Craving (10 page)

I denied it with a fierce shake of my head though his words had the ring of profound truth. As smeared and adamant as I was, I needed him to look past it and see the real me. I needed someone,
anyone
to hear my words as more than noise, and he just happened to be the man who enjoyed listening.

“You said that every word meant something if a person could listen. Well, I want to listen. I realize now that I never knew her and I never listened. I don’t want a
specific
context, an outcome I understand. I’m ready to accept
anything
that will help me know.”

“Know what?”

I heaved a sigh and it slipped out of me, as selfish as it had sounded in my head, but the greatest piece of honesty I had ever conceived. “The part of
me
that’s gone now.”

That confession seemed to impress him. “A very astute observation. You are a sister no more. Your duty to her is finished.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said quietly. “I owe her.”

“How could you?” He was the very picture of compassion. “You were exactly what you needed to be. She always spoke very highly of you.”

“Without reason.” I denied, hiding my face in my hands. “I could have done more.”

To my surprise, he reached out and touched the top of my head ever so gently. “Love is not a tallying of favors, it is a limitless supply given freely.”

“So I’ll give.”

“You love her because she is dead, not because she was alive?” he whispered.

“I love her, because she loved me.”

“Therefore, whatever she was, do you really suppose she would want to cause you harm or distress?”

“She killed herself didn’t she?”

He seemed to ponder me. His hand slipped from my head as I looked up. After a few moments, he bowed his head. “You believe she was pointing you toward the night club?”

“Yes!” I replied a little louder than necessary.

His arms folded in and his right hand curled up around his beautiful bottom lip. Sapphire eyes watched me attentively, as if committing me to memory, and the expression in them changed from interest to concern.

“This is dangerous, Lilith,” he replied softly. “You walk in a cavern filled with loose rock. Cry out any louder and you’ll be buried alive.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“It is true a man with many weapons may survive many situations, but what if a fight is unnecessary? Is he prepared for peace? You are out of your element here.”

It was ominous, and as understanding and pleasantly analytical as he’d been, I was aggravated. I stood up and held the red volume out at him almost accusingly. “Do you know what these words mean?”

He shrugged sadly.

“Then you aren’t going to help me?”

He looked up at me, and in a single blink, had forgotten me. “I don’t believe there is any help I am able to provide,” he murmured and looked away.

“Fine.” I tossed a five dollar bill onto the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Chapter 8

After a hasty mall visit to buy clubbing clothes that covered as much of my body as I could manage, I downsized my life to fit into a jeweled clutch, and stuffed some cash and my ID in my bra. As I parked my car down the street from Club Trishna, I had to wade through the droves of people wandering like zombies toward the smell of flesh. A long line had formed under the neon sign, lights glowed from the high, industrial windows, and a deep thumping hammered the ground beneath my slingbacks.

I looked around, wondering if I fit in entirely, and spotted a girl with similar attire, laughing with her friends as she waited in line. I breathed a sigh of relief. My personal shopper had done well. At the door, the bouncer looked at my ID, which he enjoyed watching me fish out, took my money, and stamped my wrist with a glowing ankh as if the rubber block was a prod.

Amused and a little giddy, I stepped inside.

What had been darkness during the bright light of day revealed itself in the intense red, purple, and blue lighting. If I had been blind, I was sure I’d never have been able to find my way, for the music was so loud, echo-location would have been impossible. The foyer funneled visitors to the bar like unwilling cattle. In the spirit of the night, I filled up a space there until a bartender in black approached me.

Most of our conversation took place in shouts, lip reading, and repetitions of the word “what.” It was my mistake to come to a bar without a drink already chosen. I could tell the other cows were desperate to slake their thirsts and that I was creating a roadblock. Finally, I told him to give me whatever was most popular, and again wished there was a handy blunt object I could use to knock some sense into myself.

After a few minutes of mixing little elements behind the bar, he lifted up a fluted glass filled with a liquid of deepest crimson.

“What is it?” I shouted.

His lips moved.

“What?”

“Blood!” he shouted back. “Twelve dollars.”

I know my painted eyes were suddenly huge, but he ignored it. I handed him fifteen, stepped away from the bar, and was immediately absorbed by human bodies.

I waded through, pushing out toward the dance floor that
had
to exist. It opened before me suddenly like Niagara Falls. Unexpectedly, I was in a barrel, being shoved over the edge, drink in hand. Trying to get away from the rapids of unsympathetic dancers, I found a staircase up to what seemed to be a balcony. By the time I made it to the banister, I was so exhausted I could have curled up into a ball right there, if not for the bass thumping like a massive heartbeat.

For some reason, the stairs were much darker and quieter. I took a few moments to gather myself, leaning against the wall.

“Why here, Ev, of all places? It’s so tacky.”

Without realizing it, I tipped the glass up to my lips and sipped the concoction. It was thick, just like blood, but it tasted like cherries and strawberries, and bit back with the kick of some kind of fizz.

First, it was the nectar of immortality, then a name that meant freedom from reincarnation, a club called “Craving” that stamped people with the cliché of the Egyptian undead, and now I was drinking “blood.”

Right
.

I rolled my eyes.

Someone pushed past me in the dark. I turned to apologize and move out of the way, but a strong hand took hold of my elbow.

“Wha . . .”

“Ms. Pierce?”

I couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark, but it wasn’t who I wanted it to be in this land of strangeness and shallow verisimilitude. “Yes?”

“If you’ll come with me.”

“What? What are you talking about?” I demanded as he escorted me up the stairs. “I’m not doing anything wrong!”

At the top of the stairs, the atmosphere changed. Cubicles like diner booths draped in lush fabrics and set with candles ran along the sides of a smaller dance floor, and softer, more flowing music played. A second bar lit in blue and made to look like ice, lay directly ahead. It was as if a Bedouin camp got set up on Greenland. My guide pulled me past it all to a black door, opened it, and despite my objections, propelled me through it, then shut it behind me.

I was enclosed in pitch darkness for a few moments and was momentarily terrified. My eyes began to adjust, however, and I realized that the room wasn’t really that dark, I was just in some type of hallway draped with black velvet. Around the bend, behind the icy bar’s back wall, candles flickered. It was a large room with a few scattered ottomans and chaise lounges. A grand piano sat in the center, lit from above like a stage.

I was tempted to laugh at the whole business. I was trapped inside one of those dime-a-dozen novels about teenage girls who fought or fell for vampires.

“They don’t stand a chance.”

She couldn’t have been serious, sending me to a place like this! Then I looked at the glass in my hand and rolled my eyes again.

“You came, after all.”

I looked up. Seated at the piano was the woman in blue, but now she was wearing black, high-waisted slacks, a green blouse, and lace gloves. Her hair was parted on the side and pinned behind her ear by a black, feathered clip. Her smile was just as riveting, and just as haughty.

“I wondered if you would.”

I walked toward her hesitantly, trying to figure out if I was as comfortable in this skin as she was in hers.

“You look lovely.”

Frowning, I put my hand on the body of the piano and set my glass down. “I’ve looked through Eva’s appointment journal. She came here almost every other day, though she didn’t call it by name.”

The woman turned and put her fingers to the keys. Her playing was beautiful with a kind of hard precision that mimicked emotion.

The notes trailed away. “Yes,” she murmured, “I was never very good.”

I said nothing, because something in how she said it told me that she wasn’t the type of person to require anything from me, least of all compliments.

“Do you have a Sanskrit name too? Because it’s really starting to feel like a joke,” I blurted out.

I was worried she would turn her sharp glare onto me, but she tilted back her head and laughed merrily. It rang out like the tinkling of bells, with a great deal more feeling than her music.

“No, my dear. My name is Ursula.” She held out her hand.

I hesitated to shake it, but when I did, found it to be cold and stiff.

“Lilith.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So I gathered.” She got up from the piano and walked to one of the divans. A few seconds saw her reclining elegantly. I picked up my beverage and sat across from her on the soft white fabric of an ottoman. “Did Detective Unger come by?”

“Yes, and asked me the same questions you are about to ask,” she said with a sweetness that was almost false.

A bit uneasy, I decided not to beat around the bush. “What can you tell me about her?”

“Be more specific, there’s a great deal, as I said.” Ursula laughed, fingering the necklace of black crystals around her throat, but the laugh had changed. It was a bit more perfunctory, a sedative in place of what I really sought.

“Did she . . . come to see you?”

She nodded as if she couldn’t care less. “We had good times, ah, but the poor girl, she was so far gone.”

Her light tone bothered me. “Gone?”

“Mmm. By the time she came here, it was already too late. There was nothing I could say, her mind was already made up, but oh . . . you have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”

I looked at her smiling, masklike face, and wasn’t sure what I could say.

“If you stay, you’ll know,” she hinted mischievously and reached out to touch my hand.

“Stay?” I prodded, looking at her long, sharp nails. “For what?”

Her smile transformed to a garish grin. I pulled away and got to my feet. I don’t know why. Something in me revolted. I backed away, pulling her upward as if with an invisible cord.

“You really should stay, my dear. I mean, you
do
want the answers, don’t you?”

I continued to take tiny steps toward the door, but suddenly collided with a form in the dark. He caught me and held my upper arms firmly. I struggled to pull away, until she got close enough to touch me and ran her finger down my neck, past my pulse point.

“Don’t be afraid, dear. No one wants to hurt you.” She laughed. “Just have a seat and watch.”

“Why did my sister come here?” I growled.

But her infuriating smile stayed in place. “Because she could be herself.”

“What?” I demanded.

The door behind us opened, and in a moment, Ursula forgot me. With a wave, she had me deposited onto one of the settees in the corner of the room. I was tempted to upend my sticky, red drink onto her white furniture, but ignored the impulse, barely.

People began to find their way in and as near as I could tell, they were of varying types and social groups. A few among them had obviously used fake ID’s. They sat twittering with their friends, already red-faced and overly gesticular. A few of the swankier, womanizing types chatted here and there, and if not for my bodyguard, I imagine several of them would have come toward me. Everyone gathered as if Ursula, seated again at her piano, would suddenly break into song.

Without anything better to do, I sipped my drink. I couldn’t taste the alcohol, but I could sure feel it. It was a crafty potion, and I was positive that over half the room had already had at least one.

At last, the door shut and the music from outside was cut off. The chatter died slowly, and at Ursula’s charming wave, transformed into silence.

“Welcome,” she greeted.

Everyone said their hellos and she accepted them with poise. A few well-placed waves here and there told me that she had seen some of these faces before. Her hands found the ivories and after a few meandering strokes, she coaxed out a slow jazz melody.

“Who among us tonight has been here before?” she sang out, her head tilted to expose her long white neck.

As I looked around, I saw that most of them had been there before. They stood around, their hands in the air, giggling and winking at each other flirtatiously.

Ursula freed up a hand to wave at everyone dramatically. “And how many have no idea what’s about to happen?”

A few raised their hands nervously.

Ursula giggled and it sent a spasm through the gathering.

“Well, won’t you be surprised? Come here my little virgins,” she beckoned. Slowly, because of their friends’ cajoling or the assurances that nothing bad would happen, they began to line up in the center of the room. Ursula stood up and as if inspecting them, walked along the line, touching them, one by one.

I looked around. The expression on her face was changing, but no one seemed to catch it. It was as if she were the pied piper and they her willing followers. They were grinning more and more madly, while she, at the heart of it, was distant and hungry looking. Suddenly disturbed, I put the glass on the floor and wrapped my arms around myself in apprehension.

She stopped in front of a girl standing at the end of the line. The poor thing was dreadfully nervous, and it was obvious she was in the same boat as me, but had a painful lack of experience with alcohol. She was tilting where she stood, fighting for control of her eyes, and would have tripped over her own dizziness if not for the man standing next to her in line.