pzb.lostsouls-第60部分

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　　〃We　can　do　her　later。　I　don't　care。　But　let's　leave　after　that。　My　darling？　Please？〃
　　〃Of　course；　then；　anything　you　want。　But　why　so　suddenly？〃
　　The　redhead　glanced　at　the　bloody　hump　on　the　bed。　Then　he　tilted　his　head　back　and　smiled　into　his　brother's　silver　eyes。　His　grin　was　warm；　lazy；　insouciant；　〃Don't　you　see　what　happened　to　her　？〃　he　asked。　〃Where's　the　elegance　in　that？　This　is　a　trashy　town。
　　〃Too　many　damned　bloodsuckers　here。〃
　　Out　on　the　landing　Arkady's　fingers　still　scraped　uselessly　at　the　floorboards。　Flakes　of　parchment　skin　sifted　from　him　with　every　feeble　twitch。　〃Goodbye；　Arkady　dear；〃　said　the　redhead　unconcernedly。
　　The　twins　picked　up　Ashley's　skull　at　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　and　took　it　with　them　as　they　left。
　　
　　　Chapter　31
　　　
　　〃I　think　this　is　the　place；〃　said　Steve。
　　They'd　been　out　since　dusk　hitting　all　the　Bourbon　Street　bars　they　had　missed　before。　Now　it　was　almost　midnight；　and　they　were　staggering　along　Decatur　searching　for　the　club　Arkady　had　told　them　about。
　　Steve　backed　up；　stumbled　into　the　gutter；　and　stared　blearily　up　at　a　big　black　sign　above　a　set　of　ironwork　doors。　The　sign　was　written　in　enormous　Gothic　letters　that　dripped　lurid　red　blood；　the　corners　decorated　with　a　delicate　spiderweb　motif：　PASKO'S。　Steve　narrowed　his　eyes；　trying　to　make　the　swimming　letters　e　together。　〃Is　this　the　place？〃
　　〃I　think　so；〃　said　Ghost；　swaying　as　a　breeze　from　the　river　brushed　his　face。　The　breeze　was　warmer　than　the　night　air；　and　it　smelled　of　oysters　and　pearls；　of　bones；　of　dark　mud。　It　made　him　nervous　and　thirsty。　〃Um…maybe　we　ought　to　walk　down　to　that　big　cafe　and　get　some　coffee　first。〃
　　〃Yeah；　us　and　a　million　tourists。　Let's　go　on　in。　We　can　get　some　more　beer。〃　Steve　shoved　the　doors　open　and　dragged　Ghost　in。
　　The　kid　working　the　door　was　dressed　entirely　in　black。　Somehow　Ghost　wasn't　surprised。　His　skin　was　so　pale　that　it　glowed　in　the　blue　light　of　the　club；　his　eyes　were　nearly　obscured　by　smudges　of　greasy　black　makeup。
　　〃Fi'　dollar　cover　tonight；〃　he　said。
　　Ghost　rummaged　through　his　pockets。　Things　sifted　out…leaves；　rose　petals；　everything　but　money。　The　kid's　sneer　deepened。　He　looked　like　Billy　Idol　at　the　end　of　a　long；　rough　night。　There　was　a　tic　in　his　right　eye；　barely　noticeable　but　constant。　〃You　fags　gonna　pay　or　what？〃　He　spoke　less　with　malice　than　extreme　indifference。
　　Steve　leaned　against　the　wall　and　produced　a　crumpled　ten…dollar　bill。　The　kid　snatched　it。　With　courtesy　exaggerated　to　the　point　of　great　sarcasm；　he　waved　them　in。
　　As　soon　as　they　entered　the　club；　Ghost　was　struck　by　the　likeness　of　this　place　to　the　Sacred　Yew　back　home　in　Missing　Mile。　It　surprised　him。　The　Yew　was　only　a　little　hole…in…the…wall；　more　progressive　than　most　of　its　kind。　But　this　was　a　nightclub　in　the　big　city；　in　the　heart　of　the　French　Quarter。　Ghost　had　vaguely　expected　more　glitter；　more　jazz。　Revellers　in　spangled　cat's…eye　masks；　maybe；　shaking　confetti　from　their　hair。　But　here　were　only　the　same　sorts　of　kids　that　haunted　the　Sacred　Yew。　More　of　them；　sure；　but　with　the　same　dark…rimmed　eyes；　the　studded　ears；　the　pale　jewelled　throats。　The　sweet　smell　of　clove　cigarettes　was　familiar；　and　their　smoke　swirling　through　blue　light。
　　There　were　differences　too。　Pasko's　served　mixed　drinks；　Ghost　saw　mysterious　crimson　concoctions　in　fancy　plastic　goblets　full　of　skewered　fruit　and　paper　parasols。　And　they　had　a　decent　PA　here；　one　that　not　even　Steve　would　be　able　to　bitch　about。　Right　now　it　was　blasting　Bauhaus　at　shattering　volume。　Ghost　recognized　the　grave；　guttural　voice　of　the　lead　singer。
　　Ann　had　listened　to　them。　Ghost　couldn't　remember　the　singer's　name　or　the　name　of　the　album；　upon　which　all　the　songs　twined　together　to　tell　a　kind　of　horror　story。　Nothing　would　know。　Ghost　wondered　whether　Nothing　would　be　here　tonight；　all　the　children　looked　like　him。　Their　long　dark　raincoats　or　too…big　leather　jackets　enveloped　their　fragile　bones　like　shadow。　Most　of　them　looked　so　small；　so　frail；　ready　to　break　like　soap　bubbles　if　you　touched　them。　But　in　all　those　black…smudged　eyes　lurked　a　certain　hardness；　a　wall　of　glass　to　mask　their　terrible　vulnerability。　Show　me　what　you　can；　those　eyes　said。　Hurt　me　if　you　want　to。　I've　seen　it　all；　or　I　think　I　have；　and　where's　the　difference？
　　Steve　was　already　at　the　bar　ordering　them　a　couple　of　Dixie　beers。　In　the　past　few　days　he　had　developed　a　taste　for　the　brand；　sometimes　he　drank　it　as　a　chaser　for　his　whiskey。　Ghost　would　rather　have　gone　to　one　of　the　all…night　groceries　on　Bourbon　Street　and　bought　a　flask　of　scuppernong　wine。　Wild　Irish　Rose　or　Night　Train。　He　liked　the　syrupy　thickness　of　the　wine；　and　the　way　the　fermented；　rotten…sweet　flavor　of　the　grapes　melted　over　his　tongue。　It　reminded　him　of　the　elixirs　his　grandmother　had　mixed　for　him　long　ago：　the　spoonful　at　bedtime；　the　tiny　liqueur　glass　that　often　sat　by　his　plate　at　breakfast。　He　remembered　her　saying　Drink　that　right　down；　every　drop。　That　will　stop　your　cough。　That　one　will　put　rose　petals　in　your　cheeks。　And　the　one　he　had　drunk　most　eagerly；　the　one　he　now　knew　had　been　mostly　fruit　juice　and　sugar…syrup：　This　one　will　keep　you　from　growing　all　the　way　up。　It　will　preserve　the　child　in　you　forever。
　　Fruit　juice　and　sugar…syrup。
　　Well；　mostly。
　　Steve　was　ing　back　toward　him　with　a　dripping　bottle　in　each　hand。　Ghost　reached　out　to　grab　a　beer　and　their　fingers　touched　briefly；　and　Steve　was　grinning　his　old　easy　drunken　grin；　and　for　a　moment　it　was　as　if　they　were　back　at　the　Yew；　taking　a　break　between　sets；　catching　a　buzz　together。　For　a　moment　everything　was　all　right。
　　That　was　when　the　band　began　to　play。
　　The　Bauhaus　singer's　voice　plunged　from　the　heights　of　psychosexual　ecstasy　to　the　sepulchral　depths　of　despair。　Then　the　song　cut　off　as　abruptly　as　if　a　cancer　had　seized　its　throat。　There　came　a　ripple　of　wooden　drums　as　the　band　took　the　stage；　and　a　growling　bass　。　。　。　and　then　the　very　air　of　the　club　was　transfixed　by　an　unearthly；　blood…chilling；　double…throated　howl。
　　From　where　they　stood　near　the　back　of　the　club；　Steve　and　Ghost　could　not　see　the　stage。　They　glanced　at　each　other　when　they　heard　the　howl；　which　vibrated　through　the　layers　of　smoke；　through　the　ivory　bones　of　all　the　children；　through　the　spray…painted　walls　of　the　club。　As　the　first　line　of　the　opening　song　came　whispering　through　the　smoky　air；　the　crowd　rippled　and　parted。　Now　there　was　a　clear　path　all　the　way　to　the　stage；　and　Ghost　got　his　first　look　at　Ashley's　lovers。　Ashley's　twin　lovers。
　　He　felt　his　nerves　draw　him　rigid；　taut　as　wire。　His　beer　slipped　from　his　hand　and　fell　foaming　on　the　sticky　floor。　Dimly　he　was　aware　of　wetness　soaking　through　his　sneakers；　of　Steve　staring　at　him；　saying　〃What　the　fuck；〃　bending　to　rescue　the　bottle　of　Dixie　before　it　all　foamed　away。　He　wanted　to　reach　out　and　grab　Steve's　wrist　for　warning；　for　protection；　for　the　simple　feeling　of　warm　familiar　skin　under　his　fingers。
　　But　he　could　not　move。　He　could　only　stare　at　the　two　figures　onstage；　could　only　watch　their　lips　as　they　began　to　whisper　into　their　microphones：　〃Death　is　easy　。　。　。〃
　　They　hadn't　changed　much　since　the　night　on　the　hill　up　by　Roxboro。　Since　the　night　Ghost　had　dreamed　of　them。　The　only　difference　was　the　dark　glasses　both　of　them　wore；　even　here　in　this　dim　club；　in　this　air　thick　with　smoke　like　blue　cream。　If　anything；　they　were　more　beautiful　than　they　had　been　in　his　dream；　lusher　than　they　had　been　up　at　the　hill。
　　No　more　were　they　dry　and　brittle。　No　more　did　their　skin　look　as　if　it　might　flake　away　from　their　bones　at　the　lightest　touch。　Tonight　their　lips　shone　purple　with　rouge；　and　the　ripe　insides　of　their　mouths　glistened　pink。　Their　skin　was　the　smooth　white　of　almonds。　Their　colored　silks　writhed　around　them。　They　clutched　each　other　with　their　bird…boned　hands　and　pressed　their　hollow　cheeks　together。　Their　hair　twined　together；　long　strands　of　ruby…red　and　yellow…white　like　mingling　flames。　Their　faces　echoed　each　other　in　a　perfection　that　was　at　once　opulent　and　dissolute。
　　As　the　twins'　song　touched　Ghost；　he　thought　he　caught　their　scent　too；　their　heady　bouquet　of　strawberry　incense；　clove　cigarettes；　wine　and　blood　and　rain　and　the　sweat　of　passion。　All　the　things　they　had　loved　when　they　were　alive；　the　things　that　had　dragged　them　down　and　carved　the　rich　white　flesh　from　their　bones；　the　things　that　sustained　them　now。　Incense　and　spice；　wine　and　blood；　sex　and　rain　。　。　。　and　the　juice　of　other　lives；　sucked　away　to　saturate　their　brittle　tissues；　to　restore　them。
　　They　whispered　their　song　to　him。
　　
　　Death　is　dark；　death　is　sweet。
　　Death　is　eternal　beauty…
　　A　lover　with　a　thousand　tongues…
　　A　thousand　insect　caresses…
　　Death　is　easy。
　　Death　is　easy　。　。　。
　　DEATH　IS　EASY　。　。　。　DEATH　IS　EASY　。　。　。
　　DEATH　。。。　IS　。。。　EASSSSSSY。
　　
　　The　patrons　of　the　club　must　have　seen　these　twins　perform　before；　must　have　heard　this　susurrant　song　many　times。　They　took　up　the　chant。　〃Death　is　easy；〃　they　wailed。
　　A　girl　near　Ghost　raised　her　arms；　swaying。　She　wore　a　little　black　hat　with　a　tattered　veil　that　hung　down　over　her　face。　A　mourning　hat。　Beside　her；　a　boy　draped　in　fishnet　and　leather…a　boy　about　Nothing's　age…wrapped　his　thin　arms　around　himself。　Ghost　saw　tears　glistening　on　the　boy's　fine…boned　face。
　　〃Death　is　easy；〃　the　children　whispered；　and　Ghost　closed　his　eyes；　but　he　could　not　keep　their　minds　from　brushing　his。　He　knew　that　they　believed　those　words。　Why　else　did　they　shroud　themselves　in　funeral　garb；　why　else　were　their　thin　wrists　scarred　with　razor…tracery　delicate　as　spiderwebs？　Why　else　did　they　make　trysts　in　graveyards；　starve　themselves　and　then　kill　their　hunger　with　cigarettes；　suck　down　their　drinks　and　swallow　their　exotic　drugs　with　all　the　enthusiasm　of　children　turned　loose　in　a　candy　store？
　　Why　else　did　they　love　the　vampires？
　　If　Arkady　had　spoken　truly；　the　twins　were　vampires　of　a　different　sort。　They　did　not　live　on　blood；　like　Zillah　and　his　pair　of　lollipop　thugs；　like　Christian　and　Nothing