by Marie Hall
Is what we call love simply little more than lust disguised? I’ve lived with Lust my entire life. I know what it feels like to need someone to the point that you cannot breathe for want of him. But that is not love. That is obsession masked as something noble.
Love is the cruelest myth of all.
Chapter 14
It was a typical gray and gloomy day in the Black Hills, though for once, no wind. That was almost a minor miracle in this place.
I was tempted to head back to my trailer, try and take a nap and then maybe call Grace a little later, but honestly, I had no desire to be alone. I didn’t think, but headed where my feet guided me, which just so happened to be our version of the chow hall. It was a large, nondescript, army green tent set several hundred yards behind the carnival proper.
I walked inside, dropped my cold box of doughnuts onto the nearest bench with a loud thud. Several heads turned in my direction.
Bubba got up, mug of something in his hand—you never know what it is with him, coffee, cocoa, blood—and nodded at the box. “What’s that?” he asked, voice sleep roughened, yet no less sexy.
His eyes were blood shot, his skin pinched. He looked ashen; clearly I wasn’t the only one suffering from a case of insomnia. Bubba yawned while scratching the back of his head, looking at me curiously, as if wondering why I stared at him so long. I couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been that he should look so bad.
“Doughnuts, whoever wants can have,” I finally said with an indifferent shrug.
He flicked open the box, grabbed two, placed one in his mouth, then grabbed another. I shook my head; we should be the fattest people on Earth.
I grabbed a foam cup, poured some hot water into it, grabbed a tea bag—all they had left was Earl Gray, not my favorite, but I could force it down when I had to—then I stalked over to one of the empty benches and sat.
My head was pounding, felt like someone had taken a blunt object to it and kept pounding away at the base of my skull. I groaned, steeping the tea and tried to ignore the chatter around me.
I felt movement beside me. I glanced up to find Vyxyn sitting down.
“What do you want?” I growled, rubbing a circle at my temple.
She sat a Tupperware bowl down on the table, popped open the plastic seal and proceeded to pretend like I hadn’t even talked. In the dim twilight of morning her hair looked an even more absurd shade, more like a cotton candy pink. She had on no makeup and wore a pair of Hello Kitty flannel pants and sweater top. She began eating.
I wrinkled my nose when I caught a whiff of the food, my stomach complained violently. “That smells like rotten fish.” I held my cup up to my nose to try and mask the odor with the lemony zest of the tea.
“It’s called seaweed salad.”
I eyed the stuff. It was green, slimy, and smelled even worse that it looked. I ushered her away. “Well get it away from me, makes me feel like I’m gonna yak.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a baby, Pandora. If anyone’s gonna move, it’s not gonna be me.”
In that moment I hated her. All I’d wanted was peace and solitude, why had she come and sat down next to me? To make me more miserable? Actually, now that I thought about it, that was probably why exactly.
I snarled and scooted to the far end of the bench, all the other tables were taken up, or I’d have moved to a different one completely.
Vyxyn laughed, curled a long length of slime around her fork and made a giant show of slowly dropping it into her mouth with a happy sigh as she chewed. “Mmm...mmm,” she said, “sure you don’t want some?”
Bubba, Stryker, and a few others came and sat down on either side of us, sparing me the sudden urge to snap my fangs at the wench.
“That stuff reeks,” Bubba said a few seconds later and pinched his nose shut. “I think you oughta take it out back and put it out of its misery.”
I chuckled, raised my brows and pinned Vyxyn with an I-told-you-so look. She twisted her mouth.
“I’ll have you know I got this stuff at Neo’s. A five star restaurant, I might add.” She said it as if we should be envious of her.
Bubba’s brows gathered. “How much money you pay for that garbage? Why I’ll go to one of our dumpsters out back and pull out some slop for ya if you’re hard up for turd salad. I’ll only charge half a what they do. What you say?” He grinned, and Stryker elbowed him in the rib, laughing as if he’d never heard anything funnier.
I sipped on my tea, but the biting banter between Vyx and Bubba was only making my headache worse. It had been a bad idea to come here.
When I left, no one noticed or tried to stop me. I still didn’t want to be alone though, Luc was out of the question, the tent was a no go, there was only one person I hadn’t seen. Before I left the tent, I checked to see if there were any leftover doughnuts. One. I grabbed it with a napkin then walked toward Kemen’s place.
It was one of those silver bullet looking trailers, a little rusted around the undercarriage, he rarely got up the energy to keep up with the maintenance. I knocked on the door. No response.
I peeked inside. “Kemen,” I called, “you here?”
I heard a faucet running.
It was dark inside. He’d hung several thick blankets over the windows to keep out almost any trace of light. I swatted at the flying dust motes when I stepped inside. His living room was a sea of clothes; it cluttered the floor so you could barely make out the tan carpet. His table might as well have been a giant waste bin. It was riddled with empty pizza boxes and cans of beer.
By the lack of smell, I knew the laundry was clean, just not folded. He’d thrown away any food before it had a chance to rot and stink up the place. But that was the extent of his cleaning. My lips twitched, poor thing, maybe I’d help him organize before I left.
I took a deep breath, already feeling some of the tension creep out of my body. There was something about being around Kemen that soothed me. He wasn’t like the other demons and it was a nice change of pace.
The faucet turned off, then Kemen stepped out of the bathroom. “Pandora.” He sounded startled. He ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. “What are you doing here?”
I kicked a pile of clothes to the side, cutting a path to the couch. “I...” I frowned. “Well, I’m not sure. First I was at Luc’s, then I went to the mess hall, and now,” I shrugged, “I’m here.”
“You can’t sleep can you?” he asked, knowledge evident in his liquid amber gaze.
My shoulders slumped. “Guilty as charged.”
He smiled, eyeing the bundle in my hand. “What’s that?”
I held it up before me. “Peace offering?”
He ushered me toward him. “C’mon.” Then he headed into the bedroom, which again, aside from the bed itself, was a veritable pig sty.
I handed him the doughnut. He polished it off in three bites. I crawled onto the bed, glancing at the floor around me. Instead of clothes, it was books that littered the carpet.
Things like: Journey of Souls. Tackling the Afterlife. So, you’re dead; now what? Gods and mythology. Major Gods of the Ancient World.
I frowned, picked up a thick book, never realizing Kemen liked to read and also a little wigged out by the titles. “What’s all this, Kemen?” I asked, waving a copy of The study of Hubris as it relates to Gods, under his nose. “I never knew you to be a religious sorta guy.”
He took the book from my hand and tossed it back to the floor. “Don’t you ever wonder about that stuff? What happens after we kick the big one?”
I hugged my arms to my chest, rubbing my hands up and down. “I try never to think about it.” I looked at him, and saw in his face the raw truth of the pain we all grappled with. Could a thing who’d never had a choice to be good or evil, someday find peace? I shook my head. “No, I never think about it. I never want to know.”
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. I wasn’t going to ask him if he’d ever contemplated suicide. We all have at some po
int. Life isn’t fair, it isn’t perfect, but it’s all that’s guaranteed. I’d respect Kemen’s decision to decide for himself; but it would never mean I’d stop caring. I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
He looked at me then, gave a lopsided, half-hearted grin and shook his head. “Of course, Pandora, I know that. I just wonder.”
He stared at the wall over my head and I couldn’t stand it. Not from him. “Would you like me to grab my guitar?”
I don’t know why, I don’t think I’m a particularly good singer, but he’d always loved listening to me. Especially when mired in an existential crises.
“That’d be nice,” he said.
I nodded, ported back to my house, grabbed my guitar and rejoined him a second later. I grabbed the chair from under his computer desk, sat down and started to tune it. “Any requests,” I asked, around the pick in my mouth.
“Three Libras?”
“Ahh yes,” I nodded, taking the guitar pick out of my mouth and gave him a wide grin, “the depressing angst of A Perfect Circle, just what we need to hear on this fine morning.”
He snorted and I started playing. The song wasn’t really designed for an acoustic, but I made it work.
Kemen laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes, a semi-formed smile on his lips. His chest rose and fell, his breathing grew longer and more steady. Sloth began to work its magick on me. I had to fight to finish the song, my eyelids felt so heavy, my eyes full of grit and painful to blink.
I’m sure my voice warbled at the end, but somehow I managed to finish. I set the guitar aside and hung my head, pretty sure I could fall asleep right there on the chair.
Kemen cracked an eye open, then patted the bed. “I got room,” he said.
I smiled, because I knew with him this wouldn’t turn into an invitation for more, Kemen understood me in a way others couldn’t. I crawled onto the bed; we shifted around for a bit until we got comfortable.
I laid my head on his big chest, soothed by the sound of his beating heart and slow and steady breathing. He played lazily with my hair and I smiled, snuggling in deeper and inhaling the masculine cool scent of his body.
“Sandman,” I whispered, almost too tired to speak, “I think I love you.”
My cheek vibrated with the rumble of his laughter. “Sleep now, Pandora. I’ll keep you safe.”
I sighed, and tucked myself deeper into his body, my foot played along the length of his calf.
He pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of my head and I slept.
Chapter 15
I woke up to the sound of revelers and the roar of rides. It was darker than a mausoleum and it took me a second to remember where I was. I blinked, turned to look at the clock beside the strange bed. The red number nine blinked back at me almost mockingly.
“Friggin’ hell,” I growled, shot up off the bed and ported to my room. I hadn’t meant to sleep this long. I’d needed to call Grace and ask for entry into the library. Now that would have to wait until tomorrow.
Ugh! I hated oversleeping, it always made me feel one step behind and completely unsettled. I grabbed my most eye catching dress. It was a black, gauzy silk with silver threading throughout. It almost looked like winking diamonds in the right lighting. I pulled the dress on, loving the way it hugged my curves in just the right places. It had spaghetti straps and was cut low in both the front and the back, but the skirt flared out at around mid-calf. I liked to call it high-class hoochie. I raced to my closet, pulled out my favorite pair of midnight indigo stilettos with a four-inch heel, and slipped them on.
When I’d seen them in the store I knew I had to have them, they were made of felt and covered in baby skulls, so cute, and a perfect match for the black and purple streaks of my hair.
I walked to the mirror, ran the brush through my hair until it was a glossy sheen of perfection and then made my way toward my ride. When I got there, I found Kemen covering for me.
“You’re awake,” he said, then his eyes grew wide and he gave a wolf howl.
I snorted and patted his hand. “You should have woken me up.”
“You looked too peaceful, Pandora. You push yourself too hard. Good to rest sometimes.”
“So says the sloth.” I winked and grinned to show him I meant nothing by it. He meant well, no point in quibbling over it.
“So where you goin’ anyway?” He gestured toward my dress. “I know you’re not wearing that just to run this ride.” He paused, then his eyes lit with devilish glee. “Don’t tell me it’s for me. I’m flattered.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “You wish, Casanova.”
“Can’t fault a man for trying.”
I smiled, took ticket stubs from several pairs of hands and reveled in the attention of both men and women. Ignoring the catcalls from a band of teenage boys, I leaned against my booth after I started the ride.
“I’m headed downtown, got some errands to run.”
Errands meaning Sanguinary, I needed to find out what was going on and it seemed like the logical place to start.
He yawned, covered his mouth with his fist. “Want company?” he finally asked.
“Baby, no insult, but I doubt you could hang with me tonight.” I blew him an air kiss.
“You’re probably right.” He grinned. “I’ve got stuff of my own to do anyway.”
“Wow, Kemen is actually gonna do stuff and not sleep. Will wonders never cease?”
“I might be Sloth, but I’ve got a life too.”
“Yeah, where you going?”
He frowned. The happy mood immediately gone, his eyes had grown haunted and distant, whatever he was thinking it wasn’t pleasant. Remembering those books in his trailer, I grabbed his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Kemen, if you ever, ever need to talk, I’m here for you, babe.”
He heaved a huge sigh and shook his head, the smile was back, but it lacked the warmth of earlier. “I know. Take it easy, and look me up if you ever need to sleep again.”
I hugged him. I’m not usually one for shows of emotion, but I felt he needed it. He looked surprised, then pleased, and hugged me back.
“Take it easy, pest,” he said, and then he returned to his empty booth, plunked himself down on the chair and closed his eyes.
~*~
My heels echoed sharply on the streets of downtown, I’d made a quick pit stop at a local library to find out if I could map quest Sanguinary. It’d been closed, but I could see inside the building so I’d been able to port myself in, turn on enough juice to operate a computer—I might not like modern day technology, but I do know how to use it should the need arise. I really didn’t expect to have any luck, figuring that surely they’d hide the address of their club and make it so that only those in the know could find it. But I’d been wrong.
I ground my jaw, trying to count away the burn of anger churning in my belly. I needed a calm head tonight. I wasn’t here to kill, I kept reminding myself.
Walking down the district was surreal, almost like stepping into a clichéd Hollywood slasher flick. If the streetlamps weren’t burnt out, they were flickering a sickly yellow color. It’d been raining off and on for days now, so the streets were dank, potholes full of brackish water. Several of the buildings I passed were rundown and empty, the windows broken out by vandals or children with too much time on their hands. Even the billboard signs were in a desperate state of disrepair.
The stores that were open were your typical trashy dives. Strip clubs, X-rated theater, questionable bookstores and erotica shops, lights low and wares obvious. This street made me think of Vegas. Definitely could have held its own in sin city. Lust purred, completely in her element.
You’d think on such a cold day, it wouldn’t be busy. But it was. This street hummed with life, most headed in the same direction as myself. Humans mostly, though an occasional Vamp or two among the lot. Those I recognized by the tell-tell pulse. The unfortunate women draped on their arms were dressed to the nines in short black dresses,
long hair down and garish “screw me” red lipstick standing out brighter than a neon sign.
I patted my dress, knowing I’d chosen right. Thick smog slithered through the street like a python on the prowl, wrapping foggy tendrils around my legs. I did tell you the vamps were theatrical didn’t I? I wouldn’t put it past them to have hidden fog machines placed at spaced intervals along the way. I rolled my eyes, but pressed on.
I kept to the shadows, waiting for the perfect prey. The men who passed me were all into big, buxom and blonde and the disguise I wanted was something forgettable, yet attractive enough to get me inside.
I heard the club before I ever saw it. The music blared loud enough that the vibrations traveled up the soles of my heels. The haunting, eerily lyrical strain of Type-O Negative filled the alleyway like a siren’s wail. How the cops weren’t here already, as this had to be a serious sound violation, was beyond me.
I scanned the tops of the buildings. I didn’t feel the presence of eyes watching me. How sick is it that in the past few days I’d grown, if not comforted by it, at least accepting of it? It almost felt a little strange not to feel that hot gaze boring down on me.
Finally, I saw the club. Well, the line that rolled into the club at least. I still hadn’t found the right disguise; I couldn’t afford to draw any attention to myself. So I settled against a store front and waited. I wanted to get inside, but I could screw everything up if I jumped the gun. This time, patience was the better part of valor, much as I hated to admit it.
Several minutes passed as I studied the people, looking like some mindless ant colony the way they all trailed toward the club. I continued siphoning information, but none of it worked. These were mostly frat boys out for a good time and all with the same taste. Skinny, cute, tall, willowy, attractive...you see the trend here.
Then it changed. Tall, athletic, gorgeous, male. Gay.
I watched the group of men, laughing, joking around and all projecting lusty thoughts that had nothing to do with women and everything to do with their own sex. They were coifed, good looking, each in their own way. Might have been fun if I’d had more time, I don’t often change myself into a man, but I can. It’s an erotic ride, let me tell you, but again what they wanted was too good looking. So I ignored them and continued my search.