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is gaze and muttered； 〃Okay。 Whatever you say； man。〃
〃Death is easy！〃 a boy with red lipstick smudged around his eyes shouted into Steve's face。 Steve shoved the boy out of his way and continued toward the door。 The kid stumbled backward； as drunkenly limp as a rag doll； and spilled his fancy cocktail all over his friend。 The friend's cigarette sputtered out。
Steve didn't give a fuck。 He stared at the back of Ghost's head； at the pale hair that straggled over the collar of Ghost's army jacket。 For a second…just for a second…Steve wanted to grab a handful of that dirty； tangled； silky hair and yank it as hard as he could。 He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans。
Not for the first time； and surely not for the last； Steve found himself wishing he could reach inside Ghost's skull and pull out the magic there。 He wished he could grind it under his boot； leave it smeared across the beer…sticky floor。 He'd been standing there minding his own damn business； drunk enough to groove on the stupid music； a beer in each hand。 For a couple of hours Steve had managed to forget Ann and everything else。 Now they were tearing off on some mission that could only mean more pain and trouble。 Ghost's thoughts brushed Steve's； Ghost's fear was in him； and for a second he hated Ghost。 If Ghost really did have a shining eye in his heart； as Arkady had said； Steve wished he could gouge it out。
〃Have a nice night；〃 the doorman called nastily after them as they left the club。
When the cool night air touched his face； Steve calmed down a little。 Crazy shit to be thinking about。 What did he love best about Ghost？ What had he always loved about Ghost？ The magic。 The weird； illogical； irritating magic。
〃I'm sorry；〃 he said； bumping into Ghost； hugging him。 For one more moment they were safe； they did not have to hurt。 Neither wanted to move。
But finally Ghost stepped away and pulled Steve by the arm。 〃e on；〃 he said。 〃We got to get back。〃
Steve knew there was more trouble ahead。 More stupid shit and agony。 But he could not hate Ghost； no way； nohow。 He followed his best friend…maybe his only friend…through the maze of streets and alleys that led back to Arkady's shop； and the wind that fingered their hair blew off the river； smelling of oysters and pearls； of dark mud and the bones of children。
Chapter 32
〃I'm dying；〃 Molochai moaned。 The floor beside him was spattered with fresh blood。
〃I already died；〃 Twig told him。 〃I'm a zombie； I wanna eat your BRAINS…〃 He lunged at Molochai； got a mouthful of hair。 Molochai began to choke。 After a moment he vomited a long stream of blood； some of which soaked the front of Twig's jacket。 They collapsed across the floor。
〃Not again…〃
〃I can't help it 〃
〃SHUT UP！〃 screeched Zillah。 The room fell silent except for the sound of Molochai and Twig softly gagging。 At the first onset of the sickness Zillah had collapsed in a corner； shivering madly。 He would let no one near him； no one wanted to go near him。
Nothing lay on the bed bathed in icy sweat。 Long streaks of crimson marked the side of the mattress where he had vomited。
Christian stood at the window。 His back was rigid； his face drawn with disgust。 The shade was pulled down。 When he had tried to raise it； the others shrieked piteously at the faint light that filtered up from the gas lamps far below。 At last； when the retching had subsided； he said； 〃Do none of you possess the sense of smell？〃
No one replied。
〃Do none of you possess the sense of taste？〃
Still no answer。
〃Because if his cancer was far enough along to make all of you this sick； Wallace Creech must have reeked like a fresh grave。 Or were you so eager to make your kill in our alley； under our window…that you paid no attention to the very things that give you power？ ARE YOU ALL MAD？〃 Wild…eyed； Christian surveyed the room for a moment。 Then； as if he knew the answer to his own question； he turned back to the window。
Nothing's voice wavered toward him in the darkness。 〃Are we gonna die？〃
Christian snorted。 〃No。 You're going to…how would you put it？…puke your guts out。 For about twenty…four hours。 Then you'll be weak and tired for twenty…four more。 Essentially； you have food poisoning。 A fine way to spend your first full night in the French Quarter； no？〃
〃You're so smug；〃 hissed Zillah from the corner。 〃But what happens when you drink our poisons？ Give you a double shot of Chartreuse and you'd be flat on your back just like us。〃
〃Yes。〃 Christian permitted himself a faint cold smile。 〃But I would be wise enough not to drink a double shot of Chartreuse。〃 He remembered a time when he had not been so wise； and phantom pain shot through him。 If they were hurting that badly； they deserved more sympathy。 After all； he supposed they had thought they were doing him a favor。
But Zillah didn't want sympathy。 He hauled himself up on his elbows and glared at Christian。 His eyes snapped green fire； visible from across the room。 〃Yeah？〃 he whispered。 〃Yeah？ You know what I think？ I think if we have to be sick； then you should be sick too。〃
Christian hesitated； wary。 〃What do you mean？〃
〃I mean 。 。 。 maybe you should have a drink； Chrissy。〃
Molochai giggled。 〃Have a drink； Chrissy。〃
Twig took up the chant。 〃Have a drink 。 。 。 Chrissy； have a drink 。 。 。〃 Their voices chased each other around the room。 Only Nothing was silent。 He lay absolutely still against the red…streaked sheets。 Christian saw the shadow of his ribs under his white skin。
〃You can't make me；〃 said Christian； but cold fear trickled down his spine。
〃Twenty…four hours puking our guts out；〃 mused Zillah。 〃Then twenty…four more to recover。 We could be on the road by the next night。 The van's gassed up。 Twig has the keys。〃
〃There's no Chartreuse；〃 said Christian wildly。
Zillah waved a languid hand。 〃In your bag。 The closet； top shelf。 Three bottles。〃
Then he leaned over； coughed； and vomited a great gob of blood。 It cascaded down his chin and trailed onto the floor。 When he straightened up； his face was as serene as ever。 〃Have a drink； Chrissy；〃 he said。 His voice was almost casual。
Could he live like this； with Zillah always threatening him； dangling the constant specter of loneliness over his head？ Christian considered the alternative。 If they left； he would lose not only them but Nothing too。 His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing that fine fragile face again。 His only moments of love would be those he spent with the children； matching their caresses with his own before he tore their pale throats out and stole their lives。
Whether he could live with Zillah's threats Christian did not know。 But he knew he could not live alone again。 Humbly； as if in a dream from which he hoped to wake； he moved toward the closet。
〃Don't make me do this；〃 he said when he had the bottle in his hand。 He spoke calmly； but it was a plea born of desperation。
Zillah only stared at him； eyes still flaring。 His breath hissed in and out through his teeth…quick； jagged； painful。
〃Have a drink； Chrissy；〃 he said。
The first shot blazed green agony as it went