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the handling of his drug。
〃Okay； here's your vein。 Keep your finger on it。〃 Spooky held the lighter under the spoon until the mixture started to bubble。 Then he laid the cheesecloth over the surface and drew the solution into the syringe。 Spooky's hands were steady now。
〃Still got that vein？ Okay； hold it 。 。 。〃 He held up the syringe and flicked the needle's tip with his finger。 〃Don't worry。 I can smell you're scared； but this is good shit。 There goes the bubble。 Safe as milk； like Nick Drake used to say。 Okay。 Okay 。 。 。〃 He bent over Nothing's arm and probed the soft flesh with the needle。 〃There you go。〃 Spooky drew back the plunger。 A diaphanous swirl of blood filled the syringe。 Nothing realized he had been holding his breath。
〃My turn。〃 Spooky mixed the solution again and injected himself with a cool eagerness。 He shivered when the needle went in。 A moment later Spooky just seemed to start fading。 His eyelids fluttered； and his voice began to drag like a m…cord played at low speed。 As Nothing watched； those luminous bushbaby eyes slipped shut。
Nothing felt the junk spreading through him； tendrils venturing into his hands and his legs； turning his blood as clear and pure as water。 He didn't feel sleepy at all。 His mind was sharp； cold。 He felt as powerful as a god。
Spooky was pletely gone now。 He slumped against the vault； his eyes closed； his breathing shallow； harsh。 His mouth was slightly open。 Nothing saw the tip of his tongue glistening。
Nothing moved closer to Spooky； moved so close that he was almost on top of the biker。 He encircled Spooky's shoulders with his arm。 At the neck of Spooky's dirty white T…shirt his skin was chill； sweaty； goosepimpled。 With the tip of his finger Nothing stroked Spooky's throat and found the spot under the ear where the pulse beat。 He left his finger there for a moment； then shook his head。 What was he thinking？ If you bit somebody there； you might kill him。 Instead he picked up Spooky's limp arm and bit at the soft skin of the inner elbow； where Spooky had fixed。
The vein was already open； and the blood began to flow easily。 From somewhere deep in his stupor； Spooky whimpered。 A child's sound。 Nothing sucked harder； trembling。 He'd never really tasted anyone else's blood before。 No more than a drop here and there； by accident； as when Laine had cut his finger in Jack's car。 That night seemed long ago。 Now Spooky's blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin mixed with spit； and the coppery sweetness of it mingled with the sweat from the biker's skin； and Nothing pressed closer and licked the last of the blood away。 He couldn't take too much； he didn't know how much would be dangerous。 Never mind that he wanted to eat Spooky； to swallow him whole。 The junk…laced blood tasted so good； so pure。
It hadn't lasted long enough。 He leaned against the vault looking at Spooky。 Spooky's hair drifted across his face； stirred by the wind。
It might rain again。 Nothing picked up the leather jacket and carefully covered Spooky with it。 He knew he couldn't stay here until the biker came to。 He might notice the fresh wound。 And Spooky would probably beat the shit out of him。 Nothing looked at the slack face one more time and touched his fingertip to Spooky's tired lips。 Then he walked away from the graveyard and headed for the road again。
Maybe it was the effect of the heroin； but what he had done did not seem strange to him。 Erotic； yes； sneaky and a little mean； yes…but not strange。 He had wanted the blood。 He had even been hungry for it。 And it had made him feel better； had settled his stomach； just as the albino's sperm had。
The first spatters of rain started ing down ten minutes later。 The cars still went implacably by。 Nothing's wet hair fell in his face。 The rain came down harder； colder。 He was almost ready to turn around and go back to Spooky…the motorcycle wouldn't offer any shelter； but maybe they could hole up in the vault…when the black van came thundering down the road。
It was dingy and dusty； black going gray。 The back window was covered with sackers and decals。 As the van passed him； Nothing caught a glimpse of several legends half…obscured by mud and dirt： PHOTUS/FETUS/VATOS； in dripping red letters； PARTY TILL YOU PUKE； BAUHAUS； with the sketchy face that was the band's logo。 And he thought he saw one that said JESUS SAVES and another that read IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY DRIVING； DIAL 1…800…EAT…SHIT。
Then the van jolted into reverse and pulled up next to him。 Three heads swivelled to look at Nothing； three clumps of hair； three faces defined in blots of dark makeup。 Their hands clawed at the windows； and their mouths opened； laughing； and for a moment Nothing thought they would drive away and leave him staring after the van； his foot already on the asphalt； his skin ready for warmth。 But then the passenger door opened and one of the figures swayed toward him； spat hair out of its mouth； and said； 〃Hi。 Want a ride？〃
The air inside the van was as hot and wet as a kiss； and the sweet scent of cheap wine was so strong he could taste it。 〃I'm Twig；〃 said the driver。 His voice was low and amused； and his sidelong smile was as quick and sharp as a blade。 〃The bum here is Molochai。 And the pretty one in the back； that's Zillah。〃
As the van started up again with a jolt； Nothing crouched next to the gearshift and studied his new panions。 Twig was fox…faced； with eyes like chips of night。 Molochai's features were more blunt； his smile more babyish。 But them seemed to be some invisible bond between them。 They laughed at the same time； their gestures mirrored each other。
Right now they were involved in some long meaningless argument about a drink they had invented…strawberry wine and chocolate milk； Nothing gathered after a moment。 Twig steered the van with one hand and swatted at Molochai with the other。 Molochai swiped back at Twig with grubby fists； then passed him a bottle of wine。 Twig sucked at the bottle。 Wine ran down his chin； and they giggled wildly as the van swerved across the center line。
Nothing crawled into the back of the van。 The ceiling and walls were decorated with more stickers and decals and Magic Marker graffiti。 Overlying it all was a pattern of large dark stains like some kind of cancer。
The third occupant of the van…Zillah…lay stretched out on a mattress where the dark stains were even more profuse。 Zillah had an androgynous； perfect face and a ponytail tied back by a purple silk scarf。 Wisps of hair escaped the ponytail； framing that astonishing face； those stunning eyes green as limes。 From the sleeves of an oversized black jacket emerged strong graceful hands with long nails； nails filed sharp and painted glossy black。 Nothing twined his own fingers together； trying to hide his chipped polish job。
Beneath the skin of Zillah's hands was a delicate purple tracery of veins。 Nothing thought again of the heroin he had shot up； the drug still coursing through him。 Then he looked away from the strong veined hands； up into Zillah's eyes。 And Nothing felt himself falling into a green sea。
〃Hello；〃 said Zillah。 The voice was soft； a little husky； razor…edged with amusement。 Surely