　showed　it　to　a　prospective　taker　or　two；　Christian　said　with　a　glimmer　of　amusement；　but　they　told　her　it　smelled　funny。
　　The　room　of　his　birth。　The　thought　made　Nothing　turn　away　from　the　window　and　stare　into　the　dimness　of　the　room。　His　eyes　flicked　from　shadow　to　shadow。　He　wondered　if　the　wraith　of　his　mother　would　drift　out　of　a　corner；　whispering　to　him：　You　killed　me；　my　baby。　In　this　room　you　killed　me。　On　this　very　floor。
　　But　whatever　wraiths　lived　here　were　silent。　Nothing　crouched　to　examine　the　threadbare　carpet；　but　if　the　stains　of　his　gory　birth　remained；　he　could　not　see　them　in　this　half…light。
　　He　decided　not　to　wake　the　others。　He　wanted　to　explore　the　strange　but　somehow　familiar　maze　of　streets　by　himself。　A　small　thrill　of　anarchy　went　through　him　as　he　tore　a　page　out　of　his　notebook　and　wrote　a　message　to　Zillah：　Back　by　tonight　was　all　it　said。　He　signed　it；　the　point　of　his　't'　a　dagger；　the　tail　of　his　'g'　an　extravagant　loop。　This　was　the　name　Christian　had　given　him；　the　name　that　undeniably　belonged　to　him　now。　He　would　write　it　every　chance　he　got。　He　signed　the　note　again；　then　a　third　time；　making　the　letters　sprawl　wildly　across　the　page：　Nothing；　Nothing；　Nothing。　In　this　room　Christian　had　held　him　all　blood…slimed；　had　given　him　his　name。　Now　he　would　go　out　and　discover　the　streets　that　were　his　home。
　　When　his　sneakers　hit　the　cement；　it　was　as　if　the　whole　of　the　French　Quarter　jarred　through　his　bones。　Last　night　in　the　hazy　hours　after　their　arrival；　he　had　been　dazzled　by　the　carnival　of　Bourbon　Street；　drunk　on　Chartreuse。　Now；　sober　and　clear…headed　in　watery　afternoon　sunlight；　he　wanted　to　bound　through　these　old　streets　shouting　I'm　here；　I'm　here！　He　wanted　to　embrace　each　ornate　lamppost　and　street　sign；　to　fly　from　every　balcony。　The　French　Quarter　was　his；　every　ancient　brick；　every　heady　drop　of　it。
　　He　pulled　a　pair　of　cheap　sunglasses　from　his　coat　pocket　and　put　them　on。　He'd　taken　to　swiping　them　from　convenience　stores　and　gas　stations　in　lieu　of　Lucky　Strikes；　which　he'd　almost　stopped　smoking。　The　cigarettes　just　didn't　taste　good　anymore。　His　newest　pair　of　shades　had　small　round　frames　with　rainbow…mirrored　lenses；　they　made　him　feel　like　John　Lennon　in　his　trippier　days。　It　was　goo