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Ann reached Zillah and tried to link her arm with his。 For a moment it seemed that he would embrace her。 But then Zillah's hands closed on her shoulders； and he gave her a hard shove away from him。 Ann staggered； almost lost her balance on the curb。 Her head snapped back and hit the side of the van； and she barely managed to keep her balance。
Zillah gazed at Steve。 His eyes were triumphant。 〃So sorry；〃 he said。 〃I didn't know the slut belonged to you。〃
With a low； desperate cry； Steve threw himself at Zillah。 Ghost grabbed for him； trying to catch Steve's arm or the back of his shirt； anything。 He was afraid of what Zillah might do to Steve； who was hurting worse than ever before； who was too drunk to know what he was doing。 But Ghost's hands closed on air。
Steve lurched forward。 Zillah's arm shot out； something pearly and silver glittering in his hand； and Ghost caught a glimpse of Zillah's expression…amused boredom。
Then Steve staggered back； blood dripping down his face； making dark flowers on his shirt。 The razor had opened his forehead just above the eyebrows； and blood was pouring into his eyes； blinding him。 He stumbled toward where he had last seen Zillah； taking wild swings at the air。
Horrified； Ghost tried again to grab him。 Surely now the razor would take out one of Steve's eyes or slice straight across his throat。
But Zillah had other things in mind。 He sidestepped neatly； then stuck a pink…sneakered foot into Steve's path。 Before Ghost could get to him； Steve tripped over it and went down on the sidewalk。
Ghost knelt beside Steve and shoved the messy hair back from his face。 The cut across his forehead looked shallow； but it had to hurt like hell。 Through some reflex not quite drowned in beer he had managed to get his hands in front of him as he hit the pavement； and his palms were scraped raw。
Ghost searched for Steve's mind with his own； wanting to soothe it。 No good。 Steve's mind was inflamed； walled off； and Ghost could only feel around the edges of it。 Its heat hurt him。 He drew his own mind back； but held Steve fighter。
〃What the hell do you mean？〃 Ann asked。 But there was little anger in her voice。 She was edging toward Zillah。 Her eyes never left his face； she didn't seem to notice Steve bleeding on the sidewalk。 〃How can you call me a slut？ That was magic。 No one ever made me feel so good。 Your cock…your tongue…〃 She shuddered。
Ghost shut his eyes and pressed his face to Steve's。 Steve growled deep in his throat； low and feral； and tried to struggle back up。 Ghost held him down。 If Steve got loose now； he would kill someone or get killed； and the latter seemed a lot more likely。
〃My apologies；〃 said Zillah。 'What was an unkind word。 But you mustn't love me。 I have a lover already； if he has learned his lesson。〃 He held out his arms to Nothing。 After the barest hesitation Nothing went to him； huddled into the curve of Zillah's arm； laid his head on Zillah's shoulder。
〃No；〃 said Ann。 There was dull desperation in her voice。 〃No。 I've never fucked anyone else like that。 You can't leave me。
Steve made a low choking sound； twisted his head； buried his face in Ghost's lap。 His raw hands scraped weakly at the sidewalk。 Ghost caught them and held them tight。
Nothing looked at Ann。 His expression was pitying； a little disdainful。 〃Go away；〃 he told her。 〃Go find somebody else。 I belong here…not you。〃
Ann's face twisted。 She stared around wildly； as if the night and the broken glass and the boarded…up storefronts were suddenly strange to her。 Ghost ached to go to her； even after all she had said and done； but he couldn't let go of Steve。 Ann's mouth opened； and for seconds it seemed as if her scream must split the night wide open。
But then； from far down the sidewalk； another voice came。 A loud voice； full of drunken cheer。 〃Hey！ Zillah！ Look who we found…it's Chrissy！〃
Christian could barely stand up straight。 This was what it must be like to he drunk。 Of course； Twig's arm was looped tight around Christian's neck and Molochai seemed to be leaning his full weight against Christian； but it was not the burden of Molochai and Twig that made him unsteady on his feet。 It was a bination of relief and giddiness； their warm coppery smell and the touch of skin that would not soon be dead and cold。
They had waited for him until his shift at the bar was over； chattering about cities they had seen over the past years； rare new drugs they had taken； impossible scenes of carnage through which they had e unscathed。 They assured him that Zillah was with them； still very much alive。
After the bar closed； they dragged him out of the club before Kinsey could give him his cash pay。 Their van was parked a few blocks away。 Christian saw an assortment of figures on the sidewalk near it。 One of them was Zillah； and something in Christian loosened at the sight of those brilliant green eyes； that face still so insouciant and smooth。 For fifteen years he had waited to see that face again。 Zillah greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a small evil smile。
But who were these others？ Two of them he had seen before。 The girl with the smudged face； she had been at the club tonight。 And the fair boy； the one whose pale eyes widened when he saw Christian…well； he was the singer for Lost Souls？ But there was something else about him 。 。 。 Seeing him up close； Christian remembered。 This was the boy who had e riding his bicycle at twilight； when Christian was about to close up his flower stand and go hunting。 He had been so hungry； barely able to wait； but for reasons he could not explain to himself he had not wanted to take that boy。
Another boy…the guitarist； Christian thought…lay on the sidewalk； his face buried in the fair one's lap； his long legs sprawled at an unfortable angle。 Christian smelled his blood； but it was of secondary interest to him。 For there was another figure here； an unfamiliar one。
Huddled beside Zillah； standing in Zillah's shadow so that Christian had not noticed him at once 。 。 。
This must surely be the true child of night； the soul of all the thin children who wore black； who traced their eyes in kohl and stared out their windows waiting for the sun to set。 This boy looked as if he had been raised in the back room of some hole…in…the…wall nightclub； fed on bread soaked in milk and whiskey； the bones of his face shaped fine by hunger。 That was the word for this child： hungry。 For what？…for drunkenness； for salvation or damnation； for the night itself。 The shadows beneath his eyes might have been painted in watercolor。 The wrists protruding from the cuffs of his raincoat were thin； delicately knobby。
Christian disengaged himself from Molochai and Twig； took a stop closer。 He did not know that he licked his lips。 〃Who are you？〃 he asked。
〃This is Nothing；〃 Zillah told him。
The name took a moment to register。 But Christian had never forgotten Jessy or her beautiful sugar…candy baby。 All through the years he had wondered whether he might have kept the baby and cared for it himself； time after time he had reminded himself that he had abandoned it to give it a chance at a life untainted by blood。