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ve them； it makes the final moment of betrayal sweeter。 They must e to you in the flesh and make love with you。 They must lure you down onto some ancient stained mattress； or beneath a silken coverlet； or into an alley where they will kneel before you in the filth。 You must bee addicted to their spit； you must breathe their scent until you are intoxicated。
〃Only then will they consummate their love for you as they did for Ashley…by sucking you dry。 By taking every drop of your beauty； your youth； the fire that drives you。 By leaving you a husk； a dry； living shell。 As they did to my brother Ashley。
〃I found him when I returned home from Paris at the end of that long dying winter。 We had been living in a church down by Bayou St。 John； an abandoned place。 Ashley hanged himself in the bell tower。 He had no choice； truly； Ashley was born with a healthy dose of the Raventon dramatic flair。 He hung there for a week before I came home。 He knew I would be back…I never broke a promise to Ashley…but he could not wait。
〃When I cut his body down； I saw why。 It was as dry and twisted as a mandrake root。 Ashley had been dead seven days； but nothing in him had rotted except his eyes and his tongue。 There was nothing else left to rot they had sucked all his juices out。 He rustled in my arms as I cut the rope； and when I lifted him down and laid him on the floor of the bell tower； he rattled like a sack full of bones。 His mouth was stretched open； his lips were bloodless； pulled away from his teeth。 Teeth that had gone the color of old ivory。 Far back in his head； his tongue lay withered。 His hair was colorless； drifting。 And his eyes…the eyes I wanted to die for when they tilted up to meet mine…those eyes 。 。 。 they were gone。 Those eyes were gone； and Ashley looked at me out of the darkness of his shrivelled brain； and his face flaked away when I touched it。
〃His lovers were still there； living on the top floor of the church； burning incense to mask the faint smell of Ashley's decay。 For seven days they had let him hang with his face sifting to dust and his eyes moldering。 When I descended from the bell tower cradling Ashley's skull the flesh fell away from it as easily as old crumbling parchment…they were making love on a dirty mattress they had dragged in。 Biting throats； clutching hands； laughing and sobbing with their pleasure。 I sat with Ashley in my arms and waited for them to finish。 At last one of them looked up at me and said It was easy for him； Arkady。 As easy as breathing。 And the other one told me； Death is easy。 You should know that； Arkady。 Death is easy。〃
Ghost had been drifting back to sleep； his head pillowed on his arms； dreaming the story more than hearing it； his mind filling with pictures of the boy's withered body on the long…ago roadside； the giant oak tree up on the hill； the final image of his dream in the car that had frightened him so badly…the twins lying side by side on the stained mattress； their skin drying and cracking； their beauty spent。 Now he looked up and said sleepily； 〃Death is easy？〃
Somehow； Arkady sensed； those words were familiar to Ghost。 But he smoothed pale strands of hair from Ghost's brow； and Ghost let his head sink back down。
Perhaps Ghost really would stay with him tonight。 Perhaps Ghost wanted to drown in this bed。 Surely such a thing was possible。 Ashley was the beauty of the Raventons； to be sure； but Arkady too possessed the high clear forehead and the sharp proud cheekbones； if not the sparkling burgundy hair or the unbelievable eyes； those depthless eyes。 Perhaps Ghost wanted to sigh in Arkady's arms； to writhe and moan beneath the ministration of Arkady's lips。 It had been so very long。
The twins could still lure Arkady into their bed on occasion； because they were beautiful and he was alone。 But he hated them for what they had done to Ashley； and he was afraid of the hold they already had upon him。 And there was no one else。 Not until now； not until this nervous magical Ghost…child with the pale blue eyes； the ragged clothes from some fantastic thrift shop； the translucent hair that fell across his eyes as he slept。
〃Asleep； Ghost？〃 Arkady whispered。 〃Perhaps not yet。〃 He bent and kissed the corner of Ghost's eye as lightly as he would have plucked a spider from its web to dry and grind for gris…gris。 His tongue flickered across the silken scrap of Ghost's eyelashes； then slid down Ghost's cheek and sought passage between those exquisite lips。
Every nerve in Ghost's body seemed to e instantly alive； tensing； uncoiling。 He flew off the bed backward and landed in front of the door； back pressed flat against the wood； chin lifted and nostrils flared wide。 Even his eyelids seemed to tremble。 His eyes met Arkady's and locked there； large and seared； aglow with pale blue fire。
Arkady held the look for a long moment。 Then he let his gaze flick to the window； and he lifted one bony shoulder in a tiny； unconcerned shrug。
〃She'll die； Ghost。 Unless that foetus es out soon； its growth will be too far gone。 This is no vulnerable morsel of meat to be scraped out by any back…alley abortionist with a curette and a roll of dirty cotton。 Try that； and it will rip open her womb even sooner。
〃No。 You must poison it。 Otherwise it will grow； and Ann will die； and perhaps your precious Steve will die too。 Guilt twists a man； Ghost。 You cannot protect him forever。 He may bleed his life away in a car crash； or pick a fight with someone who carries a razor in his boot…the Vieux Carre is full of them。 Or perhaps a slower death。 A pickling of the liver？ An insult to the brain？ Death can e in a bottle； Ghost。 And I think Steve has already opened that bottle and taken the first swallow。
〃You must poison it； Ghost。 To save Ann。 To save Steve。〃 Arkady paused； then delivered the bitter coup de grace。 〃I know the recipe。 I developed it after Richelle died。 I can help you 。 。 。 if I wish。〃
Arkady twitched the Sheets back。 They made a tiny dry rustling sound； like long linen wrappings falling away from a mummy's face； like dead moth wings dusting down。 Ghost jumped a little at the sound。 With both hands he raked his hair； pulling it in front of his face。 Arkady saw him shudder。
Then his back straightened； and his shoulders squared； and his eyes flared dark once and then were as pale as before。
〃Okay；〃 he said。
Those few steps back to the bed were the worst Ghost had ever taken。 He felt the floorboards under his bare feet； coated with a dry and silken dust。 Arkady's skin would feel that way against his own。 Arkady's hands would caress his soul； Arkady's tongue would explore his brain 。。。。
He would not think about it。 He would think about singing at the Sacred Yew； with Steve going wild on guitar。 Back when things were simple。 That was what he would do。 〃Okay；〃 he said； refusing to hear his own words。 〃I'll do whatever you want。〃
He was onstage now； clutching at the microphone； ready to let his voice flow。 But Arkady's papery lips clamped over his mouth； sealing it。 Arkady's tongue cleaved to his； tasting of bitter herbs。 Arkady's dry touch spidered down his chest； under his T…shirt。 He felt that touch in the depths of