Crave (47 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Crave
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Chapter 31
“F
ive days, Miss Lily. He been layin' there for five days, not so much as moved a muscle. We got to do something.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, short again now since I had cut off all of the extensions. “I don't know, Angelo, I don't like the thought of it.”
“It has to be done. We got to feed him; a little fresh blood'll push that drug right out of him. Unless you want to show your mama a corpse when she comes?”
“I don't think she's coming, Angelo.”
“Then even more reason to feed him. We can't keep him here forever.”
We were sitting in the kitchen again, as we had night after night, day after day. The bottle of brandy I'd bought the second day after my return was almost gone. Resting my elbows on the table, I put my hands over my face. “Let me think, 'Lo, let me think.”
“Think all you want, Lily, you know I right.”
But I couldn't think. We'd been discussing this issue since that very first night and had gotten nowhere. Angelo was determined to “feed the creature” and I was just as determined not to upset the status quo.
I yawned and moved my hands up to my temples, holding my head, eyes down and staring at the tabletop. Then I looked up at Angelo. “It doesn't have to be human blood, does it?”
“I'm no expert, child. I suppose he could make do with cow or dog or even chicken blood. Human be best, of course, but harder to come by. Although”—he stopped and thought for a moment—“there are ways. But no,” he said quickly to forestall my objections, “it don't need to be human.”
Just the thought of him scurrying about in an alley somewhere, procuring a dog or cat to give blood for our guest, gave me the creeps. Strange, I had no problem picturing a vampire feeding, could even visualize the experience clearly. But this was somehow different. One was a natural instinct; the other seemed furtive and dirty. Then again—I shot Angelo a glance out of the side of my eye—it wouldn't be the first blood to stain his hands. And probably wouldn't be the last. If putting fresh blood into Mitch's system brought him out of his stupor, as 'Lo argued it would, it was a good thing. And if it didn't, well, we wouldn't lose much for the effort.
He must've felt my determination waver. “Why don't you go out for a bit to clear your head, Lily, and let 'Lo take care of it for you?”
I gave him a doubtful look. “I don't know.”
He laughed. “You been saying that for five days now, girl. Let me take care of it for you.”
I sighed, drained my glass and stood up. “I could use a break away from here, I guess. And you could be right.” I stretched, thinking a nice long walk would be wonderful. “So go ahead and feed him if you can. But make it quick and painless, okay? No torture of dumb animals.”
Angelo looked hurt. “I never took any life without the proper respect, Miss Lily. I know what to do. Been prayin' on it since that first night. Don't you worry about it; ol' Bowlegged 'Lo will do the thing right.”
 
For a while I just walked, enjoying the early evening. New Orleans had cooled down a bit since I'd left; it didn't have the same crispness of autumn in New York, but the air here in October was light and sweet, unlike the heavy mugginess of summer. The smell of death still lingered, though, try as I might to ignore it. Pervasive, it hovered on the streets, haunting the corners and the alleys, pushing me away from any possible solace I might find at The Blackened Orchid, drawing me finally to the cemetery where Hyde and I used to go with his friends. “What's it all about?” I whispered as I sat down on the steps of the mausoleum. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Almost, I was back in that time with the smell of Hyde's jacket, his cigarettes, the cheap wine he drank; I could almost feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders. I hadn't loved him, but he was real and warm and alive. He had kept me rooted in place. He had made me feel human, loved.
As had Moon. She'd been an anchor. Without her, I'd just drifted and allowed myself to be tossed around by the wind and the waves. I'd merely reacted, instead of taking action, falling upon bits of good luck, only to twist them to fit my anger.
And where was my anger now? I tried to find it, tried to dredge it up from the bottom of my empty soul. Sadness and sorrow I found in plenty, but the rage that had kept me striving for so long was gone. I gave a wan smile, remembering one of Moon's favorite sayings. “Be careful what you wish for, child, it usually comes true.” She'd said it to me more times than even I could remember. I'd never listened.
But what I'd wished for had come true. The instrument used to bring my mother to her knees in sadness and misery was lying inert in a glass tank in Moon's bedroom. I had won; I had made her feel the anguish of what I felt. And it didn't do me one damned bit of good. I was still here, still Lily, still poised between human and vampire. And more alone than I'd ever been before.
“Jesus, Lily,” I said with a laugh, hearing the whisper of my voice in the old tombstones, “you've really fucked up this time. And there's no one to drag you out of it but you.”
I could run. I had money, I had identification. I could hitch a ride out of this death-ridden city and never look back. Angelo could deal with Mitch. Or if Mitch ever woke, he could deal with Angelo.
What did it matter to me? Things would eventually sort themselves out with or without my involvement.
In the back of my mind, though, I heard Moon's voice again, just as clearly as if she were sitting with me. And I knew that I couldn't run. “You don't have to say it, Moon.” I shook my head and got up from the steps. “I'll clean up my own mess.”
The house was totally dark as I approached. I hoped Angelo was still out trying to get blood for Mitch; it would make my task a little bit easier.
All I need to do,
I thought as I unlocked the front door,
is to load him into the chair and get him somewhere else.
I would contact Victor afterward and make arrangements to return Mitch to New York, where his own kind could take care of him. It seemed like a reasonable plan, a safe plan.
The candles were lit on Moon's altar and Angelo sat cross-legged in front of it, chanting. The objects on the table, though, had been rearranged, jostled out of place by something new. Assuming it was probably the remains of the animal he had killed to get blood for Mitch, I moved closer to get a better look.
Not an animal, no,
I thought as I approached. It was a sculpture, a representation of a human hand. I wondered what purpose it served. Did it give power of command? Strength? Invisibility?
I reached down to touch it. It was soft and flaccid, made of rubber or latex to simulate the feel of human flesh. I looked closer, and pulled back in shock when I saw the darkened and thickening pool the object rested in. It smelled of death; it was death. It was real.
“Jesus Christ, Angelo.” I whirled around. “What the hell did you do?”
He kept chanting. I leaned down and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes focused on me and he smiled. “He was playin' possum the whole time, Lily. Not drugged, not sleepin'. Layin' there with them electric glowin' blue eyes, bidin' his time. He a smart one, oh, yeah. He was just waitin' for someone to open the door.”
“So you cut off his hand?” I screamed at him. “What possible use could that have for anyone?”
“Ain't his hand. It Greg's hand.”
“Greg's hand. I see. Now, just who the hell is Greg and where is the rest of him?”
Angelo laughed. “That's pretty funny, Lily. ‘Where is the rest of him?' you ask.” He leaned his head toward Moon's door. “In there.”
“And Mitch?”
“He in there too. Probably had a good meal out of the young Greg.”
I started to go to the door, then stopped. “Maybe you'd better tell me what happened before I go in.”
“I go out to find a dog or somethin'. Like you told me to. I weren't lookin' for human blood. But I stumble across this young man, Greg. He been drinkin', oh, a good long time. And he say to me, ‘You look like you live here, do you?'
“I figure he wants directions or somethin', so I nod. ‘Long enough to help you out, young man. What you want?' So he introduces himself and tells me he's here in New Orleans for the first time. Always wanted to see the place, he say, so he takes off and comes down. But he's tired of the tourist places, he say, and he wants to see something real. ‘Real?' I say. ‘And what is real?'
“ ‘Voodoo or vampires,' he say. ‘Either one will do.'
“ ‘Well, Greg,' I say, ‘it just so happen that Bowlegged 'Lo can show you both—you come to the right man.' ”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Or the wrong one. So then what happened?”
“I get the Greg man back here to the house. He pretty drunk still, but he slip me a hundred and say, ‘Show me what you have, little man. And if it's good, I might pay more.'
“I laugh at him. ‘It be good, don't you worry about that. Which do you want first?'
“He thinks. ‘Voodoo,' he say.
“And so I do a little mumbo-jumbo for the man. Not the real stuff, he don't get that for what he payin'. But I light the candles and burn some incense, drop a few herbs on the fire. He get all nice and woozy and I make the fumes dance for him. Easy trick to show the tourists. Real impressive.”
He stopped for a second and looked at me. “I teach you that one, Miss Lily. You got the power to move the smoke around, I sure.”
I shook my head. “Some other time, Angelo. Get on with it.”
“So after the smoke dance, he shake his head. ‘That's all you got for me? Where're the vampires? Can you conjure them out of the smoke?'
“ ‘Don't need to conjure them, young Greg. I got one in the next room.'
“ ‘Cool,' he say.”
Angelo looked over at me. “Now, I don't know what he think I goin' to show him—maybe a human dressed up like a vampire. But I take him into the room and he stand there for a while. Mitch, he just layin' on the bed, nothin' movin' but his eyes.
“ ‘So this is it? This is your vampire? Some old guy with long gray hair sound asleep inside a glass tank? I want my money back.'
“ ‘Not sleepin',' I say. ‘He just waitin' for you to go in.'
“Greg put his hand on the door handle, and I think I see that vampire's eyes glimmer. I think I see his hand twitch. But I open the door and Greg walk in . . .”
“And then?” I prompted him impatiently.
Angelo started to chuckle. “Then all hell come loose, Miss Lily. I never seen nothin' like the jump that vampire make. Split second or less and he there at the door. I can almost smell his breath. He don't want Greg, no, he don't want the man I bring him. He want me.” Angelo rolled his eyes. “No way is ol' Bowlegged 'Lo goin' to end up as a vampire's supper, Miss Lily. So I summon all my strength and all the strength of my spirits and I close that door. Whomp! It shuts. But that Greg man, he try to get out too and his hand get stuck.” 'Lo laughed and wheezed. “That old door cut his hand off clean as a cleaver. It flop on the floor and twitch like a dyin' fish. Blood spurtin' all over my feet. And the rest of Greg be in the tank with Mitch. He get all crazy, and start screamin', but Mitch pick him up and he grow quiet. It all grow quiet. And I pick up the hand and hightail it out here to let them both sort it out.”
“Is he dead?” I should've known better than to leave the house. The murder of an innocent man now rested on me. I felt dirty and frightened.
“Don't know, Lily. But I expect so.”
“How could you not know, Angelo? How can you care so little?”
“He wanted what he got, child. He pay good money to see a vampire. I show him a vampire.” He pushed his lips out and shook his head. “You don't ask to see a vampire, 'less you don't mind losin' a little blood.”

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