Blacker than Black Read Free Page B

care. Mind and body. One feels like someone pureed it, and as for the other? Well, I did just hoof it across half the city.
    I shove past her, though gently, and thump into the living space. Its dreary features swirl around me, familiar and comforting, and I’m relieved when my gaze catches on the small painting that lives on the wall where it always has. The strong, heavy lines of pattern in the cheap print are better than any drug at staving off the persistent blurring and dizziness. Aftereffects we’re both accustomed to coping with. Thus the framed mandala hanging across from the couch.
    The door clicks shut, the lock slides into place. “Didn’t you recognize him?” Jhez sounds annoyed.
    “Recognize who? I don’t get why you’re so upset. He was a john, just like any other.”
    “What the hell, Black? Did your brain short-circuit or something? That wasn’t just a vamp. That was Le Gross himself, the Monsieur of York.”
    I turn and stare at her, not comprehending. My brain feels like it’s in reverse.
    “Monsieur Garthelle? Hello? That name ring your bell?”
    I know what the reigning vamp in this city looks like. What the heck did she bum off her street partner this evening? Seriously? I shake my head and frown. “Jhez, I don’t know what you think you saw. But that was not Monsieur Garthelle in the car. I think I’d know if I was sitting next to him.”
    At least she doesn’t bother asking that one question I hate. I managed to survive the encounter—thanks to my john’s restraint—but I’m not “okay,” not by a long shot. There’s a reason why I look like cold shit. It’s about the way I feel at the moment, too.
    I sink into the threadbare couch, beige more from dirt and stains than intention. For the space of a heartbeat, it’s transposed with a black velvet creature, its cushions so soft and deep I want to lose myself in them.
    But then it’s just smudged tan corduroy again.
    That’s happened before. It’s normal, the juxtaposition of reality with memories. Like the tug I still feel, it usually fades with time. I let my head fall back and massage my temples.
    I don’t have the strength to pull my boots from my feet. It doesn’t stop me from propping my heels on the corner of the battered coffee table, though.
    Jhez reaches over my shoulder, holding a tumbler full of chilled liquid. “How strong is the pull?”
    “Strong.” I throw the entire contents of the tumbler down my throat without breathing. I learned some time ago not to try sipping anything she offers.
    She slips over the back of the couch to sit beside me.
    Holding the empty glass out to her, I roll my head to meet her gaze. “I almost turned back so many times, I lost count.”
    Jhez takes the glass and sets it on the coffee table. “Given who—” She breaks off and starts again. “What if it doesn’t fade this time?”
    I grunt and close my eyes. “It’s a chance we take, isn’t it?” My eyes flutter open, and I stare at her again. “Why do you care all the sudden? It’s no more likely to happen this time than any other.”
    She won’t look at me, and doesn’t respond. I fumble the credit chit from the front pocket of my pants and toss it on the table. The sliver of plastic holds the balance of the vamp’s payment. The part he’s aware of.
    Jhez’s gaze follows it, but she remains poised on the edge of the couch, unmoving.
    A heavy tread in the hallway precedes a solid, insistent rap on the door.
    I share a look with my twin. Our expressions mirror one another, and slowly we turn to regard the door.
    “You expecting company?” I ask. Softly, just to stall the inevitable. I already know the answer.
    “No,” she murmurs, drawing out the response. Her gaze swivels to me as the rap repeats, her eyes widening. “How much did you take from him?”
    “Oh, please. No vamp would have the—”
    The door flies open, rebounding off the wall, and I flinch at the screech of metal and wood. A chunk of debris