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hey had drunk more champagne back at the hotel； and by this time they were too blasted to care whether they got lost。
By persistence and luck they arrived in Georgetown before midnight。 The sidewalks swarmed with people： tourists out for a big night； students wearing school sweatshirts； a group of black kids with roller skates and stocking caps spray…painting arcane graffiti on a wall。 Molochai pressed his face to the window。 〃'Fresh；〃 he read before the van was past。
Twig licked his lips。 〃They better be。〃
〃Trendies。〃 Zillah waved his black…nailed hand in an elegant gesture of dismissal。 〃Trendies； all of them。 We'll find better ones later； after these are home in bed。〃
They parked beside a fire hydrant。 Zillah took a satchel full of empty wine bottles from the back of the van and gave them to Twig to carry。
Molochai looked at the block of shops。 A lingerie boutique； a newsstand； a vegetarian café。 It might have been a street in any city in America。 〃There's no magic in this town；〃 he plained。
Zillah touched Molochai's lips with the tip of a sharp nail。 〃There's magic in every bloodstream。〃
Molochai nodded sullenly。 He was hungry again。 There might be magic in every bloodstream； but the bloodstreams in the French Quarter were tastier。
It was Twig who found the girl。 He had a nose for Indian curry。 The window was painted CALCUTTA PALACE in a flowing strange script。 Below it a sign said CLOSED； but the door swung open when Twig pushed at it。 The inside of the restaurant was decorated like some fantastic far eastern fairy tale： red silk drooping from the ceiling； purple velvet covering the walls； tables lacquered in black and gold。
Zillah looked around appreciatively； then sensed that Twig had gone quivering and taut beside him。 He followed Twig's eyes and saw a lone dark…skinned girl at the back of the restaurant sweeping the carpet with an electric vacuum。 She had not yet heard them over the noise of the machine。
As Twig watched； the girl raised her arm and pulled her heavy black hair back over one shoulder。 The movement wafted a cloud of her scent to him。 He could smell the oil of her hair； the sweat of her armpits； the odors of grease and spice and sandalwood that were a part of her being。 And he could smell the dusky blood beneath the skin； hot and peppery； as exotic as all India。 Her blood would taste of chili and almonds； of cardamom； of rosewater。
He motioned to the other two； and they slid forward； moving as one creature； fused in this act of killing。 The girl turned and flung up her hands； but Twig's mouth stopped her cry； and they fell upon her。 As Zillah grasped her head between his strong hands and twisted her neck to an impossible angle； as Molochai burrowed under her long cotton skirt and bit into his favorite spot； Twig cracked the bones of the girl's throat between his teeth and tasted spice。
They drove back to the hotel sometime in the hazy zone between very late and very early。 Twig's eyes were glazed； with an effort he focused on the road。 Molochai lay with his head in Zillah's lap nibbling a little sugared cake he had found in the kitchen of the restaurant。
Zillah's wine bottles were full now。 He had topped them off with vodka from the restaurant's bar。 The bar had been well stocked； and he had found a bottle of peppered Stolichnaya。 It would blend weft with the girl's spicy blood。 This hot red cache would be a treat later on； during the long dry stretch between here and New Orleans。
They passed a nightclub。 Children postured on the sidewalk； waving their spidery hands； tracking the van with their black…smudged eyes。 A snatch of sepulchral song floated in their wake。 Bauhaus。
Zillah tilted his head to one side and smiled。 〃Listen to them…the children of the night；〃 he said。 〃What music they make！〃
Chapter 9
When Christian turned away from the river； Wallace was there； several feet away； watching him。 Wallace had seen him with the boy。
Christian's first emotion was not anger or fear but shame； terrible fiery shame。 Wallace had caught him at his most secret； most vulnerable moment； and Christian wanted to sink to the ground and cover himself； to shut his eyes tight； to vanish。 He pulled his cloak around him and stared at Wallace； feeling his eyes grow colder； knowing he must not panic。
The moonlight ravaged Wallace's face。 The hollows beneath his eyes grew deeper； the lines bracketing his mouth more harsh。 The silver cross at his throat gleamed； and his hand went to it。 〃Vampire；〃 he said； spitting the word out； making it ugly。 〃Filthy； cursed thing…〃
〃You knew；〃 said Christian。 〃The story you told me…it was all made up。 You didn't find her diary。 You weren't suddenly seized with a desire to see her after such a long time。 You knew。〃
Wallace's eyes glittered； dark； never leaving Christian's。 〃I did。〃
〃Then why？〃 Christian spread his arms in a gesture of bewilderment； the cloak billowed around him； made him seem immensely tall。 Wallace； perhaps misunderstanding the gesture； took a step backward。 〃Why now？ If you knew then； why are you following me after fifteen years？〃
〃I knew then；〃 Wallace told him。 〃After Jessy disappeared； I began going to your bar； watching you； and I knew。 I came to believe。 And I knew what you had done to my daughter。〃 He hadn't answered the question。
But Jessy wasn't even dead then； Christian thought； confused。 He is wrong。 She must have been alive still； living upstairs； gazing out my window all day and pulling me into her body at night…
〃You look very much the proper vampire； Christian；〃 Wallace went on； and Christian wondered whether he was supposed to take that as a pliment。 〃But I still could not quite believe。 I was unsure。 My religion does not acknowledge the supernatural。 It considers such matters unholy； and consequently it ignores them。 So one night I waited until you closed your bar down； and when you went out； I followed you。 I saw you speak to a boy near Jackson Square； a young boy with long hair who wore beads around his neck。 I followed the two of you to the river； and here I saw you…I saw you do what you did to the other boy tonight。 And I wondered how many other children you had put in the river； and I thought of Jessy's body sinking out of sight there； in that cold brown water…〃 Wallace's voice broke。
Yes； Jessy； thought Christian。 I put Jessy in the river。 But that was later； after the baby came。 And I didn't kill her； I wouldn't have killed her… In an instant he realized who had killed Jessy。 Zillah had； with the seduction of his hands and his lips； with his fertile seed。 Or so Wallace would see it。 Christian imagined himself trying to explain the events of that Mardi Gras to Wallace： He planted his child in her womb； and by the time the baby tore her apart inside； he was far； far away。 But that night was so bloody； and oh so green 。 。 。
No。 Wallace would not understand the drunkenness that es with blood or the light in the Mardi Gras sky。 He would see only the image of Zillah's hands on Jessy's fragile body。 He would picture Zillah writhing atop Jessy； stifling her screams with his tongue。 The blame would be taken away