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kittered across the floor。 He swept rows of bottles and boxes off the shelves。 Strange pungent smells wafted up from the spilt substances。
〃Fucker；〃 said Steve helplessly。 〃Goddamn shithead fucker。〃 He might have been speaking of God or Arkady or himself。 He stood with his feet splayed and his eyes rolling wildly； looking for something else to destroy； something whose broken fragments might magically recoalesce into a whole； living Ann。 He grabbed the knife from Ghost's hand and raised it high above his head。
Ghost saw plainly what Steve intended to do next： he was going to bring the heavy handle down on the glass case where Arkady's bowls and jars were laid out。 Several hundred pounds of shattering glass； even in a back alley of the French Quarter late at night； might attract attention。 And with Ann lying in her own blood upstairs and the proprietor smashed to powder in the back room； attention was not what they wanted。 〃Don't do that；〃 Ghost said； and caught Steve's arm。
Steve whirled on him。 For a moment Ghost thought Steve would bring the knife down in his face。 But Steve only stood poised to attack； the muscles of his arms trembling。
〃Listen；〃 Ghost said as calmly as he could。 〃It wasn't your fault。 It wasn't even Arkady's fault。 Ann made her own choice。〃 Bewitched； he thought； but that wouldn't help Steve。
Steve's lips worked soundlessly。 His eyes were red and desperate。 But ever so slowly he lowered the knife。 In that moment； despite the dark smears of blood on his forehead and the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth； Steve's face looked younger and more vulnerable than ever。 It was the face of the eleven…year…old kid Ghost had once known； wanting badly to believe what Ghost was telling him； wanting to trust Ghost but not quite able。
At last Steve said； 〃You don't think it was my fault？〃
〃It was never your goddamn fault。〃
〃Or Arkady's； even？ You don't think she died because of the poison we gave her？〃
〃She would've died no matter what； Steve。 Arkady told us she couldn't have an abortion。 And the baby would have killed her。 It wasn't our fault。 Not a damn thing could have helped her。〃
〃The vampires did it。〃 Soft； but simmering with rage and pain。 〃Yeah。 Vampires。 So what if they are？ Does that mean they can just roll into town； fuck up my life； then go off and party some more？ I was fucking up my life just fine on my own。 I didn't need them。 Ann didn't need them。 I still loved her I would've…I would've 〃
〃I know you would've。〃
〃But now I can't。〃 Steve spread his hands wide。 〃There's no choice anymore。 Everything I wanted； everything she ever wanted…none of it can ever happen now。 And how e？ Because some vampire was horny？〃 He hefted the knife。 〃No。 It's not gonna be that way。 You can find them； Ghost。 You can take me to their lair。
〃And I'm gonna kick some vampire ass。〃
Christian clawed the bathroom door open and felt his way back along the landing。 His good night vision could not help him now； because his eyes were squeezed shut against the pain。 It washed over him again； a green nausea that felt as if it were turning his guts into bloody lace； a sickness that clutched the softest core of him and squeezed。
Twice already he had made his way to the bathroom。 His fastidiousness would not allow him to vomit on the floor as the others were doing； though now he was far sicker than any of them； except possibly Nothing。
He swore at himself。 Stupid； stupid…falling for Zillah's tricks； trying to buy their love。 You can never be like them。 They are young and strong and wild。 To them the blood is just another path to drunken gratification。 You are old； and for you the blood is life itself。
But as the Chartreuse blazed down； he had felt as if he were drinking those eyes； Zillah's eyes。 Zillah had made him drink half the bottle。 Molochai and Twig egged him on between bouts of retching。 Nothing lay silent； slit…eyed； beaded with icy sweat。
Christian pushed the door shut； stumbled across the room； and fell on the bed beside Nothing。 He heard no gagging or moaning； everyone else seemed to be asleep。 The blaze of green pain lessened a little。 Christian opened his eyes and studied the delicate pattern of water marks on the ceiling； following their lines； wondering if they formed maps that someone might travel。 Wondering if they formed the map that had brought him and Nothing and the others here； to this city； to this room。
Soon his eyes closed； and he slept dark dreamless sleep。
His feet sore from all the night's running； his heart ready to burst with Steve's pain and his own； Ghost led Steve along Chartres Street。 Steve had jammed the dagger into the waistband of his jeans。 The jewelled handle protruded obscenely。
Ghost was pretty sure he knew where Nothing and the others were staying。 He didn't have to be psychic to use the phone book； and Christian's bar was still listed。 But how do you know about the bar； the long…ago nights empty even at Mardi Gras？ How do you know about the room upstairs where a girl gave birth to her own death？ These were questions best asked in dreams。 Ghost let his feet lead him along。
He shouldn't be taking Steve on this fool mission at all； putting them both in danger。 He should lead him to a dead end； an empty room somewhere。 Or a bar。 But Steve had been put through enough bullshit tonight。 Something in Ghost rebelled at lying to him。 Anyway； the vampires would surely be out drinking somewhere。 Steve could go upstairs and bang on the door until he saw the room was empty。 Then there would be no reason to stay。
Steve saw the boarded…up window； the shabby door with the faded sign above it that still said CHRISTIAN'S。 Beside it； an unmarked door stood open； a long staircase ascended into darkness。
〃Is this it？〃 Steve didn't wait for an answer； the truth was in Ghost's eyes。 He put his hand on the jewelled haft and started up。
Halfway to the top； the darkness took on a velvety tangibility； as if Ghost might stroke it with his hand。 Above him he heard Steve feeling his way up the stairs； banging his head against the walls； missing a step and stumbling when he finally reached the landing。 Up here there was a little light； dim and watery； as if the moon shone in through an unseen hole in the roof。
〃This door？〃 Steve asked。 There were three。
〃Yeah； but…〃 Ghost stared at the door。 He had thought the room would be empty； but it didn't feel empty。
Steve twisted the knob and gave the door a vicious kick with the toe of his boot。 It swung open； and before Ghost could react； Steve had stepped inside。
It was even darker in the apartment。 Steve couldn't see the bed or its two shadowy occupants until he was upon them。 His knees hit the edge of the mattress； and he nearly lost his balance。 Only the thought of falling into bed with two vampires steadied him。
The room reeked of blood and vomit。 Steve's stomach clenched； and all the beer he had drunk earlier threatened to make itself known to him again。 But he was past being sick。 There was another smell too； something herbal and alcoholic。 It was ing； he realized； from one of the figures on the bed。 It was on his