“You want some?” He looks up at me as the server leaves, pointing at his pie with his fork.
I shake my head.
“One bite? You sure?”
“No, Mom, I’m not hungry, okay?”
He shrugs and digs in.
“So, to change the subject . . .” I know I shouldn’t be bringing this up. While I think I can trust Leon, I can’t be totally sure. “Is there a basement? Or lower level?”
“Where? Here?” Leon talks with his mouth full of pie and whipped cream.
“No, asshole. At work.”
“Oh . . .” He tilts his head, thinking. “Don’t know. I mean, probably. Most buildings do, you know? Never been. Never thought about it.”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Curious.” I sip from my mug of weak ass coffee, hoping he doesn’t ask too many more questions.
“Bullshit.” Leon licks ice cream off his fork. “You’re never just curious. Everything you say or do has a purpose. You’re, like, economical.”
“Economical?” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Yeah. I mean, you don’t make small talk. You never say things just to say them.”
I shrug. “Got a problem with that?”
“Nope. You’re honest. What you see is what you get. But I think that’s why you have a hard time finding a boyfriend.” He grins at me before digging into his pie again.
“Fuck that.” I laugh. “I don’t want a boyfriend. Flowers. Dates. Dinners.” I shake my head. “Don’t have time.”
“I could set you up with someone. For the double date with Francine.”
“You didn’t say anything about a double date. I thought it was just hanging out. And no thanks on the setup. Anyway, back to my question. What do you know about the basement at The Center.”
“Nothing. Yet. But I can find out.” Leon finishes his pie, then runs his finger through the remaining ice cream and apple syrup to get the last of it.
“Good. Do it. And, um, don’t tell Marcus.” It’s a risk to ask him this. I think I can trust Leon, but you can’t ever be sure about anyone.
For a few long seconds Leon stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods once. “It’s between us.”
“Thanks.”
I told Marcus I’d be tracking Foster all day, but I’m not. Foster’s booked at the tattoo shop till it closes, so I’m going to visit my friend Fay. My one and only friend. Unless you count Leon.
She lives a few blocks from me, and she works nights, so I don’t go by till lunch time, grease-soaked paper bag with Italian beef sandwiches and fries in hand.
Even though she knew I was coming, it takes a few minutes for her to answer the door, rubbing her sleep-weary eyes with her fists as she does.
“Thea! Come in, sweetie!” She’s pretty much the only person who can get away with calling me endearments.
“Sorry to wake you. Thought you’d be up.” I enter her extremely girly apartment. The whole thing looks like a five-year-old girl in love with princesses and fairies decorated it. Pink and silver are the prominent colors, gauze and glitter the prominent materials.
In the kitchen I put the food on the table, and Fay, wearing a purple silk robe and last night’s smeared makeup, gets plates and napkins.
“You work last night?” I ask.
She nods. “It was such a good night, Thea! I made so much. This one guy? He rented the champagne room for two hours! I could take the rest of the week off if I wanted, but I need the money, you know?” Her eyes seek mine, looking for approval and acceptance. She’s always a little manic, on the verge of desperation, like being bubbly and outgoing keeps her from slipping over the edge into a deep and dark abyss.
“I know. Let’s eat.”
Fay’s a stripper, and not at one of the classier places. I mean, it’s not totally gross at Underwhere. I know, without her saying it, that she sometimes does more than strip. And I don’t judge. But I think she’s waiting for me to, like she can’t quite trust that I’d still be her friend if she acknowledged the truth outright. I would, though. I’d be her friend no matter what. Good people are hard to find, and I don’t know nearly enough of them. I’m lucky to have her.
We met at The Chooch one night. I was there to drink and not talk to anybody. And so was she. Somehow, we started talking to each other, though, and became friends.
With a common family situation—parents we barely speak to—and work situation—we don’t really hang out with people from our jobs—we bonded.
I’m starving, and we eat quickly. I can’t remember the last actual meal I had. I guess whiskey and coffee don’t count.
When we’re done, we settle onto her couch, gray but decorated with pink and white throw pillows and a Lisa Frank rainbow unicorn blanket across the back rest.
“How’ve you been, sweetie?” She looks at me with her big blue eyes, her blond hair falling down into her face.
“Good.” I nod. “Same shit. Different day.”
She nods. She knows how it is. “Work is okay?”
“Yeah.” I haven’t told her exactly what I do. Nobody knows, except the people at The Center, and not even all of them have clearance to go into the lab. She thinks I do research for a scientific company, which is kind of the truth. And she’s never interested in the details, which is good because then I’d have to make shit up. “What about you? I’m glad to hear the money is good.”
She nods, but her face looks tired. Maybe it’s just the smeared makeup, but it looks like there are bags under her eyes. “It’s fine. But, um, you know those girls? The ones who disappeared a few weeks ago?”
“The ones in the paper?” I think she’s referring to the same ones in the article Marcus showed Leon and me.
“Uh huh. I, um, knew them. I mean, only sort of. They used to work at the club? So it’s sad for me. And a little scary too.” She looks down, plays with her petal pink fingernails.
“A little?” I’m sitting upright. “Fay, that’s more than a little scary. That’s terrifying! You need to be careful!”
“I know. I am.”
“Jesus.” I want to tell her to quit her job. To sign up right now—I’ll even help her—with some temp agency or something. But I won’t tell her how to run her life. “My friend at the range teaches the conceal carry class. I can get you in soon. This week.”
She gives me a shy smile and a small shake of the head. “You know me, Thea! I don’t know how to use a gun.”
“I’ll take you to the range. Teach you. It’s not that hard.”
“I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Just being more careful, you know?”
“Are you still walking home from work? Is there someone who can give you a ride?”
“Johnny? The owner? He’s paying one of the bouncers to drive us home.” She kind of ducks her head as she says it.
“For free?” I have a hard time believing that.
“Well, we have to give him some of our tips . . .”
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“It’s better than nothing!”
“I guess. Look. I just worry about you. There’s a lot of shit that happens out there.”
“Okay. Geez!” She giggles and grins at me. “So. Are you going to let me give you a makeover today or what?” Practically since I’ve known her, she’s been begging me to let her do me up. So far, I’ve refused, but I feel bad for being so hard on her.
“Fine.”
“Oh em gee! Seriously? Okay!” She jumps off the couch and runs into her bedroom, where I can hear her scrambling around. When she returns a few seconds later, the smile on her face is even broader. I swear her eyes are gleaming.
“So,” she says, rubbing a cleansing cloth over my face. “Are you dating anyone?”
“Fuck that.” But my mind insists on thinking of Foster, the way his hands felt on me, even though he’d snuck into my apartment and was basically holding me captive for a few minutes. That quirky grin. Those gold-flecked
eyes.
“Thea! Are you blushing?” Fay sits back to look more fully at my face.
“I don’t blush.” But I do feel heat in my cheeks. And it pisses me off.
“Hmmm . . .” She continues working on my face, her hands cool and quick, like butterflies landing and taking off from my skin.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Shhhhh. Don’t move your face, Thea. And no, I’m not seeing anyone. Nobody wants to date a stripper.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but I don’t want to risk saying something and ruining Fay’s work. I keep my eyes closed and let her finish.
“There,” she says after maybe ten minutes. “You look like a movie star. I’m not kidding.” She sits back and claps her hands together like a little kid. “Go look in the mirror.”
Her bathroom is white with silver accents: glittery toothbrush holder, bedazzled soap dispenser, white towels with silver detail. In the mirror I turn my face from side to side. I look really fucking different. Not bad different. In fact, I actually think I look really hot. I’m just not used to this. At all.
My eyes are smoky, thick liner expertly accenting my upper lid, where gold-brown eye shadow takes over, making me look sexy. She’s put on mascara too, and covered my skin in something that gives my face a flawless appearance, like I’m a doll or I’ve been airbrushed. Blush makes my normally prominent cheekbones even more so. And my lips. The way she’s painted them makes them look unnaturally—but sexily—plump.
“Not bad.” I smile at my strange appearance. And I wish Foster could see me now. And I wish that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Because Foster and I are nothing. Except adversaries with a tentative and temporary truce while I figure out what’s in Level Zero of The Center.
“Do you like it?” Fay’s standing in the entrance to the bathroom. “You look so amazing, Thea! I did it like a sexy look, you know? Instead of, like, pretty?”
“You saying I’m not pretty?” I wink one heavily made up eye at her.
“Oh! No! You’re gorgeous, Thea! You’re just really . . . edgy. You know? Like sexy tough?” Her cheeks turn bright pink.
“Joking. I’m just fucking with you, Fay. And thanks. I love it.”
“Really?”
“Really!” I insist. Fay’s so gorgeous and sweet, and it kills me that she doesn’t have more confidence. I mean, I’ve seen her dance at the club. And there, she seems to have all the inner strength in the world. But I know her well enough to see the scared little kid she really is sometimes.
“You working tonight?” I ask as we head to the front door.
“Yeah.”
“Be careful. Here.” I almost forgot. I dig into my backpack—I never carry a purse—and pull out a brand-new pepper spray keychain in bright pink.
“Oh shit!” Fay laughs. “Seriously? It’s so pretty!”
“It’s not supposed to be pretty.” I roll my eyes. “It’s supposed to make a grown man cry.”
“I know.” Fay grabs me in a firm hug. She smells like flowers. “Thanks so much, Thea. Lunch. A weapon? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I laugh. “Lunch and weapons are what friends are for.”
“Goddamn it all to hell!” Even through her closed door, I can hear Mrs. Bachman yelling.
I don’t want to get involved. And I try to avoid her as much as possible. But just in case she’s got a real issue, I knock once on the door. “Mrs. Bachman? Everything all right?”
Footfalls grow louder as she approaches the door. “No, everything is not goddamn all right!” The door flings open, and there she is, in a polyester pants suit, holding a jar of pickles. “I can’t open this jar! Just want a pickle with my lunch, and I guess that’s too much to ask.” Her thin white hair is coiffed into one of those puffy old-lady styles, the kind that doesn’t move, even when she shakes her head in anger.
“Let me.”
Grudgingly she hands me the jar. “You’re just a skinny thing, there’s no way you . . .”
The jar opens with a popping sound, and I give it back to her.
She slams the door shut without a word.
“You’re welcome!” I call out, then head to my apartment.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” My gun’s out of my holster and in my hand in a split second.
“Easy, Tiger.” Foster puts up his hands in defense and grins at me from where he’s leaning against the exposed brick support column.
“You can’t just sneak into people’s apartments when they’re out!” Adrenaline is flowing hard through my veins as I drop my gun hand to my side. But I don’t put the gun away just yet.
“And you should have known I was here.” His eyes blaze at me, those gold glints more intense than ever. “You have that ability. To sense creatures like me. Why don’t you use it?”
“Fuck you!” Now I holster the gun, then slide out of my leather jacket, which I hang on the hook by the front door.
Lazily, he stands straight and saunters toward me. “That gun?” He points at my hip. “Wouldn’t do any good against me if I did this.”
Sharpness cuts through my brain, like my head is an open wound and salt’s being poured in. My hands fly to my skull, as though they can physically block the sound, the pain.
Then, as abruptly as it began, it’s gone, only a faded fuzz the reminder of the hurt of moments before.
“What did you . . . ? You fucking asshole. You said you wouldn’t do that again!” I practically spit the words at him as I stomp to the kitchen to get some water. But I’m embarrassed. And horrified that I was so much at his mercy.
“You should have known I was here,” he repeats. “And you should be ready to block my power. You’ve done it before.”
“Who the fuck are you anyway?” I turn to him suddenly, my voice hoarse with anger.
“You know who I am.” He’s followed me into the kitchen, and he pulls out a chair from the tiny two-chair table, then sits back, spreading his jeans-clad legs and staring at me. “You’ve followed me. And probably done a shit-ton of research.”
I shrug. “Well, what are you, then?” I lean back against the sink and return his gaze, unblinking.
“I’m a vampire, Thea. But you know that.”
“But what about the . . .” I wave my hands around. “The soul sucking?”
“I’m multi-talented.” He grins.
I roll my eyes.
“Have you made it down to Floor Zero yet?”
I sigh. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s there?”
“You need to see for yourself.”
“I don’t want to play games, Foster.” I take a final sip from my water, then set the glass down into the cracked porcelain sink.
“Believe me. Nothing about this is a fucking game.” He runs his hand through his hair, and a lock falls down onto his forehead. I want to reach out and brush it away. I want to kiss him. And I want to punch him in the fucking face.
“Do you have any other abilities? Besides, like, your vampire skills. And that mind control essence stealing thing?”
“That’s it. I can get into people’s brains. Disarm them by mentally incapacitating them. I can take their energy, but that’s harder to control. It’s almost the same as when I’m, well, feeding off an animal. Drinking blood.”
“What do you mean?”
He clears his throat. “It’s hard to stop, sometimes. It feels like the only way I can prevent myself from going all the way is to never start at all, because once I begin, I crave it more than anything else. It’s almost like . . .” He stops, shaking his head.
“Almost like what?” I lean forward.
“Almost like you’re having sex, and you try to stop the exact second before orgasm. When every goddamn cell in your body just wants release. When your body is amped up and you just need, more than anything in the world, to come.”
Oh. I fight the urge to lick my lips, fight the swirling desire I feel in my stomach. And then I remember I don’t trust him. I sh
ouldn’t be joking around with him. “Did you kill them?”
“What? Who?” He sits back, confusion and anger flashing across his expression.
“Those girls. In the news. Prostitutes on the south side of the city? They disappeared without a trace, Foster.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t kidnap people, Thea.”
“Maybe you incapacitated them with your soul sucking, and then secreted them away somewhere to drink their blood?” It sounds kind of stupid when I’m saying it out loud.
“Fuck no! I wouldn’t do that. And besides, I’m not sucking anyone’s soul.”
“You don’t need to do it to live?” This is a crucial piece of information I need from him.
“No. I need blood to live, but I don’t get it from humans. I used to be a human.” He’s pissed.
“Sorry,” I mutter. I hate apologizing. And honestly, I still don’t trust him. “I don’t know. I thought there might be a connection.”
He nods. “There could be. Not with me, but . . .” He stops short.
“But what?”
“There has been a rise in cryptids in the Chicago area lately.”
He’s right. Business at The Center has picked up over the past few weeks, Marcus sending me on a record number of captures lately. “Why is that?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. You should ask Marcus what he thinks about it.” He says Marcus like it’s a swear word.
“So tell me. Have you ever drunk human blood?” I’m asking more out of curiosity than anything else.
He looks me straight in the eyes as he answers. “Yes.”
“Lately?” My heart is pounding.
“Not in seventy-five years.”
“How old are you?”
“One hundred and twenty-three.”
“And how old is your body? How old were you when you turned into a vampire?”
He grins. “Thirty. And obviously in good shape.” That wink. Sexy and way too confident.
“Does human blood taste better than animal blood?”
“Why so many questions about my diet?” He sits forward, looking into my eyes.
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