Black Market Blood

by Francis Gideon

  Sully sat in her desk chair across from the bed. He didn’t say anything in response to her question.

  She sighed. “Come on. It’s about the boy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It is. Hard not to when he’s plastered all over TV. He was supposed to come tonight, right?”

  “We don’t have a set schedule.”

  “But you’re dating him now.”

  It wasn’t a question, and really, Sully wasn’t sure he could answer it. He knew she meant dating in the romance way. The sex was easy. The emotional labor was even easy as soon as Sully got the hang of it. The third aspect of a relationship, the elusive romance, was something he had no clue how to do because sex work didn’t always provide it. Trina could have sex with Mr. Bad Back Hair. She could even listen to his problems. But romance? She would always roll her eyes when he went to kiss her and say he’d leave his wife for her.

  Sully used to be exactly like her. He laughed, in the privacy of Trina’s room, about every single john or jane who made promises about saving him. It was stupid and ridiculous because for once, Sully didn’t need to be saved. He still didn’t. But when Chaz had asked him, he considered it. He’d never done that before, and though he still didn’t want to be saved by anyone, the lingering absent feeling of Chaz not being there ate away at him like a stomach ulcer.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sully said. “And please don’t lecture me about that.”

  “About what?”

  “If they buy you now, they’re always going to think they can.”

  She laughed. “Oh, right. That was Tom, though. Tom doesn’t want to have emotions.”

  “Wow, you’re confusing.”

  “I’m fluid. There’s a difference. And we’re all a little fluid. We change our minds about what we want. We react one way one night, and then we’re back to it again the other. I can blame my stuff on magic, but humans do it too.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Like how much sleep have you had?”

  “Considering it’s one in the morning now and he left at….” Sully did some math. He’d stayed at Chaz’s until he had to go into work, and that was not even twenty-four hours ago. Everything piled up in his head, and he realized how exhausted he was. “Not much, honestly.”

  “Exactly. How much have you had to eat?”

  “Um. Coffee at a café.”

  “Not a food group.”

  “Kit Kats. Haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while.”

  “That’s bad. You need to eat better because that does affect your mood. And that’s all I mean. So many of the human guys I see want to find some magical cure for why they’re not into their wives or why they’re suddenly into me when I’m Tom. They want to find reasons for their fluidity, and they think it has to be magic. But man, so much changes us from the moment we get up. Depending on what damn breakfast you had could mean the difference between yelling at someone you love or embracing them.”

  “I don’t love him.”

  “Uh-huh. I think you’re fluid on that too.”

  Sully didn’t say anything for a while. He was a fool. He’d said “I love you” when they were together and thought he could write it off. He saw Chaz’s parents and thought it meant that they were destined, because both of their families abandoned them and so it must be love. But then the TV news happened, and he felt so, so alone when Chaz hung up and disappeared. So love must be stupid and it only got people hurt. Then he heard Chaz’s voice on the phone and fell in love again, only to argue about his feelings. If this relationship really was about an exchange—then Chaz had to tell him he loved him too. He had to say it back, but he hadn’t, and maybe that was why Sully was mad. He’d been shortchanged.

  “I… uh,” Sully stuttered, not wanting to say all of what he’d just run through in his mind. “I don’t know if I love him. But when I said it, he didn’t say it back.”

  “Is he capable of saying it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a vamp now. A public vamp. Can you express love without it sounding like he’s a fiend who wants to corrupt you? Can he risk admitting it to himself if he thinks you’re going to be taken away?”

  There it was: the context for the fight. Chaz wasn’t not saying “I love you” because he didn’t love Sully and only wanted to throw money at him. He didn’t say it because he did love him, and he wanted Sully in front of him, so he didn’t lose him when he said it. They were fighting about the same goddamn issue using different words. They were fucking it up because they wanted each other, but too much was at stake.

  “Shit.”

  “There you go! See! Fluidity saves the day! That’s why I can’t keep a partner, really. I can’t date. But it works for some people, as long as you realize there’s a little polyamory in the monogamy. Some mornings, you’re gonna hate that person because they don’t make the bed. Then you love them for the same thing. Silly, silly emotions. I like mixing things up.”

  Sully sighed. Fluidity was magic, and it was also translation. He’d known the answer all along, but wanted Trina to back his play. Now that he had her vote, he didn’t know how to repay her. He rose from the seat and wrapped her in a hug. She smelled like bubble gum.

  “Oh wow. That’s a fierce hug you have there. Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Sully said, pulling away. “So…. Can I get you something? Like a chocolate bar?”

  “Or do my laundry?” Trina beamed and batted her long eyelashes.

  “Sure. I’ll do your laundry this week. That’s easy.”

  “Cool. But you don’t have to pay me for advice. I’m your friend.”

  “Right. I still will, because I said so. But I will keep the other stuff in mind.”

  “Good.” She nodded, her blonde bangs bouncing. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea where he’s going. But he’s with Imogen, so—” Sully laughed for a minute. He remembered the cards Trina had read for him. Imogen holding the World. The spell for him getting what he wanted. It was all true, all real. He wanted to sweep Trina into another hug, but her coy smile seemed to register their shared realization.

  “If he’s with Imogen, he’s safe.”

  “I figured. I can call her, maybe, or get Artie to call her. Worst case, I write a letter.”

  “Oh, old school. I dig it. Words have a lot of power. Good luck, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” Sully got off the bed and was surprised when Trina hugged him again. This one lingered a lot longer, almost as if they were saying good-bye. Sully pushed the thought from his mind and squeezed her extra tight.

  He took the elevator up to his floor to get his jacket, since the fall chill air was already beginning. There was a convenience store around the corner where he could pick up stamps and an envelope. The idea of writing a letter struck Sully as perfect. He could even include some of the passage he translated with his long and rather complicated response that translating was an act of understanding and piecing together context, and maybe this way, he could be understood. He’d try to make it more poetic, obviously. He’d had enough practice to do that now.

  With his mind made up and jacket on, he walked down the stairs and out into the red-carpeted foyer.

  “Oh, Sully!” Tabby called. “There you are. There’s someone here to see you.”

  Sully’s heart lurched, thinking it was Chaz and that he’d beat him to the punch on being romantic. Detective Gallagher sat on the couch, his hands folded over his knees. The standard-issue trench coat was gone. He looked dressed down in a sweater and slacks. In spite of his casual attire, his back was pin straight. His presence threw Sully for a moment, but then he remembered his translator status had been revoked. To the Toronto police, he was a sex worker.

  “Hi, Sully,” Declan said, rising from his spot. “Is there a chance we can have a spare minute to talk?”

  “No, sorry. I’m heading out right now.”

  “Please. It’s about Chaz Solomon.�
�� Declan walked forward and grabbed Sully’s arm, carefully out of range of Tabby. Sully had dealt with enough men like this to understand there was no such thing as no. “I think you’ll be happy to hear that I believe you about Chaz’s alibis, but I need to verify his whereabouts during the murders.”

  “He was with me, yeah. What else do you really need to know? What position we fucked in?”

  Declan’s gaze bore into him, sharp and unrelenting. He broke it when he looked toward the stairs. “Nothing so personal. But you were at the crime scene for Alan Ramirez. I should verify what you two were doing that day, then before. So how about you show me upstairs? In an interview room?”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  Sully tried to shoot Tabby a look as they walked past the desk, but she was sunk behind a magazine. Declan kept hold of his elbow all the way, and Sully led him upstairs. Sully quelled his panic and remembered Artie’s lessons from before. As soon as they stepped into his room, he hung his jacket outside his doorknob. He shut the door afterward before Declan could notice.

  “Please take a seat at the desk.”

  “Not the bed? Surely this is where you entertained Chaz.”

  Sully shrugged, his face stoic. He stood against his door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Is this really what you want to talk about? You know he was with me. You also know what I do. I can give you the 411 on my specialties, but somehow, you don’t strike me as the kinky type.”

  “I’m not. But clearly you do more than just lie on your back. You translate. I can see that.” Declan picked up the book Sully had worked so hard at finding. Sully held his breath, hoping Declan wouldn’t damage it. When he added it to the pile of papers on the desk, Sully breathed again. He would have kicked Declan’s teeth in if he destroyed The Night Walkers. His anger settled deep in his gut. He kept it there, ready to come forward whenever Declan made a move.

  “Hmm, this novel appears to be a romance,” Declan commented. “Maybe you can translate on your back. Or with your mouth full.”

  “You’d be surprised what I can do. Now, let’s cut to the chase. You wanted to know where Chaz was, and he was with me. But now? Chaz isn’t here. And my guess to his whereabouts is as good as yours.”

  “I know. He got a special friend to help him out. I’m glad about it.”

  “Really? Even if he’s the killer you think he is?”

  “Yes. Because having a killer out there, one that everyone despises, is an easier story to swallow. Evil is evil is evil. Understanding is hard.”

  “And what are you doing? What should I understand?” Sully inched closer and closer to his desk drawer as Declan spoke, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The more Declan touched Sully’s stuff and ranted about nothing, the more Sully got The Bad Feeling. Things were about to go sideways. If he could only get to his drawer—

  “Tell me, Sully.” Declan’s eyes were sharp and focused as he gazed at Sully. “Are you clean?”

  “As clean as they come.”

  “You’re lying. You may be human, but you’re not pure.”

  “I’m going to tell you a secret, Declan. Purity is a myth. Everyone’s done something they shouldn’t have. But I can be whatever you want for the next half hour. Then the other half, you can rant about your fake gods all you want.”

  “God is dead. Nietzsche wrote that. The only thing that counts in his world is monsters. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.” He sighed forlornly. “And I don’t want sex. Not anymore. I only need justice.”

  “And you’ll get that through me?”

  “Yes.” Declan stood as he spoke, his actions sharp and fast. “Because I’ll make you what Chaz couldn’t.”

  Sully jumped on the bed away from Declan. His drawer was half-open and from his vantage point, he saw no knife inside. No fucking knife? Why…? The blood drained from Sully’s face when he remembered he’d given it to Chaz, and it was long gone at the crime scene of Alan Ramirez. Probably locked in evidence. Declan noticed the drawer was only filled with Kit Kats and condoms, and laughed. A sick, mocking laughter that made Sully’s stomach flip.

  “You’re mine, Sully. All mine.”

  Declan’s teeth flashed. His incisors turned into fangs. His white skin turned pink as he panted, like he was a dog in heat. Sully’s anger grew inside of him. This was the monster who killed his friends. Who destroyed the passageway and made his home less safe.

  “You asshole,” Sully said.

  Declan lunged on the bed, but Sully anticipated his movements. Without a weapon, he did what he knew best: as soon as Sully had a shot, he kicked Declan square in the nuts.

  Chapter 41

  THE SCENE played out for Chaz like a movie. Chaz ran down Queen Street from Adelaide’s without waiting for Imogen to get her car. With the shortcuts he took, he beat her by at least ten minutes. He burst through Artie’s door. Tabby yelled. Chaz realized her cries had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with Sully.

  “A man took him. One of the new girls says he’s the devil.”

  “It’s Declan Gallagher. Get Artie. Call the police.”

  Chaz bounded to the stairs, taking them two by two. His adrenaline combined with his vampire blood and made him run faster than a human. He wasn’t even out of breath by the time he reached the fourth floor. Sully’s door was ajar, his red jacket allowing for an inch of space. Chaz heard Declan’s low, sickening laugh. Chaz kicked the door open the rest of the way. Sully was on the bed, keen focus in his eyes as he kicked Declan directly in the nuts.

  Chaz almost wanted to laugh. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it worked. When Declan doubled over in pain, Sully kicked his ribs. Then his neck. Chaz expected Sully to poke Declan’s eyes out with the finger maneuver that Sully had shown him in the elevator of Reggie’s building, but he didn’t. He used the bed’s height to his advantage and kicked Declan one last time. Declan tripped backward and fell into the closet mirror. It shattered, sending jagged edges all over the carpet. Declan let out a low cry of pain. Glass stuck everywhere on his skin, littering him with tiny cuts. He rose from the ground, blood pooling around his hands and knees.

  “You traitor,” Declan shouted. He lifted himself up from the floor and tried to charge at Sully. “You fiend. All of you. Both of you.”

  Declan spat. Blood fell to the floor. Sully grabbed his bedsheets and held it over his face, protecting his face from the spray of infected blood. Declan seemed about to run, when Sully charged him. Sully used the sheet as a barrier as he slammed Declan toward the closet. Their legs tangled, and as the sheet turned a sickly shade of crimson, Declan hit the closet floor. Only this time, it was directly over the last hunk of mirrored glass in the frame, jagged and turned upward like a sundial. Sully jumped back from the sheet as Declan cried out in pain. All remaining white sections of the sheet became crimson, then turned to black from so much blood. It outlined Declan’s lifeless body as the piece of mirror protruded from his heart.

  “Like an arrow,” Chaz murmured.

  Sully turned to him, his eyes alight. There was no blood on his face or hands, but sections of his shirt were speckled with it. More importantly, there were no wounds on his neck. Still, Chaz felt a tremor of fear tickle the back of his mind.

  “Are you…?”

  “I’m fine. He didn’t… he didn’t.” Sully burst into tears. He stared at the mess of his bed, caked in mud along with blood, and then at his untouched desk. Chaz rushed over to him, wrapping his arms around him. Sully clung back, his sobs desperate and loud.

  “You’re fine, you’re fine.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m crying.” Sully sobbed again, so Chaz held him closer. He pressed his head into his chest, then kissed the crown of his head. Chaz squeezed him tighter until the sobs died down and became only tremors of tears. They stepped away from the pooling blood.

  “We should go. There’s so much… I don’t want….”

  “I need to grab this.” Sully rubbed his hands over his face, pushing the
tears away. He stepped over the blood and grabbed his books off his desk, along with a couple of photocopies. Chaz understood right away. His play. His novel. He needed these things; they were all that mattered. When Sully’s hand linked with Chaz’s, he felt like he was on that list of desired items too.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Chaz said.

  “I know. I am too. I was going to write you a letter.”

  “Really? About what?”

  “Something long and ridiculous about translation being the art of forgiveness. It sounds a little silly now in my head.”

  “I like silly. Maybe you’ll tell it to me later.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Sully glanced up at Chaz, his eyes red and watery, but there was no sorrow there. He closed the distance between their bodies for a kiss. Chaz tasted Sully’s tears and swore he could smell his fear too. But it faded away as Sully opened his mouth and let their tongues touch. He placed his hands around Chaz’s neck and held on with more emotion than any words could carry.

  And Chaz held on too. Even as the commotion downstairs grew louder and sirens sounded in the distance, Chaz held on to Sully. When they pulled away, it was to step out of the room and into the hallway. Police ran up and closed off the area. People recognized Chaz, he knew they did, but they also put together what was going on in Sully’s room. Declan’s body had started to contort and shrivel.

  “So, you’ll be free of charges, I suspect,” Sully said.

  “And you sure can take care of yourself, Atlas,” Chaz teased.

  Sully laughed, which set Chaz’s heart aflutter again. “Yeah, I can always take care of myself. All bad johns are the same. But we should share the weight.”

  “Partners?”

  “Partners,” Sully confirmed.

  Chaz swallowed hard. Sully clasped Chaz’s hand tighter as they reached the bottom of the winding stairs. More police and more workers were there. The night stretched on ahead of them, their work not even close to done.