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ng herbal and alcoholic。 It was ing； he realized； from one of the figures on the bed。 It was on his breath。
Steve pulled the knife out。 The haft felt good in his hand； heavy and sure。 It would cleave straight through the mother…fucker's heart blood for Ann's blood。 And then he would keep carving。 He would take out as many of them as he could。
The weight of the knife tugged at Steve's arm； as if the thin sharp blade were hungry for blood。 A thread of doubt touched him。 Blood for blood： that was right。 But somewhere in him he knew that this was not the one who had killed Ann。 This was not Zillah。 Did they all have to die for Zillah's sins？
Steve wavered； nearly dropped the knife。 But then the demon in his mind began to whisper。 Not his old familiar demon。 This was a new one； darker and more twisted； with a dark shapeless mouth and eyes that wept blood。 Ann died like a roadkill； it told him。 And you know it was your fault。 Fuck what Ghost says； you know the part you played。 If you can't do this； you might as well carry her bloody corpse back to Missing Mile slung over your shoulders。
Steve's hands tightened convulsively around the haft of the knife。 The sharp facets of the jewels cut into his palms。 Zillah was somewhere in this room； he knew that。 And Zillah would be next。
Then the demon was pulling his arms down； and Steve screamed his exultant rage as the blade cracked the vampire's breastbone and sank into his soft dark heart。
Nothing struggled to wake up。 Something was wrong。 His body felt sheathed in dry sweat； and he could not force his eyelids open。
He had been so sick from Wallace's blood。 They all had。 The smell of vomit was still strong in the room； vomit and Chartreuse and beer 。 。 。
No one had drunk beer tonight。 That much he was certain of。 Nothing managed to open his eyes。
He had just enough time to see Steve standing over the bed； his face terrified but crazily exultant； his arms raised high above his head…and then Nothing saw the blade plunge down into Christian's body beside him。 Christian's black blood arced up from his chest； splattering the moonlight； soaking into the carpet to mingle with the faded blood of Jessy。
The impact brought Christian up from sleep。
For a moment there was pain； deep and cold。 But pared with the sickness he had felt earlier； the pain was not very bad。 It was like being adrift on a river； one that smelled of mud and bones like the Mississippi； but this river was green。 Its gentle luminescence bathed him and soaked through him。 At last he was drunk。 The river made him drunk； and his mind grew dim and began to rest。
Heartblood welled up in his mouth； and he licked it from his lips。 The taste was sweet； dark； familiar； and it would stay with him forever； it was the essence of him。 Through the bright film that washed over his eyes； he saw a face above him： translucent hair hanging like a waterfall； pale eyes wide and stricken。
As Christian sank beneath the green waters of his death； he thought； Three hundred and eighty…three years。 And he was as beautiful as he should have been。 He was lovely。
There were too many words in Ghost's mouth； ready to spill into the silence of the room。 Murderer； he wanted to say； my best friend； my only brother。 I once saw you run your ear off the road to keep from hitting a stray dog。 How could you stab someone through the heart？ How could you bear it as you looked into his eyes？
But in the end he didn't say any of those words； because the silence erupted around them。
Ghost had e up beside the bed。 He was standing a little behind Steve； and he never saw Zillah ing。 Steve must have seen him； because he stepped backward。
There was only a heart…stopping blur of motion launching itself out of the darkness。 Then the razor flashed； and every speck of light in the room seemed to coalesce along its deadly edge。 Wetness hit Ghost's face； hot and stinging。 The taste was in his mouth； in his throat。 Blood。 Steve's blood； spraying。
Zillah had Steve around the chest； forcing him down。 Steve bucked and clawed at him。 But Zillah's free hand had the razor； and now it was swinging down； toward Steve's throat。
The knife still protruded from Christian's chest； jewels glittering dully in the faint light。 Ghost reached out and pulled it free。 Christian's heart made a faint sucking sound as the blade came away。 Blood seeped from the wound。
Ghost felt that he moved in slow motion： the razor was still swinging down。 He took two steps forward。 Easily； he slid his left arm around Zillah's neck effortlessly he pulled Zillah's chin up and back。
Then he drove the knife straight into Zillah's temple； and that was the hardest thing he had ever done。
Nothing saw it all。 He was still on the bed； half…propped on his elbows； naked except for the vomit…stained sheet that covered him。 He saw Steve bring the knife down into Christian's chest； and he had not even had time to react to that when Zillah flew like a demented bat out of the corner and whipped his razor across Steve's upraised forearms。
Then the most extraordinary thing of all happened： Ghost took the knife； stepped forward； and lifted Zillah straight off the floor。 He only had one arm around Zillah's neck； but Nothing saw Zillah's feet dangling an inch above the floorboards。 Ghost hoisted Zillah around so that he was facing the bed。
And Zillah's eyes met Nothing's as the knife went in。
There was no love in them； no sorrow。 Only pain and blame and blind rage。 This was not the way Zillah had planned it。 Through all the stupid risks he took he had never considered the possibility of his own death。 This is your fault； those eyes told Nothing。 You brought me to this； and this should be happening to you。
Then the green light blazed once and went out。 Zillah's eyes were as dead as a blown light bulb。 But their message had burned itself into Nothing； had hardened him faster and better than anything else could。
Zillah's feet kicked and shuffled an inch above the floor。 Blood began to seep around the handle of the knife； then from…his nostrils and the corners of his eyes。 His mouth fell open； and a fountain of blood tumbled down his chin； washed over Ghost's arm and hand。 That seemed to wake Ghost。 The strain of Zillah's weight hit him； and he let the body fall。 He stared unbelievingly at his hands。
〃Steve？〃 he said in a small voice。 〃What。。。？〃
Steve was slumped against the bed。 He had taken off his shirt and was pressing it between his arms； trying to stop the bleeding from his slashed wrists。 Tiredly； he looked up at Ghost。
〃I owe you another one；〃 he said。
Nothing glanced around the room。 Where were Molochai and Twig？ He saw them huddled against the far wall； heard them puking more violently than ever。 He didn't know if they had seen Zillah die。 Right now they sounded as if they were beyond caring。
He looked at Ghost。 Ghost stared back。 His eyes were clear and very pale。
〃I could kill you； you know；〃 Nothing heard himself say。 〃I could make them get up and kill you。〃
Ghost didn't move。 〃I know you could。〃
〃I could make them kill both of you。〃