Night Prayers (24 page)

Taking a deep breath, Mica licked the running sweat off his lips and let the weight of the cross drag him to his knees.

"I am Yours, Lord…" He took another breath and raised his head, preparing himself for what might happen next. "Mrs. B? Are you still out there?"

When nothing answered him, Mica got to his feet with all the grace of a newborn foal and flat-handed the alarm into silence. Blessed silence thumped almost painfully against his ear-drums. He didn't even notice the crucifix slipping from his fingers until it thumped against the carpet.

"Thank you, Lord," he whispered. "Praise and Glory to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."

"And let's not forget the Avon Lady, Preacher-boy. Glory don't mean diddly if you're uglier'n sin."

"Gy-Gypsy?"

"None other." This time the knock at the door was accompanied by the sound of bottles clinking together. "You got me worried when you split tonight, so I thought I'd come over and see how you were feeling." The bottles rattled again. "Even brought some medicine. The
malted
kind."

Mica looked down at the crucifix laying at his feet and shook his head… remembering the way Luci and Allison had fed off him.

"Oh shit, Gyp."

"Nope, just Coors… but I could try and score some shit if you think you're up to it." The low chuckle that followed was so familiar it tore Mica's soul in two.

Gypsy.

"That's the name, Preacher-boy," he answered as if Mica had said the name out loud, "don't wear it out. C'mon, man, the night's taking the chill off the medication. Open the door and we'll toss back a few too many."

"Get out of here… Gypsy. For the love of
God
, leave me alone!"

"No can do, Preacher-boy." Mica heard the bottles rattle as they were set down on the wooden stoop outside the door. "We really got to talk… just like old times, man. Come on. Open up."

Open up… just what Mrs. B had tried to get him to do. Ice formed along the sweat stains in his tee-shirt.

"What'd you do to Mrs. B?"

"You mean the old bag in the house? Luci had a real nice talk with her a while back… why, she been bothering you?" He chuckled again
— and the hinges shook like castanets. "You want me to go punch her out?
Oops, that's right… I can't harm the hand that bites me. Sorry, pard."

"
Bastard
!" Scooping up the crucifix, Mica slammed it into the door right where he pictured Gypsy's head to be. "You've let them seduce you! You made the
wrong
choice, Gypsy, and you're gonna burn in Hell's everlasting fire!"

"Promises, promises."

"Begone, foul creature," Mica croaked around the spiked lump that had suddenly formed at the back of his throat, "this is consecrated ground… you have no power here. Praise His Name."

"You sound tired, man," the creature with Gypsy's voice said, "you sure you don't want to talk?
I
can't do anything to you. Scout's honor, Preacher-boy."

It was all so ludicrous — Mrs. B spouting off like an octogenarian sailor… his best friend damned for all eternity by choice and talking like there was still hope.
Lord, pardon my French, but You gotta be shittin' me
.

Mica turned his back to the door and rode it down.

"Go away.
Please
."

"You got it, pard… this time. But just remember,
we
got time on our side. Be seein' ya."

Mica pressed his forehead against his raised knees — and listened to the sound of Gypsy's motorcycle boots as he walked away.

Mica wiped his nose off on the faded jeans and took a deep breath.

"God damn you, Gypsy," he whispered.

"Not if you don't believe, Preacher-boy," Gypsy shouted back, his voice getting more and more indistinct
— echoing slightly when he hit the drive. "And I only believe in things I can touch or drink…
or
feed
, man. Only that and
nothing
more."

Mica stayed hunched over his knees for another ten minutes, trying to control both his heart-rate and unquestioning faith. When neither seemed to be cooperating, he threw the crucifix into a pile of dirty socks next to the sink and jerked his face toward the ceiling.

To what lay
beyond
the ceiling.

"No
offense
, Lord… but what the fuck do You want me to do?"

The need to destroy
something
was too great — and he gave into it. Grunting wordlessly, Mica kicked out at the rickety plant stand Mrs. B had given to him as a "Trailer-Warming" gift… and in its destruction was given his answer.

The four legs — one inch wide, three feet long — lay perfect and unbroken amid the shattered base and pottery shards. As sure a Sign as if the Lord had suddenly appeared as a burning bush in the middle of the room.

Getting to his knees, Mica carefully picked up the tapered lengths of wood. They felt warm and alive in his hand. All he had to do was cut them in half and whittle them into stakes… just like in the movies. Then he'd go after each and every one of them:

Gypsy.

Gina.

Miriam.

Lucy.

Mrs. B.

Allison.

Oh God.

"Lord," he prayed, clasping the wood to his chest, "I am Mica… make me as hard as you made Peter when You cast him as the Rock on which to build Your Church. Harden my heart against these creatures, make my blood as ice, strengthen my arm so that I might fashion these to aim straight and true.

"And destroy the memories in me, Lord, that I may destroy Thy enemies."

amen

Nodding, Mica walked on his knees to the sink and fumbled through the cold scummy "soaking" water for the only decent (i.e sharp) knife he had. The small paring knife looked remarkably unimpressive when he finally fished it out
— and the soggy, brown carrot curl probably didn't help the effect — but he reminded himself that Jesus had fed the multitude with nothing more than an almost empty basket and a whole lot of Faith.

"Ready, when You are, Lord," Mica said as he carried it and the legs to the bed.

ready

"Then let's go."

Mica took one leg and cracked it against the bed's metal frame. It broke in
two effortlessly —
another Sign
. Setting them aside, Mica picked up another leg and glanced quickly over at the VCR.

It was already 3:25 in the morning… that gave him less than three hours to prepare for his own Holy Crusade.

Mica ran a finger over the pale wood and thought about the woman who gave it to him. Mrs. B would be the first… he owed her that much for all the kindness she had shown him.

Besides, she was the closest — less than thirty feet from where he was now sitting
— and if things
didn't
work out like he expected

(signs or no signs)

he could always book it up Highland to the
Hollywood Freeway
and head north… or south… or…

"You made me Mica, Lord," he said as he broke another leg in half, "but You didn't make no fool."

Amen.

"You were fantastic," Allison's dinner…
date
purred. "Think I could see you again sometime?"

Allison glanced over his still bare shoulders and saw Luci shake
her
head as she drove her own date toward the door.

Three time's the charm, remember, Alley-cat? And that IS just like the movies. And there's no need unless you want to be a Maker. Think of Breathers like walking fast food joints… you don't want to keeping going back to the same one, do you?

Allison heard Luci's sigh brush past her inner ear.

So many veins — so MUCH time.

Nodding, Allison batted her lashes and tossed the man —
what did he say
his name was? —
his shirt.

"Never can tell," she purred, smoothing down the wrinkled hem of her dress. Allison had discovered, purely by accident, that if she just laid there and let him hump her like the Energizer Bunny, she could feed without having to apply suction.

It wasn't much different from other dates she'd had… all things considered.

When he yawned and glanced at his watch, Allison got another taste of retro-view.
Wow, look at the time. I gotta
— FILL IN THE BLANK
—
I'll call you
.

"Wow, look at the time. I got a seven o'clock class." He looked up, apologetically. "I'll call you."

I should have torn his throat out while I had the chance.

"I'd like that," Allison said and walked him to the door. It was all she could do to keep her stiletto heel from implanting itself into his ass. "Do. Call me."
Unless you accidentally get run over by a bus or something
.

She wouldn't have even noticed the quick kiss he planted on her if it hadn't been for the fact that he lifted his hand to brush back her hair. The warm, inviting scent was still seeping from the inflamed wounds on the inside of his wrist.

Allison nuzzled his hand — running the tip of her tongue over the puncture marks. Groaning, he sank his fingers into her hair and pulled her close.

"Do me again," he moaned, "please."

Allison licked off the gummy scabs and shot a glance toward Luci. She was on the other side of the room, sprawled across the daybed with Gina. Both of them were giggling like school-girls.

"Please."

Allison looked up at the hunger in the man's eyes and felt it echoed in her belly.
Why the hell not
?

Lips curling away from her fangs, Allison held him steady and —

— found herself sucking air.

"Hey!"

"Hey,
yourself
, Alley-cat."

Luci had the college jock by the shirt collar, dangling him two inches off the ground. He looked as stupid as Allison felt.

"Tol' you she wouldn't do," Gina said, glaring at her from across the room. "I still say we'd be better off dumpin' her lily-white ass in the nearest salt pit."

"Can it, Gina," Luci growled, then shook the man like he was nothing more than a rag-doll. "Look, Alley-cat, you keep pulling stunts like this and I'll leave you high and dry. These things
—" She shook him until his teeth rattled. "— are strictly sustenance feeders.
One
bite. One time. Understand
now
?"

Allison nodded and looked down, scuffing the toe of her shoe across the linoleum.

"Yes 'um."

"Good." Satisfied, Luci set the CSULB-BMOC back on his feet and patted him gently on the cheek. "I'm
so
glad you had a good time. Now, you be sure to tell all your furry little friends about us."

Then she slapped him hard enough to spin him around and flat-handed him out the door. Allison watched him go, and suddenly realized why Seth hadn't wanted to associate with his own kind. Become part of a group, and you have to play by their rules.

It was almost as bad as being alive.

Almost.

Allison folded her arms over her chest and walked to the mirrorless dressing tables. A couple more nights of this and she'd think about leaving and striking out on her own. Hell, there were other cities… other
states
. Hollywood, California wasn't paradise.