A Taste of You

by Jennifer Stevenson

  “You’re a good jammer because you’re faster than snot and you jump like a spider,” Rap says, snorting.

  Sacker shrugs.

  “My apartment is full of the ghosts of every cat that’s ever lived here,” says Fist. I look around. My cat is sitting on the floor, calmly licking her butthole. “Plus two lorikeets, a python, and a retarded guy.”

  “At least he’s a dead retarded guy,” says Irrita Belle, looking over her shoulder.

  “I have a tail,” says Beesh.

  That gets everybody’s attention.

  “You have a tail?” squeals Steamy Roller.

  “Bullshit,” says Dom-De-Dom-Dom “Draper woulda told.”

  “Hey, I can be discreet,” says Donna Draper.

  This gets Donna a lot of politely incredulous looks.

  “No, I do.” Beesh stands up and drops her jeans, and sonofagun. It’s short and stumpy and flesh-colored, like the cropped tail of a pit bull.

  Beesh explains, “I got stuck on the expressway in the pink stuff last winter, when it was so bad? And it was so cold? And my car broke down and I was there for four and a half hours? Some guy finally stopped and helped me get it going? And I was so grateful I could have licked his face, and I feel this wiggly feeling all over, and when I finally get home and into a hot shower—” She gestures.

  “Girl, that is awesome!” Rap says.

  Everybody crowds around and look.

  “Wow!”

  “A tail!”

  “Can I touch?”

  “No!” Beesh yells, then she says, “Oh, all right.”

  Everybody clusters closer.

  Somebody with a tail has trumped my energy vampire story.

  I feel dizzy.

  I’m holding a melting margarita in my hand. I gulp it down.

  “How’d you ever keep this a secret?” Fist Kist marvels, talking to Beesh. “I mean, we’re practically naked around each other, sooner or later.”

  “I always wear my ass pads,” Beesh says.

  “Hell, yeah,” says Bull Jumper. “If you fell on your butt on that? Ow.”

  “You cannot imagine,” Beesh says.

  I reach for the margarita pitcher.

  Sacker takes it from me, pours me another, and then she puts the pitcher down, far out of my reach, in a hurtfully pointed manner. “That’s it for you for now. We need you coherent so we can make a plan.”

  “I can hold my liquor,” I protest.

  “No, you can’t,” several girls say at once.

  “Well, thank you very much!” I’m truly offended. “I’ll have you know that alcoholism runs in my family.”

  Sacker says, “Maybe, but you’ve broken the curse. Fight about it later. What are we going to do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After long discussion, we agree that most of the girls should go back to the hospital to get Nick away from Jilly, or Jilly away from Nick, whichever they think is most feasible. I don’t want them near Sageman unless or until things get out of hand.

  If I do holler for help, they’re to bring their skates. Because he can read thoughts, they’ll need speed, and they’ll need the automatic action strategies that come from training, not thoughts. He won’t know what to make of thoughts like “waterfall” or “popcorn,” even if he can read them.

  I leave them planning this whole elaborate cataract of change-ups where two of them will go in to assess the situation, and if the first strategy doesn’t work, three more will come in and try the second strategy, blah blah.

  They’re having a ball.

  In the Scion with me now are Fist Kist and Donna Draper. We park a block away from where Katterfelto buried the coin. We can’t quite see the empty parking lot under the power towers, beside the abandoned factory.

  My emotions have gelled.

  I have three missions.

  One, get Katterfelto out of Sageman’s hands.

  Two, keep the coin away from Sageman or die trying.

  Three, die anyway. Knowing this is on the agenda frees me from the stifling despair and rage and self-loathing that have cast a cloud over my life.

  I don’t want to think about what Jilly said to Nick. I’ve put a wall around that memory.

  I used to wonder how I would kill myself, or even if I could die at all. Now I don’t have to worry. Somebody else’s problem.

  Surely Sageman has more hinky powers that can hurt me. If nothing else, he can shoot me eleven times, and if nobody comes near enough to me that I can take their prana, I’ll die.

  Whew.

  Donna is eyeing me with worry. “You’re mighty quiet, Hélan.”

  “Let’s gear up,” I say.

  We get our skates and pads on.

  As we roll toward the coin’s parking lot, I spot Sageman’s Suburban and swear. “He’s here already.”

  We sneak up on the Suburban. Sageman isn’t in it — but Katterfelto is, tied up and lying in the back.

  This solves my biggest worry, which is keeping my teammates away from Sageman as long as possible. That bastard is dangerous.

  I say, “See if you can get Dr. Katterfelto out of there. If you set off an alarm, great. Maybe it’ll draw Sageman back here. But stay out of his sight as long as you can.”

  I also warn them that Sageman can read thoughts, although what good that can possibly do them I have no idea. It certainly didn’t protect me.

  And of course I’m too late.

  As I come rolling into the abandoned parking lot, I see Sageman. He’s in the blue zone. The blue isn’t as bright today — because it’s sunnier? Sageman is standing at the foot of the power tower with a spade in his hand. He’s in the act of bending over to reach into the hole he has made in the crumbled asphalt. I guess he hears my wheels.

  He looks over his shoulder.

  I think about how I’m going to kill him. Hit him broadside into the tower’s steel leg? Try and strangle him again? Or just tackle him and hold on, until I can suck him dry?

  His eyes are blank as I accelerate toward him. He doesn’t stop rummaging in the asphalt, though his head is turned to me. He begins to rise and turn toward me as I approach.

  I come barreling up and crash right into him, knocking him over, and as I do, something stabs me deeply in the side, between my lower ribs.

  Son of a bitch! He’s staked me!

  If I was one of his comic-book vampires, this would have killed me outright. Unfortunately it just hurts like a mother. I grab the stake in both hands. That hurts, too. I think I’m swearing.

  Sageman bends over me, driving the stake farther into me, and I kick out weakly, blind with pain. My skate fails to connect.

  Calmly he rolls me onto my side. What the—? I feel his hands warm on my back. I focus hard on sucking his energy through that contact. But he’s already gone, taking his warm, sticky, stinky, life-giving energy with him.

  I lie there, cursing my stupidity and trying to think past the pain.

  This is what you wanted, you idiot. Death and-slash-or dishonor. Ass. Fool. Clown. Moron. Does it hurt enough yet, you completely wet turkey-turd brainless dope?

  It hurts so much I’m forgetting my swearwords.

  It becomes apparent to me that I don’t want to die, here and now, at the hands of this creep.

  I roll onto my back, not without excruciating pain.

  Sageman is standing well out of my reach. My fanny pack is dangling by its looped strap from his elbow. He is bent over something cupped in his two hands. His face is alight with unholy triumph.

  The coin.

  Dammit.

  Now I know I can’t die yet.

  I take as much breath as the agony in my side allows, grab the stake with both hands, and yank it out. Cold and heat rush in where the stake was, along with a blessed fading of the pain. I’m going into shock. This is probably not good.

  I throw the stake at Sageman.

  It bounces right off him.

  He looks up from gloating over the coin. “I am invulner
able to all missiles, stabbing, fists, or blunt instruments.”

  “Yeah?” I wheeze. Ow, that hurts. I have both hands over the hole in my side, pressing back the blood, which is all over the asphalt.

  Sageman tut-tuts. “When I performed that protection spell, I forgot strangulation. I must thank you. I’ll have to add it next time.”

  I can’t speak, but I picture ripping his head off and lobbing it through the windshield of his Suburban.

  He steps forward. I can tell he’s going to kick me in the side. Yup. I focus on his foot, and, when it comes close enough, I take as big a hit as I can of his prana. Then the shoe makes contact.

  I lose interest in other things.

  Sageman leaps smartly away from me. I hear his phone ring. “Here,” I hear him gasp.

  I hear Nick’s voice coming from the phone. “I have secured the grandmother.”

  Oh, no.

  Guess my girls didn’t get there in time.

  I crawl toward the base of the nearest power tower leg and lean against it, feeling dangerously detached from things like my bleeding body.

  Then I feel the point of something hard and sharp against my temple. Sageman’s stake. I can smell my blood on it.

  Sageman says breathlessly, “Stay there. I may need you to terminate her very quickly.”

  I’m wondering if I can reach up along the stake he’s touching to my temple and suck more energy out of him.

  The stake goes away.

  Sageman stands in front of me.

  “Thought reading, remember?” he says. That creepy, gloaty tone is back in his voice. Swear to god, this guy doesn’t know how repulsive he is.

  “How did you become a vampire?”

  Oh shit! Now he’s going to read my mind! I try to think about something else, like how I’m going to protect my mother if I bleed to death here.

  He whacks my head casually with the thick end of the stake, and I see stars. “How did you become a vampire?”

  He keeps whacking me. I swear, the question is like the reverberation of a bell, only the bell is my head, whack! “How did you become a vampire?” Whack! And stars burst in my head, and I am not saying it out loud, but it’s as if my brain is rolling the memory up, like a dead body floating up in a pond. Whack! “How did you become a vampire?” Whack! Of its own accord, the whole story passes through my mind.

  And now he knows.

  I feel like a prize ass.

  Cars are squealing down the street, which is odd, considering how abandoned this area is.

  Sageman stands a few feet away, no doubt gloating over getting my vampire story out of me after all.

  I hurt all over. I decide I was an idiot to consider this a good suicide mission. No mission is a good suicide mission. In fact, Sageman and his stake have pretty much ruined the appeal of death.

  Sageman goes into mental conference with the coin. In my own head, I can hear it whispering to him, tempting him.

  what do you want? I can give you anything.

  If I were just a foot closer, I could suck some prana off him. Maybe get the strength to move. But he stands out of my reach.

  “Better think it through, Sageman,” I say quietly. “If you mess it up, you’ll end up miserable, like me.”

  He seems to think. Then he lifts his head. The coin’s whispering stops.

  “Really? How would you have done it differently?” Sageman says.

  “I don’t know.” My eyes drift shut. I remember that Nick stands ready to terminate the grandmother and I open them again. “I suck at all that magic stuff. But I know this. Nobody wants to be a vampire. You just want something you think vampires have.”

  He stands motionless. “Good point. Let us bring expert opinion to bear on the question,” as if this is a meeting he’s chairing. “Jones, go to my car and bring Dr. Katterfelto to me.”

  The world is going gray, like an old TV sitcom. I squint, thinking, His hands are cupped around the coin — how can he also be on the phone to Nick?

  Then a big dark shape blots out the sun and Sageman slams to the ground beside me. The coin falls and rolls past my left skate.

  Nick stands over Sageman, and me, his fists at his sides.

  “Are you okay?” Nick says to me.

  I want to point out my blood, all over the asphalt at his feet. Instead I say, “How did you do that? He can’t be punched.”

  “Shoulder,” Nick says. “Get up,” he says to Sageman.

  Sageman sees the coin rolling away and lunges after it. Nick puts his foot on Sageman’s wrist. I watch Sageman’s hand close on the coin. The whispering in my head starts up again.

  Then Nick falls heavily on the old man.

  I hear a couple of bones crack.

  Didn’t remember to armor yourself against body-blows, either, did you? I think, knowing Sageman can hear my thoughts, hoping to distract him.

  Sageman’s eyes are shut tight. I bet he’s making his wish.

  Nick lifts him easily by the scruff of his collar and slams him against the power tower leg.

  Something comes whirring out of the blazing sun behind me.

  Blam! I hear another body blow.

  Nick grunts and totters.

  Sageman gives a whimper of triumph. I see two of him, and two of Nick, and then darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When I wake, it’s to the whir of wheels nearby, and shouting, and the thump and grunt of bodies hitting each other and the ground. I think I’m at derby practice.

  Then I open my eyes and see the power tower stretching up over my head, seemingly for miles. There’s no sign of the blue fog that used to surround its foot. Of course, I’m in it. Would I see it if I’m in it? I can’t remember. My mind’s hazy.

  I’m not as tired as I was when I passed out.

  I also hurt like sin. My head aches, and the hole in my side is doing something unpleasant. Things are moving in there. What the—?

  I’m breathing better, anyway. I look lower and see the heads of my teammates whizzing by. They’re skating in a big circle around the base of the power tower leg, where I’m lying in a pool of my own blood.

  I struggle up on my elbow. My feet are unnaturally heavy. I’m wearing my own skates.

  I hear Fist’n Grey holler, “It’s working!”

  “What is?” I croak.

  I hear Nick yell, “Hel! Oof!”

  I take a deeper breath, and taste sweet prana in the air. My girls are feeding me! I can feel my torn entrails knitting together. It feels weird, but it beats bleeding to death.

  Now I see Nick. He’s trying to break through the circle of skaters. They’re fending him off with J-blocks, hip checks, and highly illegal back blocks, and I give him credit, he’s not punching any of them back. He looks kind of beat up.

  I glance around, trying to spot Sageman, but I can’t see him.

  I look for Nick again. Our eyes meet. Something tight and dark inside me starts to unwind.

  Then Rapture Snatch and Dom-De-Dom-Dom come up beside him and popcorn him between them. He puts his arms around his head as he’s battered back and forth.

  “Hey,” I say feebly. “Let him alone.”

  Sacker whizzes out of the rushing circle and plow-stops about four feet away. “How you doing? How much longer should we keep this up?”

  I can feel her energy even at four feet. I want it. “Stay away!”

  She rolls backward a foot or so. “Okay?” Her energy field slips out of my reach and I go dizzy, as if my hunger has lunged after her and just missed grabbing hold.

  “Keep your distance! I’m not — I don’t know — I don’t trust myself.”

  “What about the meat-head?”

  I glance over at Nick. He has stopped trying to break through my bodyguards and pauses, looking at us, while derby girls whiz by and slam him, one after another. He rocks, but he’s still on his feet.

  “I don’t think I can hurt him,” I say.

  “We don’t give a shit about him,” Sacker
says unapologetically. “Although, as a matter of fact, that seems like the perfect solution. Yo!” she hollers over her shoulder, and when heads turn in the circle, she taps her hips.

  Instantly my teammates skid to a stop.

  “Bring him over here. She’s still hungry.”

  Nick doesn’t resist as Dom and Rap grab him by the arms and shove him through the circle.

  He drops to one knee beside me.

  Sacker grabs him by the hair and yanks his face up. “Hurt her and you’re dead.”

  “Understood,” he says, and she lets go.

  She strides off counterclockwise around my power tower leg, twirling her finger over her head as she rolls. The team’s circling resumes.

  I sigh. My eyes close as the trickle of prana they’re making begins to soak into me again.

  Nick takes my hand. His hand is hot. Energy boils off him.

  Without opening my eyes I say, “You idiot. I can’t stop myself from taking your energy.” I take a taste. He tastes fabulous. The disgust and revulsion I tasted in his prana when he found me in the alley is all gone. He seems ... happy.

  “I don’t want you to die,” he says.

  “I think I’ll kill myself if I end up killing you,” I say, looking at him, soaking up his deliciousness.

  He’s big and gloriously red in the face. “Take what you need. You’ve never hurt me yet.”

  I frown with tiredness. “I know. I can’t figure it out.”

  With this hopeful thought, I relax, thinking to draw a bit more of his prana, and then I realize I’ve been drawing a lot already without noticing what I was doing. That scares me. I’m too drained and hurting to fight the hunger.

  “Tell me if you start feeling weak,” I say.

  “I will,” he says.

  We sit there for a while, me gasping in big gulps of his prana and the prana my teammates are generating, and trying to ignore the feeling of my innards stitching themselves back together, and him quietly watching me.

  Then I think of something that’s been worrying me. “What happened to your boss?” Last time I remembered, Sageman was lying beside me on the asphalt with maybe some broken bones.