The Girls With Games of Blood (29 page)

“Is that a good thing?”

“If you’re inside the cage, there’s nothing better.”

“Then thank you again.” When he continued to stare at her cleavage she said patiently, “Shouldn’t you go introduce me?”

“Hm? Oh!” He turned and rushed down the hall. The noise swelled when the door opened and faded as it shut.

Patience shook her head, turned, and yelped. Zginski stood right beside her.

“Good
God
!” she cried. “Don’t do that!”

“My apologies,” he purred. “I merely wished to see you before your engagement began.”

She could hear Barrister’s indistinct voice. Something he said made the crowd laugh. “Well, you’ve got about ten seconds.”

“Fauvette explained to me why you did not keep our rendezvous. I wish to express my thanks and appreciation. You seem to have a level of judgment that matches your beauty.”

She smiled, and choked down the amused and flattered giggle that tried to burst forth. “Thank you.”

Just then Barrister said loudy, “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Patience Bolade!”

She shrugged and strode away, her long hair flying behind her. Zginski returned to the kitchen. He pushed past Vander and Leonardo, who stood in the swinging kitchen door, and emerged at the back of the dining room just as the applause died down.

Patience stood in front of a shiny black parlor grand piano
and bowed. Then she settled gracefully on the bench. Someone let out an appreciative whistle.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” she said. Everyone chuckled.

She adjusted the microphone, slipped off her shoes, and placed her bare feet on the pedals. Then she began to play.

It was a familiar song: “Eight Days a Week,” by the Beatles. But her version was a slow, dirgelike meditation, and she sang it as a lover begging hopelessly for her beloved to return. At first there was some restlessness, but by the chorus even that had settled down, and everyone stayed riveted to her. A few people even had tears in their eyes.

She felt their energy filling her with its power.

Behind the bar, Fauvette watched with renewed awe. The air thrummed with the combined life force as it made its way to Patience, blending and swirling so that by the time she drew it in, it was one single homogenous stream. Fauvette discreetly reached in front of one of the men at the bar, aching to sense the tingle she’d briefly gotten from Barrister. She expected it to feel like water from a spout coursing over her fingers. But evidently the force could not be physically blocked, because she encountered nothing but air.

The man reached for his drink and brushed her hand. He jumped, his concentration broken, and glared at her. “I’m not done with this one, sweetheart. Don’t get greedy.” He lifted his drink to his mouth, but spilled some because his attention was already back on Patience.

Prudence sat alone, at a table near the kitchen doors. It was the only one available for a single diner, and its location should have been insulting. It was perfect, though, because with the room lights dimmed, the shadows hid her from view. The little blond waitress who attended her barely looked at her, which annoyed Prudence no end even though
she had no intention of ordering anything beyond the two-drink minimum. She made a mental note that if the opportunity arose, she would repay this unforgivable rudeness.

Now, though, like everyone else, she watched her sister at the piano, swaying with the music and trilling in that annoying voice of hers. Even after a century, Patience
had
to find a way to be the center of attention. Her singing voice was as pitiful as ever, full of breathy gasps and shortened phrases when she couldn’t hold the notes. And her piano playing sounded like hippos stampeding down the keys. Even her dumpy, pudgy body was the same, and she still displayed it as if she, not Prudence, were the pretty one. Not even her mother’s constant scolding had ever been able to break Patience’s self-absorption.

Prudence rested her chin on her laced fingers. She wasn’t disappointed: it was as she’d expected, and secretly hoped. Her sister had not changed at all. This singing in public was just the latest gauntlet cast to the ground. It was as if they were still teenagers, competing over everything. Only this time, Prudence intended to win.

Then she noticed something strange in the air.

Zginski nodded that Leonardo should join him. They stood together in the dark at the back of the dining room, watching the show over the heads of the seated audience. Zginski tried to tell if Patience was indeed drawing energy from the crowd, but except for the unusual silence, attributable to her musicianship as easily as to supernatural means, he saw nothing. Was it possible Fauvette sensed something he couldn’t? Or had he been right, that no matter how attractive she might be, Patience was seriously deluded?

Leonardo sensed nothing either, and was truthfully bored by this type of music. His attention drifted around the room,
idly searching for a woman to replace Clora when her usefulness ended. He might stay within his own race this time: since his lynching he’d felt the undeniable weight of his color more vividly than ever. But would it be more loyal to his race to take on a black victim, or to slowly degrade and kill another white girl? It was a harder question than he usually pondered.

Suddenly he froze. He nudged Zginski and hissed, “Hey, man, look over there. See that woman by the kitchen door?”

“Yes.”

“
That’s her.
Patience’s sister.”

Zginski followed his nod. He was struck at once by the beauty of her profile. She had a cameo quality, long-necked and fragile, that he seldom encountered in this modern world. Even her clothes seemed drawn from the past, although their style was contemporary enough that they drew no overt attention. Like the rest she was glued to Patience’s every move and note. He watched carefully to see if Patience had spotted her, but she seemed unaware of anything other than her piano.

There was an empty chair at Prudence’s table. “Stay here,” Zginski told Leonardo, and started toward the woman. But he quickly stepped back into the darkness when the main door opened and Byron Cocker entered.

Cocker pushed to the front of those waiting for seats. He spotted Barrister at a table beside the stage, the other chairs filled with notables and their girlfriends. He saw no sign of Zginski, even though the Mustang was parked in the back. But there was little Fauvette behind the bar. She emptied an ashtray, then refilled a bowl with pretzels. She looked small, and fragile, and Cocker couldn’t wait to get his hands on her and make her scream.

Yet Patience drew his eye even when he was determined to ignore her. She gave him the creeps even in a crowded room. She played softly, humming along with the music, and even
though he didn’t know the tune and only cared for country music, he found himself listening intently. It was just like before, and even though he wasn’t drunk this time, just as irresistible.

Prudence watched the shimmering energy in the room twist itself, tornadolike, and funnel down into her sister. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and it took four more songs before she comprehended what it truly was. When she did, she felt the old jealous fury rise again. So
this
was what she was up to. Here was Prudence, a century into existence as a being who needed to drink the blood of humans to survive, and Patience had long since dispensed with that. This new feeding process was clean, involuntary, and most of all discreet. There were no bodies to hide, no wasting maladies to explain, and no bloodstains on the upholstery.

She clenched her fists in rage. This would not stand.

The little blond waitress, whose name tag read
SAMMY JO
, slammed Prudence’s second drink down, spilling a third of it on the table, and snatched away the untouched first one before Prudence could say anything.

Patience finished her next to last song, an original called “The Tides of Time,” and basked in the applause. “Thank you so much. I appreciate everyone coming out tonight, and I hope to see you all again soon. How about a big hand for Gerry Barrister for arranging all this?”

After the ovation she continued. “So once again, thank you. And here’s one for the road.” She dove into a gender-reversed version of a recent hit by the group America, now called “
Mister
Golden Hair.” It should’ve been inane, and blatant, and ridiculous, but she sang it with such tenderness that
those in the audience would never hear the original again without wistfully recalling this night. When it finished she stood, bowed, and accepted the adulation.

Eager patrons swarmed Patience at the piano. Because it was nearly closing time, Barrister rushed to switch on the lights, not wanting to run afoul of the liquor board just as the bar was taking off. “Thanks everyone,” he said into the microphone. “Drive safely, come back often, and tell all your friends!”

Patience shook hands with her new fans, careful not to hold any of them long enough to draw attention to her cold skin. Many of them asked if she had any records for sale; a couple pressed business cards into her palm, offering representation or career advice.

A gap formed in the crowd for a moment, and she spotted Prudence still at her table. She nearly shrieked in surprise. She cried,
“Prudence!”

When the lights first came up, Prudence had spotted Byron Cocker standing near the front door, his huge form immobile as the crowd around him filed out. He was the one person in the room not staring at her sister; instead he watched the young girl behind the bar, and that alone seemed odd. Then the sound of her name made her blink back to the moment.

“Prudence!” Patience yelled again over the heads of the well-wishers. Many turned to see who she meant. Prudence grabbed her purse and looked for the nearest exit. The kitchen door swung open again as the busboys emerged, and she rushed through it. She was not ready for a confrontation, not here on Patience’s turf.

“No!” Patience yelled, and tried to push through the well-wishers. “Prudence, wait, please!” But her sister vanished.

Patience was about to pursue when she, too, spotted Byron Cocker. What did
he
want here? That night at her house should have scared him off for good. Was he more courageous
than she thought? Then she realized he was watching Fauvette, and that puzzled her anew. How did
they
know each other?