BTB Excerpt, Chapter Two: "Hangover"
Chapter Two: Hangover
Steps pass beneath my feet as I descend them, driven purely on instinct. When I reach the concrete of the sidewalk, I glance back over my shoulder in confusion. Reluctance and loss flit through me like the chill night air sinking past my skin.
I try to wrestle the thoughts in my head into some kind of order, to clear space for coherency. My surroundings are slow to come into focus.
It’s a sensation I’m familiar with, the disorientation, although I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I blink a few times, scrubbing moisture from my cheeks with rough impatience. I’m alone. It surprises me, though I can’t think why.
That I’ve survived should fill me with relief. Or something like it. It doesn’t. Deep down, I know it was a gift. Restraint. He could have destroyed me so easily.
Tearing my gaze from the building’s entrance, I walk away. Every step’s an exertion of will. Every stride creates a gulf between myself and that part of me I’ve surrendered and left behind.
A larger part than I intended. The pull is stronger than any I’ve experienced. None have ever delved so deep into me, stripped me so thoroughly. It makes me feel hollow, empty.
I lift my hand and run a finger over my smooth, pale skin, blue veins prominent. My john paid handsomely for what I offered; the price I exacted is greater than he knows. The strength of his filched chi pulses through me like liquid fire, unnatural. It will assimilate slowly. But I can afford the luxury of time now. Judging by the translucent quality of my skin, I need it.
Looking back over my shoulder once more, I study the architecture of the building and its unfamiliar red aura. Beginning to fade now with the encroaching sunrise. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
My pace quickens as the glow of imminent dawn illuminates the city’s eastern skyline. Buildings jut into the vivid color like some mythical beast gaping its maw to breathe fire on the remnants of humanity. I have just enough time to make it back to my little hovel in the heart of the Blue District—to put some distance between me and the john, to weaken the resonant sensation, before he recovers from his feeding thrall.
Exhaustion is weighing down my feet by the time I make it back to the flat. Litter lines the hallway, remnants of life, or escape. All of it trash. The faint smell of mildew and decay hangs in the air, paint peeling off the sweating concrete walls. As I pull my key from its chain around my neck, the door opens.
“You look like cold shit, Black,” Jhez says. Her brow is furrowed in concern, relief flooding off her so heavily it’s discomfiting. As if she doused in flowery perfume during my absence.
“I love you too, sister.” I’m sure it sounds like I’m snarling; my tone is at once both rough and edged even to my own ears, but I’m too drained to care. Mind and body. One feels like someone pureed it, and as for the other? Well, I did just hoof it across half the city.
I shove past her, though gently, and thump into the living space. Its dreary features swirl around me, familiar and comforting, and I’m relieved when my gaze catches on the small painting that lives on the wall where it always has. The strong, heavy lines of pattern in the cheap print are better than any drug at staving off the persistent blurring and dizziness. Aftereffects we’re both accustomed to coping with. Thus the framed mandala hanging across from the couch.
The door clicks shut, the lock slides into place. “Didn’t you recognize him?” Jhez sounds annoyed.
“Recognize who? I don’t get why you’re so upset. He was a john, just like any other.”
“What the hell, Black? Did your brain short-circuit or something? That wasn’t just a vamp. That was Le Gross himself, the Monsieur of York.”
I turn and stare at her, not comprehending. My brain feels like it’s in reverse.
“Monsieur Garthelle? Hello? That name ring your bell?”
I know what the reigning vamp in this city looks like. What the heck did she bum off her street partner this evening? Seriously? I shake my head and frown. “Jhez, I don’t know what you think you saw. But that was not Monsieur Garthelle in the car. I think I’d know if I was sitting next to him.”
At least she doesn’t bother asking that one question I hate. I managed to survive the encounter—thanks to my john’s restraint—but I’m not “okay,” not by a long shot. There’s a reason why I look like cold shit. It’s about the way I feel at the moment, too.
I sink into the threadbare couch, beige more from dirt and stains than intention. For the space of a heartbeat, it’s transposed with a black velvet creature, its cushions so soft and deep I want to lose myself in them.
But then it’s just smudged tan corduroy again.
That’s happened before. It’s normal, the juxtaposition of reality with memories. Like the tug I still feel, it usually fades with time. I let my head fall back and massage my temples.
I don’t have the strength to pull my boots from my feet. It doesn’t stop me from propping my heels on the corner of the battered coffee table, though.
Jhez reaches over my shoulder, holding a tumbler full of chilled liquid. “How strong is the pull?”
“Strong.” I throw the entire contents of the tumbler down my throat without breathing. I learned some time ago not to try sipping anything she offers.
She slips over the back of the couch to sit beside me.
Holding the empty glass out to her, I roll my head to meet her gaze. “I almost turned back so many times, I lost count.”
Jhez takes the glass and sets it on the coffee table. “Given who—” She breaks off and starts again. “What if it doesn’t fade this time?”
I grunt and close my eyes. “It’s a chance we take, isn’t it?” My eyes flutter open, and I stare at her again. “Why do you care all the sudden? It’s no more likely to happen this time than any other.”
She won’t look at me, and doesn’t respond. I fumble the credit chit from the front pocket of my pants and toss it on the table. The sliver of plastic holds the balance of the vamp’s payment. The part he’s aware of.
Jhez’s gaze follows it, but she remains poised on the edge of the couch, unmoving.
A heavy tread in the hallway precedes a solid, insistent rap on the door.
I share a look with my twin. Our expressions mirror one another, and slowly we turn to regard the door.
“You expecting company?” I ask. Softly, just to stall the inevitable. I already know the answer.
“No,” she murmurs, drawing out the response. Her gaze swivels to me as the rap repeats, her eyes widening. “How much did you take from him?”
“Oh, please. No vamp would have the—”
The door flies open, rebounding off the wall, and I flinch at the screech of metal and wood. A chunk of debris catches me on the cheek before falling into my lap—part of the frame the bolt hole screwed into.
“—presence of mind to track me down.”
Judging by the size of the individual whose silhouette fills the doorframe, my john is more than mildly displeased. Whoever he is. That the vampire employs muscle to begin with is no real surprise, given the luxury I witnessed.
“Your presence is required, Nightwalker,” the man intones, stepping forward. He is the personification of hired muscle if ever I’ve seen it.
Odd that the vamp noticed. I lower my feet and push up from the couch. It’s rare for my clients to recover from energy thrall so quickly. Usually, they wallow in it. And none have yet complained about what they lacked in the aftermath. If they noticed at all.
I scrub the sweat that slicks my palms onto the well-worn softness of my pants, and try not to panic. There’s no taking this bulk of a man by surprise, not with me in the state I’m in. So despite the fear-fueled adrenaline pouring into my veins, I push to my feet and step past Jhez. She scoots her legs out of the way, staring up at me with equal parts horror, concern, and outrage. Impotence is a frustrating state, and I’m right there with her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a bit.” Why I make the effort to reassure her, I don’t really know. They’re empty words, a meaningless promise. I’m just trying really, really hard not to think about the worst-case scenario here.
Yeah, and maybe my john just wants to share a spot of tea, right?
Muscle doesn’t glance at Jhez as he grabs me by the arm and hauls me in his wake.
[Go to Chapter Three.]
Steps pass beneath my feet as I descend them, driven purely on instinct. When I reach the concrete of the sidewalk, I glance back over my shoulder in confusion. Reluctance and loss flit through me like the chill night air sinking past my skin.
I try to wrestle the thoughts in my head into some kind of order, to clear space for coherency. My surroundings are slow to come into focus.
It’s a sensation I’m familiar with, the disorientation, although I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I blink a few times, scrubbing moisture from my cheeks with rough impatience. I’m alone. It surprises me, though I can’t think why.
That I’ve survived should fill me with relief. Or something like it. It doesn’t. Deep down, I know it was a gift. Restraint. He could have destroyed me so easily.
Tearing my gaze from the building’s entrance, I walk away. Every step’s an exertion of will. Every stride creates a gulf between myself and that part of me I’ve surrendered and left behind.
A larger part than I intended. The pull is stronger than any I’ve experienced. None have ever delved so deep into me, stripped me so thoroughly. It makes me feel hollow, empty.
I lift my hand and run a finger over my smooth, pale skin, blue veins prominent. My john paid handsomely for what I offered; the price I exacted is greater than he knows. The strength of his filched chi pulses through me like liquid fire, unnatural. It will assimilate slowly. But I can afford the luxury of time now. Judging by the translucent quality of my skin, I need it.
Looking back over my shoulder once more, I study the architecture of the building and its unfamiliar red aura. Beginning to fade now with the encroaching sunrise. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
My pace quickens as the glow of imminent dawn illuminates the city’s eastern skyline. Buildings jut into the vivid color like some mythical beast gaping its maw to breathe fire on the remnants of humanity. I have just enough time to make it back to my little hovel in the heart of the Blue District—to put some distance between me and the john, to weaken the resonant sensation, before he recovers from his feeding thrall.
Exhaustion is weighing down my feet by the time I make it back to the flat. Litter lines the hallway, remnants of life, or escape. All of it trash. The faint smell of mildew and decay hangs in the air, paint peeling off the sweating concrete walls. As I pull my key from its chain around my neck, the door opens.
“You look like cold shit, Black,” Jhez says. Her brow is furrowed in concern, relief flooding off her so heavily it’s discomfiting. As if she doused in flowery perfume during my absence.
“I love you too, sister.” I’m sure it sounds like I’m snarling; my tone is at once both rough and edged even to my own ears, but I’m too drained to care. Mind and body. One feels like someone pureed it, and as for the other? Well, I did just hoof it across half the city.
I shove past her, though gently, and thump into the living space. Its dreary features swirl around me, familiar and comforting, and I’m relieved when my gaze catches on the small painting that lives on the wall where it always has. The strong, heavy lines of pattern in the cheap print are better than any drug at staving off the persistent blurring and dizziness. Aftereffects we’re both accustomed to coping with. Thus the framed mandala hanging across from the couch.
The door clicks shut, the lock slides into place. “Didn’t you recognize him?” Jhez sounds annoyed.
“Recognize who? I don’t get why you’re so upset. He was a john, just like any other.”
“What the hell, Black? Did your brain short-circuit or something? That wasn’t just a vamp. That was Le Gross himself, the Monsieur of York.”
I turn and stare at her, not comprehending. My brain feels like it’s in reverse.
“Monsieur Garthelle? Hello? That name ring your bell?”
I know what the reigning vamp in this city looks like. What the heck did she bum off her street partner this evening? Seriously? I shake my head and frown. “Jhez, I don’t know what you think you saw. But that was not Monsieur Garthelle in the car. I think I’d know if I was sitting next to him.”
At least she doesn’t bother asking that one question I hate. I managed to survive the encounter—thanks to my john’s restraint—but I’m not “okay,” not by a long shot. There’s a reason why I look like cold shit. It’s about the way I feel at the moment, too.
I sink into the threadbare couch, beige more from dirt and stains than intention. For the space of a heartbeat, it’s transposed with a black velvet creature, its cushions so soft and deep I want to lose myself in them.
But then it’s just smudged tan corduroy again.
That’s happened before. It’s normal, the juxtaposition of reality with memories. Like the tug I still feel, it usually fades with time. I let my head fall back and massage my temples.
I don’t have the strength to pull my boots from my feet. It doesn’t stop me from propping my heels on the corner of the battered coffee table, though.
Jhez reaches over my shoulder, holding a tumbler full of chilled liquid. “How strong is the pull?”
“Strong.” I throw the entire contents of the tumbler down my throat without breathing. I learned some time ago not to try sipping anything she offers.
She slips over the back of the couch to sit beside me.
Holding the empty glass out to her, I roll my head to meet her gaze. “I almost turned back so many times, I lost count.”
Jhez takes the glass and sets it on the coffee table. “Given who—” She breaks off and starts again. “What if it doesn’t fade this time?”
I grunt and close my eyes. “It’s a chance we take, isn’t it?” My eyes flutter open, and I stare at her again. “Why do you care all the sudden? It’s no more likely to happen this time than any other.”
She won’t look at me, and doesn’t respond. I fumble the credit chit from the front pocket of my pants and toss it on the table. The sliver of plastic holds the balance of the vamp’s payment. The part he’s aware of.
Jhez’s gaze follows it, but she remains poised on the edge of the couch, unmoving.
A heavy tread in the hallway precedes a solid, insistent rap on the door.
I share a look with my twin. Our expressions mirror one another, and slowly we turn to regard the door.
“You expecting company?” I ask. Softly, just to stall the inevitable. I already know the answer.
“No,” she murmurs, drawing out the response. Her gaze swivels to me as the rap repeats, her eyes widening. “How much did you take from him?”
“Oh, please. No vamp would have the—”
The door flies open, rebounding off the wall, and I flinch at the screech of metal and wood. A chunk of debris catches me on the cheek before falling into my lap—part of the frame the bolt hole screwed into.
“—presence of mind to track me down.”
Judging by the size of the individual whose silhouette fills the doorframe, my john is more than mildly displeased. Whoever he is. That the vampire employs muscle to begin with is no real surprise, given the luxury I witnessed.
“Your presence is required, Nightwalker,” the man intones, stepping forward. He is the personification of hired muscle if ever I’ve seen it.
Odd that the vamp noticed. I lower my feet and push up from the couch. It’s rare for my clients to recover from energy thrall so quickly. Usually, they wallow in it. And none have yet complained about what they lacked in the aftermath. If they noticed at all.
I scrub the sweat that slicks my palms onto the well-worn softness of my pants, and try not to panic. There’s no taking this bulk of a man by surprise, not with me in the state I’m in. So despite the fear-fueled adrenaline pouring into my veins, I push to my feet and step past Jhez. She scoots her legs out of the way, staring up at me with equal parts horror, concern, and outrage. Impotence is a frustrating state, and I’m right there with her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a bit.” Why I make the effort to reassure her, I don’t really know. They’re empty words, a meaningless promise. I’m just trying really, really hard not to think about the worst-case scenario here.
Yeah, and maybe my john just wants to share a spot of tea, right?
Muscle doesn’t glance at Jhez as he grabs me by the arm and hauls me in his wake.
[Go to Chapter Three.]
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