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nd looked down upon the surging brown river。 My mother's bones lie there； he told himself。 And they do not rest； they drift and break apart and e back together year by year； and they never rest。
When shadows began to stretch across the sidewalks and tired eyes watched his progress past the doorways of the bars； Nothing retraced his steps toward Christian's room。 The others would be ready to wake by now。 Christian might acpany them on their rounds tonight； or might find some other way to amuse himself； since he no longer needed a job。 〃We get money in other ways；〃 Zillah had told him coolly when he proposed going back to work at some bar。
They would descend upon the French Quarter； reeling from bar to bar； singing down Bourbon Street with their arms around one another's shoulders。 In the pany of Molochai； Twig； and Zillah； Nothing was served drinks without a second glance。 The taste of Chartreuse was magical； fragrant and heady beyond imagining； yet somehow it also tasted natural to him； as if he had been weaned on the blazing green liqueur。 Already it felt as if they had been here forever。
And all the bloodstreams here were sure to be sweet。 With a shock； Nothing realized how hungry he was。 The memory of Laine's blood gave him no guilt now。 He remembered only how rich it had tasted； its heat； the way it had pumped into his mouth with the beat of life itself。 But now Laine's death felt like something that had happened a long time ago。 Too long ago。
Since then； there had been those drifters in Missing Mile； and the child。 They had been easier。 When he found out how Molochai； Twig； and Zillah filed their teeth to make them sharp； Nothing had sharpened his too。 Now he liked to run his tongue over them； teasing the small points。 But not even the kid from Violin Road had tasted as sweet as Laine。 In the French Quarter all blood would taste alcoholic； purple。。。。
Yes； tonight they would surely go out for blood。
Now he was almost home。 Some small rational part of his mind wondered how he was able to walk these streets so easily。 But he could not really think it strange。 He had dreamed of this city； of roaming these streets。 A glittering map of the French Quarter seemed to unfold in his head； half…imagined and half…remembered； as clear as the burn of Chartreuse。 He swung around a lamppost； and his coat floated out in an undulating circle of black silk。
Not until he was half a block from the room did Nothing notice the man following slowly behind him。 The man walked bent slightly at the waist； one arm clamped across his stomach as if it hurt him to move。 He was only a shape in the fading light； neither large nor small； featureless。 Nothing slowed his steps。 The man slowed too。 Nothing walked faster。 So did the man； doubling up even more。
Instead of stopping at the boarded…up bar； Nothing turned right。 He would lead the man into the alley that ran beneath Christian's window。 The alley was fenced off at the other end and blocked by a heap of garbage…he might be trapping himself。 But he could face the man there； find out what he wanted and deal with him however necessary。 He didn't look like much of a threat。
Nothing heard the man follow him into the alley； shoes crunching over broken glass。 He stopped and swung around； his hands on his hips and his sneakers planted firmly on the pavement； trying to look dangerous。
The man stopped a few feet away； badly hunched now。 His breathing sounded harsh and painful。 His face was a wavering pale blotch on the dusk。 Below it； a silver cross on a chain gleamed。 He stared at Nothing for a long moment； his lips working silently； his eyes disbelieving。 Then he took two unsteady steps forward。
〃Jessy 。 。 。〃 he whispered。
Nothing felt his heart cannon against his ribs； bounce crazily off his breastbone。 Hush； he willed it； hush； heart； no one can hurt me。 Zillah is close by； and I have no fear。
The man came closer。 With dry fingertips he touched Nothing's face。 Nothing thought； He's old。 He is much older than I thought。 And he looks so sick。 He cannot hurt me。 He caught the man's hand in his and pulled it easily away from his face。 The fingers were like bones wrapped in parchment。
〃Jessy；〃 the man said again； more evenly this time。
Nothing tried to make his voice calm。 It came out husky； as if he'd smoked a whole pack of Luckies that day。 〃That's not my name；〃 he said。
〃You are so like her…〃 The old man pulled himself upright。 His face contorted。 Nothing imagined tissue pulling loose inside him； bleeding bad blood。 He gripped the man's arm； trying to give what support he could。 The man breathed deeply and was able to continue。 〃My daughter died many years ago。 But you are so very like her 。 。 。〃
It's Wallace； Nothing realized wildly。 The sick old man who nearly killed Christian and drove him away from here。 He is my grandfather。 He shot Christian in the chest 。 。 。 but he is my grandfather。 His heart caromed again。 Should he tell Wallace his name； or should he lie？ Something in him rebelled at denying his name。 It was truly his now； and he would claim it。 〃My name is Nothing；〃 he said。
〃Who are you？〃 The man grabbed Nothing's shoulders and gave him a feeble shake。 〃Who are you； child？〃
Nothing half…wanted to fall into Wallace's arms and sob out the whole confusing story。 After all； this man was his grandfather。 He had almost killed Christian； but he hadn't known the truth then。 He thought Christian had lured Jessy to her death。 Nothing could explain the truth。
But then he realized he couldn't。 Even if Nothing was Wallace's only grandson； even if Nothing looked so much like his dear dead Jessy。 Because if Wallace heard the whole story； he would know who had really killed his daughter。
Zillah。 Zillah had caused Jessy's death； hadn't he？ He didn't mean to； it was my fault…I tore her apart inside before I was ever born； Nothing thought hysterically。 But Wallace would not blame him。 Wallace would love him because he was Jessy's offspring； because he looked like Jessy and was just the age she had been when Wallace had lost her。 And Wallace would want to take him away from Zillah； away from his family。
Besides； Wallace was in pain。 Suffering。
Maybe Nothing could do one small mercy for his grandfather。
〃My mother's name was Jessy；〃 he said。
Doubt flickered in Wallace's eyes； brighter than the pain and weariness。 If Nothing wanted Wallace to trust him； he had to think of some kind of proof。 At once it came to him。
〃She disappeared fifteen years ago； at Mardi Gras；〃 he told Wallace。 'That was when she met my father。〃
Not until the words were out； hanging in the cool still air of the dusk； did Nothing realize his mistake。
〃Then you are one of the unholy creatures too；〃 Wallace whispered。 〃The city has bee riddled with them。〃 With a convulsive motion he tore the crucifix from his neck and thrust it at Nothing； trying to drive him toward the end of the alley。 〃Repent while you are still young…in the name of the Father； the Son； and the Holy Ghost； tear the bloodlust from your heart…〃
Nothing could not bring himself to laugh。 He caught Wallace's hand and took the cross away。 〃I'm s