She nodded. “But don't get too excited. You try to take this before I say you can, and I'll snap your back. Then I'll rip it out and feed it to my dogs. I have lots of dogs. Do you understand?”
Malcolm nodded. He glanced back down the alley from where he'd come—to the sanity lost, the friends betrayed. Then the woman started walking deeper into the alley and Malcolm fell in behind her. On and on they went, until darkness piled on top of darkness and he hardly remembered his own name. But she was still there holding the bottle in front of him. Goading him on.
The petite woman walked quickly, but she kept a feminine sway in her hips. She tapped along the alley in her heels without ever slowing or looking down. This was her home, somewhere in this labyrinth. She kept a good way ahead of him, only checking over her shoulder every few minutes to shine the flashlight and laugh.
Malcolm followed along like a dog. He tried asking her where they were going, and when Talia didn't answer, what the hell she was doing out so late.
“What I always do,” she said. “I'm living.”
“So you're really alive?”
Talia turned around and stopped walking. She angled the flashlight so Malcolm could see her face. Dimples. Flowing dark hair. Eyes the color of a cloudy evening sky. His face still tingled where she'd slapped him, and now her beauty struck him once more. “I'm here, aren't I? Why does it matter? Mortals. Always getting caught up in the meaningless details.”
“What are you?” Malcolm said. “You aren't like the others I've met. What are you—really?”
She held out her hand to him and smiled. “You'll see. Oh, you'll see…”
CHAPTER TEN
Malcolm wondered what Talia was before, but what happened in the bedroom removed any doubt.
They stopped at a red door somewhere in that interminable alley. She slipped a key into a lock and opened it. Once they were inside, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. She held Malcolm's face while she kissed him, pulling him closer when he tried to back away.
Soon he stopped trying.
The way Talia kissed him made him forget the decanter she held behind her back. For the first time in a long time, Malcolm wanted something else—needed something else. She explored his mouth with her tongue, building his desire like a skilled conductor leading a symphony toward a crescendo. Then, just when Malcolm couldn't take it any more, she eased the pressure and brushed her lips against his own.
She kept at it until time slipped away completely. Then Talia broke her hold on his lips and stepped away to shut the door behind them. They looked at each other, panting. She smiled. When she held out her hand Malcolm took it without hesitation. She led them through a windowless corridor so low he had to duck at certain points to keep from hitting his head. It looked like a bomb shelter to ride out the apocalypse, or at least a good place to lie low for a while.
But there was a little bedroom at the end of that corridor, and that was more than enough.
She peeled off their clothes and left them to mingle on the floor. Then, with her face pressed close to his ear: “I want you. Do you want me?”
Malcolm nodded. He picked Talia up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Say it,” she said, when he tossed her onto the bed. “Say you want me.”
“I want you.”
She grabbed his face again. “Good.”
The rest of the world fell away then, dissolved in an endless heartbeat of pleasure. Some time later—when the moon was disappearing and the sun rising above the horizon—they lay together in the bed, motionless. A pool of sweat had gathered on the sheets and scratch marks throbbed on his back, but Malcolm didn't mind. Then, just when he'd convinced himself things couldn't get any better, Talia handed him that bottle of sweet gold.
“It's all yours, tiger. You earned it.”
He gulped it down and watched it refill itself, unable to put it down. He drank and drank until every nerve in his body quivered in pleasure. That's when he decided he loved this woman—truly and deeply loved her—if only for tonight. She watched him suckle on the bottle with the same wonder of a new mother watching her infant suckle from her breast. Malcolm closed his eyes, flirted with sleep until a question came to him:
“Are you bad? Really bad—like Atlas said.”
Talia laughed. “Bad? His kind say so. I'm not any worse than you.”
Her words made him shiver in the sheets. They didn't make any sense. Before he could figure them out, Malcolm drifted off to sleep with the bottle against his lips.
* * * *
The sun was already high in the sky when Malcolm woke. It pierced through the single bedroom window—the only window in the whole place, as far as he could tell—and hit him right in the face. He raised his arms to stretch and almost knocked a bottle off the bed. Hands fumbling, he caught it before it went over the edge and smiled.
He pressed it to his lips.
So last night had been real.
The woman, too. She lay next to him with her blue-gray eyes open, naked on top of the sheets. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning.”
Malcolm took another swig of the golden liquid, watched the empty space at the top of the decanter refill, and laughed. He went to kiss the woman who'd made it all possible, but she held a finger in front of his lips.
“You can't kiss me with that stuff on you. It's no good for me, Malcolm. It's really no good.” A wicked smile appeared on her face. “There's something else you can do though...”
They picked up where they'd left off the night before, only stopping when someone started banging on the door in the alley. Talia slipped out of bed and took the sheets with her, wrapped them around her in a makeshift robe. “What is it?”
Murmuring voices at the front door. Malcolm was too tired to get out of bed and try to see who was there. Instead, he just sipped the bottle and listened to her voice drift through the corridor between them. Talia came back in a minute later, put down the sheet, and immediately began to get dressed.
“Really?” said Malcolm, watching her squeeze into her dress from the night before.
She nodded. “Really. Sorry to cut things short, but I had a hell of a time.” Fully clothed now, she leaned over bed and kissed him on the cheek. “Still wondering what kind of revenant I am?”
Malcolm shook his head. “No. I think I know. I mean, I'm not sure. But definitely something sexual.”
Talia laughed. “Come on. Time for you to get dressed too. The bottle's all yours. Makes me sick just looking at it, honestly. And I always keep my promises. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon.”
Malcolm slid out of bed with a groan. “Why me?”
“What?”
“Why me, Talia? When you could have any guy you want?”
She shrugged. “Our paths crossed, and you were cute. You distracted that balancer long enough to keep these next few weeks from being a living hell. Living a 'balanced life' is so boring. Trust me. You saved me in a romantic kind of way.”
“When can I see you again?”
“You won't even be thinking about me after a few more hours with that bottle. She's your girl now.”
“No,” Malcolm said. “Talia, I've never experienced anything like—”
She laughed again and put a hand on his arm. “I know, Malcolm. I know. Now let's get going.”
They walked out of the little hideout hand in hand. A few men waited at the door leading into the alley, their eyes daggers stabbing Malcolm from every angle. But their eyes were the least dangerous part about them. All four of them looked muscular enough to snap his neck without even trying, and if that wasn't bad enough, they wore pistols on their hips.
“Mrs. Costello,” one of the men said. He was the only one who wore sunglasses. He stared at Malcolm from behind tinted lenses, his expression unreadable.
“Peter,” Talia said. “I hope you're ready to get into some trouble today.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Her eyes circled the group. �
�The same goes for all of you.”
“Yes ma'am,” they said in unison.
Talia smiled. “Good.” She leaned towards Malcolm's ear and whispered, “Don't worry. They're just jealous they can't get a piece of this.”
Malcolm's mind was stuck in a different place. “Did they just call you Mrs.?”
“A sham of a marriage, darling. If you can even call it that. Enjoy last night guilt-free, okay? You're a hell of a lay.” She kissed his neck one more time before pulling away into the alley. “Until next time.”
Malcolm went to say something, but he couldn't find any words on his tongue. He just watched Talia walk away instead, surrounded by her entourage of hard men with hard faces to match. One of them handed her a gun. She strapped a belt and holster around her dress and dropped it in. Then she turned back and winked at him.
He waved at her, but her back was already turned by the time he raised his hand. Malcolm watched them walk away, sipping that golden fluid straight from the bottle in a stupor. That's when it hit him:
The men who came to get Talia weren't just any men. As they walked shoulder to shoulder in their scarlet shirts, he finally recognized them for who they truly were: Germ foot soldiers.
And the woman he'd shared a bed with last night wasn't just any woman. Had they really called her Mrs. Costello?
Malcolm's face went pale.
The name was familiar. He'd seen it splashed across newspaper headlines. Heard it in televised statements from the police force and on the lips of eager politicians promising to clean up Lemhaven.
That name belonged to Johnny “Grease” Costello. Leader of the Germs gang. One of the most wanted men in all of Lemhaven.
He'd just slept with his wife.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The more he drank, the more Malcolm's worries eased.
He wandered down the alley that had been a terror the night before. Now it revealed itself to him like a pleasant dream. He passed homeless people and stray dogs and kids kicking soccer balls in the street. There were gangsters too, though none of them paid him any attention. He was just another drunk wobbling through a war zone. He closed his eyes while the sun's rays warmed his cheeks, thinking of Talia.
He had to see her again. Be with her. Until then, she'd haunt him sleeping and awake.
And so Malcolm meandered along through the heart of Germ territory. He saw drugs, weapons, and even women changing hands, but anytime those responsible noticed him they pretended like they hadn't. Maybe Talia had spread the word, called off the dogs on her lucky man from the night before.
It didn't really matter.
Nothing did, as long as Malcolm had his bottle of golden bliss.
The rest of the morning passed in its reflection. Streets and sounds changed around him, but Malcolm was only vaguely aware of them. His feet carried him where the decanter demanded. Sip, shuffle, sip. Until the sun fired its rays straight down on his shoulders, pushing him further into the crush of downtown Lemhaven.
The Germ scarlets began to dwindle here. A few blues appeared to challenge them. Different shades of blue mixed together—cobalt from the Roaches infestation and even some police navy—to make up the volatile palette. They watched each other with suspicious eyes. Keeping their distance for now, but posturing and planning their next moves in this endless war.
Just beyond this strange no man's land claimed by many but ruled by none, the skyscrapers of the central business district rose up to meet him. Groups of police officers pounded the streets—a few gave Malcolm dirty looks—but none bothered to stop him as he circled the outskirts. This is where Lemhaven's finest had made their last stand. No one had time to shake down an alcoholic breaking a few open container laws anymore. There was big money at stake here. Real businesses to protect from the gangs and plenty of chances to skim some off the top too.
Malcolm looked those skyscrapers up and down while he walked. Above him, people sat at computers and shuffled through a maze of human filing cabinets, numb to the shouting and traffic sounds below. Their faces were ashen through the window glass. They all looked the same: sleep deprivation and stress had erased the subtle differences that made them human.
Malcolm took another swig of golden liquid and sighed. Those people would keep punching in without ever feeling what he felt right now. They'd live and work and cling to their paychecks until the bitter end—when they'd be driven out of Lemhaven like so many others, exiled without even a taste of his magical golden liquid. Malcolm watched the engine of finance run a little longer before ducking into an alley. He was tired of looking under its hood, and lightheaded from the sun beating down on the back of his neck.
The side street he found was quiet, deserted. He stopped in front of an abandoned newsstand and sat against the wall. After a few more sips of the bottle, he put it between his legs and let his eyelids close. From somewhere a few blocks away, police sirens wailed. But where they had nearly sent him into anxious fits a few weeks earlier, now they sounded almost peaceful. They lulled Malcolm to sleep, and he dozed there in a sliver of shadow in the summer afternoon…
And awoke to something poking him on the shoulder.
Malcolm's eyes shot open, his hands going straight for the bottle. He didn't breathe until his fingers wrapped around it. But the poking didn't stop. Something long and thin jabbed his shoulder, harder this time.
He turned and found its source: a young girl. She was only a little taller than Nora and a few years older, but her eyes were empty. Whatever spark of childhood—that beautiful mix of curiosity and innocence—that had once burned there had long since fizzled out. She stared at Malcolm with those dead eyes, tapping his shoulder with a skeletal finger.
“What is it?” Malcolm said, taking another drink from the bottle.
The girl's body straightened. Muscles in her face began to contort into strange patterns, struggling in a silent stroke or memory lapse. For a moment she opened her mouth to say something and her brow creased, but then her mouth shut once more. She tapped him the whole time. Her finger kept stabbing the air even when Malcolm pulled it away from his shoulder.
“What do you want?” he said.
The girl stared at him in silence. Whatever had driven her to this stranger had vanished before giving her an explanation. Behind her, another pair of feet shuffled in the alley. Malcolm made out a few bare toes in the gap between the girl's legs.
A boy was with her, barefooted and just as brain dead as the girl who'd interrupted his afternoon nap. He stepped forward and stopped next to her, and then they both stared at him with their vacant eyes—eyes that made them look like twins. The boy was pale and fair-haired where the girl had darker features, but their eyes were the only things that mattered. They drew Malcolm in, made him squirm against the wall. He took another sip from his bottle and the children pressed forward with open palms.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don't have any money.”
His words did nothing to discourage their greasy palms. They snapped open and closed, open and closed while their owners turned their terrible eyes on the bottle in Malcolm's hand. He stood up against the wall on wobbly feet and jerked the bottle away.
“I don't think so. That's for me.”
The children looked at each other, exchanged some secret message with their eyes.
Then they latched onto his legs.
“Hey!”
Malcolm shook them off and shuffled down the alley, but they ran after him, reattaching themselves to his body like moss on a choice tree trunk. They squeezed and clawed him, and the harder he kicked at them the tighter they grabbed. Soon he found himself spinning in circles, shaking them off and gasping while they came at him in waves.
Their eyes were unchanged, but now their teeth were bared and they growled at him like feral dogs fighting over a dumpster scrap. Fingernails opened up cuts all along Malcolm's calves and thighs. Every time he knelt to pull one kid off him the other would lunge for his back and start climbing, swatting at his arm for the
decanter.
“Stop it,” he said when he finally had them pressed against the wall. He thrust the bottle above his head. “You want this?”
The children nodded so eagerly clumps of hair fell from their heads and into the alleyway. Blonde hair and black hair mingled together there with the blood from Malcolm's cuts.
“Fine,” Malcolm said. “Just a sip. And only if you scram right after. Got it?”
The kids looked at each other and nodded at him. The boy took her hand as if to carry her over a ledge into someplace neither could see or even imagine. They stood perfectly still with their backs pressed against the wall, eyes tracking the bottle as Malcolm moved it closer.
“Tilt your head back,” he told the girl, and when he poured a shot of the liquid into her mouth she lapped it up and swallowed eagerly. He gave her enough to melt the confused glaze over her eyes before moving on to the boy, who drank it down just as quickly as his friend.
Malcolm stepped back and pulled the bottle away. He looked at their faces, really studied them this time, and then the realization struck him. “I know who you are,” he said. “You came from another place, right? Before master and mistress brought you back here.”
A flicker of recognition lit up the girl's face. “Yes.” Then the moment of clarity was gone, and it was back to the staring. She and the boy marveled at the bottle with religious adoration.
“More,” said the boy, pointing at the golden liquid.
Malcolm took a drink and replaced the stopper instead. “I don't think so. Maybe later... if you can show me where master and mistress—”
“More,” they said in one voice. They stepped forward, licking their lips and clapping their hands.
Malcolm pulled the bottle away…
Just in time for the boy to sink his teeth into his calf. He screamed in agony, but that scream died out quickly when the girl scampered up the boy's back and jumped up and attached herself to Malcolm's torso. She clawed his face as they thrashed around in the street, sending a torrent of blood running down his shirt and onto the pavement. Malcolm kicked at the boy, screamed again when he bit down harder on his leg, and finally managed to hurl him into a nearby streetlamp.
Heretic (Demon Marked Book 2) (Demon Marked Saga) Page 7
