I sit about twelve feet away from her with a small branch that Simon sharpened yesterday grasped in my fist behind my back, squeezing it so tightly the bark falls off—tiny pieces covering my hand.
Her voice jolts my hysteria, “What’s so shocking, pristine princess? Is love only for boring little angels like you? Am I so filthy, so stained, that I can’t love?”
“That’s—that’s not what I meant.”
“Then, what did you mean? You can see I love him.”
“I see it now. Is that why you act like you do?”
She digs into her own hand with her nails, eyes narrow, “Act like what?”
“Looking for sex—all the time.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I’ve seen—it’s all you’ve shown me.”
“Maybe I should gouge your eyes out if that’s all you see with them.”
Her nails dig deeper into her palm.
“What about Simon’s eyes?” I ask.
She grunts and exhales like the air in her has suddenly turned pungent, “Curse you.”
“Do you think he sees anything in you that I don’t?”
“Watch it, prissy. Ain’t nothing here but the trees, and they won’t save you. Nothing will.”
“Save me from what?”
“From me.”
Long stare.
“Thought you promised Simon you wouldn’t hurt me,” my voice stumbles under her fiery gaze—she seems to especially hate it when I say his name, “He’ll never forgive you.”
“We’re immortal, weak one. Sure, he’ll be furious. A year. A decade. Might even want to kill me. It’ll pass. Eventually, I’ll still be here—your memory won’t. In fact, the sooner you’re gone—the shorter your memory’s gonna stick around in his head.”
Fight the tremble in my voice, “Then what?”
“Then what—what?”
“If you’re not always looking for sex, and what I see in you is so wrong—then what are you doing all the time? Why do you act like that?”
“Not about the sex. Distraction—it’s a distraction.”
“A distraction from what?”
She shakes her head and looks down to her legs again.
A voice tells me to shut up. It begs me to stop. It’s the voice that controlled me for so long. Was miserable for so long. It’s grown quieter since I met Simon.
“What is it? What are you hiding from?”
Her voice is no louder than a whisper, but it cracks like a scream, “Simon.”
“What does he have to do with you hooking up all the time?”
“Whenever I think of him, my arms hurt because he’s not in them, so I grab someone to make me think I have someone to hold—to tell myself my embrace isn’t empty anymore. My body becomes alive at the thought of him, pulsing and restless—can’t sleep, so I find someone, sometimes anyone, just so I can scratch the itch, close my eyes, and pretend I’m happy for a moment. Sometimes pretend I’m with Simon—sometimes pretend I’m happy to be with whoever’s there with me. Never lasts long. Never gets rid of the itch, just a quick scratch—always comes back.”
“Ever think that doing all this is why he’s not interested in you?”
She springs to her feet—fluidly—unreal velocity. Her fingers arch, outstretching her nails as she speeds at me in a blur.
Her legs move so fast—her feet tear into the ground—lunging her body forward. Looks like moving light. Blurry lightning-fire coming to burn through me.
So fast, can’t move.
Cocks her hand back and flings it at my head. Nails coming at my nose—raising to my forehead—skimming through my hair—shredding a chunk out of the tree trunk behind me—splinters and dust falling onto me and all over the ground.
My fist still grasps the small spear behind me. I spin around and aim its pointed end in front of me. Branches sway, and leaves float to the ground, but there is no sign of her—just the wake she left behind.
I’ve wanted nothing more than for her to leave me alone since Simon left me with her. For hours, she wore my patience down—saying anything to rile me up, any hateful thing to upset me.
Now that she’s run off into the darkness, I’m going after her, and I’m not entirely happy about it.
Chapter XI
Parasols & Prey
Wanna know how to spot a local out of the tourists in The French Quarter?
The local looks both ways before crossing a one-way street—the tourist trusts people will still obey silly traffic laws in the middle of their wild night.
I seek the ones who still trust the imaginary laws to protect them. I like them when they’re all sweaty and stumbling. They like me better when they’re sweaty and stumbling too.
Have to get my fill now. Roderick’s got Quint and Carvelli out here to bring me in. Saw those two on Bourbon. Luckily they were too distracted by something they saw gyrating through an opened doorway to notice me before I slipped away. Roderick must be having some colorful fits waiting to find out what I’ve learned—boiling in his own hatred over why I haven’t come back to him. Time’s running out.
Would’ve already been back there if Simon hadn’t promised me a girl with an acute feeding fetish. Girls are drawn to Simon like plants stretching, straining to get closer to the sunlight. Swear one would stretch her head in front of a speeding bus to catch another glimpse of him, and die smiling as the metal behemoth crashed into her. So easy for him, and he wasted his power for so many years over that girl he lost. Regardless of all that—any girl that made an impression on him is something to hunt down and experience—that’s why I defied Roderick, left him waiting while I tried to meet up with this girl Simon told me to call. Didn’t mention she was dead. Her brother explained it to me over the phone. Simon’ll pay for this. Whether Roderick needs it or not, Simon’ll pay.
Also would’ve been back in town sooner if he hadn’t torn my stomach to shreds. Simon would’ve never got me like that if Roderick woulda just let me feed before sending me out. By the time I found them in the woods, the withdrawal dizziness had already clouded my mind. Can’t fight like that. All Roderick’s fault. Impatient, hard-headed…
Something soft and fluffy takes my thoughts away from Roderick as it bounces down the one step from the bar onto the sidewalk. Her jiggle is almost a singularity. An unmistakable body in the universe sucking in the attention of all others around her. By design, she pulls others into herself, trying to fill the void inside her with whatever she can take from them.
Three friends of hers walk out after her. Leaving her behind, they move down the street and pass where I sit on their way to a less crowded bar on Toulouse, migrating away from the masses on Bourbon. Bouncy-fluffy stays near the opened French doors she has just gyrated out of, taunting the bouncer with the parts of her that sparkle.
Sometimes I think I’ll leave New Orleans—there are other cities with a large supply of what I like. Lot of cities are much bigger—more pretties to choose from, so many more flavors to sample. There’d be no Roderick. No one else to put up with. I’d be free to do whatever I wanted—I’d own the night—all by myself.
But it’s easy here. Roderick brings me smack when I can’t get it myself. He lures women to me when I can’t speak. And then there’s the new breed…
I’ve tried every fix under the sun, and nothing’s sent me flying like this new breed Roderick’s created. Still won’t tell me where it comes from. As long as he has more to give, I don’t care where—just how much I can get in me.
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh—eyes roll and jaw drops open just at the thought of it. Better find some quick feed fast. Get to Roderick. Get the good stuff.
Now, where is that bouncy, fluffy thing?
She still talks to the bouncer who leans a meaty shoulder on the opened French doors to the bar, trying not to show her how interested he is in her. He’s worked here for years—I’ve seen him before. He knows the best method for a bouncer on this street is to ignore her, which’ll only make her want his attention more. He may fool her, but I can see the pulse of his blood through his body—speeding up faster and faster.