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There were all the posters from the movies she saw； cruel eyes and gaping； razor…toothed mouths all bloody； and the walls and ceiling festooned with black lace。。。
〃Daddy。〃
Wallace forced his eyes open。 He was not at home； standing in the hallway outside Jessy's room。 He was weaving down Bienville； breathing in the cool night air； heading for the river。 But the past sucked him in again； and it was that day 。。。。
Jessy was calling him。 For ten years they had been alone except for each other； ever since the day Wallace had found Lydia in her cooling red bathwater with her forearms slashed open from wrist to elbow。 He was Jessy's father； and he had to go to Jessy when she called。 She might need him。
〃Daddy；〃 she called softly。 〃Daddy 。 。 。〃
Wallace looked at the old sign on Jessy's bedroom door…a cartoon rabbit in rainbow…spattered overalls paining the words GENIUS AT WORK then turned the knob and stepped out of the dark hallway into brightness。 Jessy's room always caught the morning sunlight。
She'd just e out of the shower； and her skin was as pink and white and dewy as spring。 Her hair fell wet and straight along her cheeks。 As he stared at her； she let the green towel fall from her breasts。 Wallace had not seen his daughter's body since she was a young child； plump and androgynous； with pink buttons for nipples and a tiny clean fold of a sex。 But now her breasts were round and smooth； with a girlish heaviness to them； and Wallace wondered how it would be to cup their weight in his hands； how it would taste if he took one of those creamy strawberry peaks in his mouth and sucked。
〃I'm going to he a vampire； Daddy。〃
He could not find his voice。 There was no spit in his mouth。 〃Put your clothes on； Jessy。〃 It was a dry whisper； weak and useless。
〃I'm going to bite people； Daddy。 I'm going to feed on them。 I need blood。 Hot 。 。 。 rich 。 。 。 red blood。 I need your blood； Daddy。 I'm hungry。 Your Jessy's hungry。 e to me。〃
He did not know how he got to the bed。 Surely if she had not cajoled so； if she were not his daughter； his only joy； if he had not always tried to give her everything she asked for。。。surely if he had lain with some other woman in the ten years since Lydia was gone。。。surely then； if the ache in his groin had not e bursting forth； he would not have let her lay him out and undo his trousers and straddle him； slipping around him as smooth and tight as sea anemones。 Surely he would not have groaned and squeezed her heavy soft breasts between his fingers and thrust up and up into his daughter's wet…velvet heaven until she bent over him and he felt a metallic sting as of a razor blade beneath his jaw。 Jessy fastened her lips there。 He felt her throat working as she swallowed。 Then a black and crimson mist began to drift into the edges of his vision。
He awoke tangled in Jessy's rumpled sheets that smelled of girl…skin。 There was a nick on his throat； no worse than a bad shaving cut； smeared with dried blood and spit。 He did not wash it。 Jessy was gone。
After a few nights he began to look for her in all the places she had mentioned。 All the nighttime haunts； the dark bars and clubs in the French Quarter。 He did not know what he would say if he saw Jessy。 He had begun to feel as if the thing that had happened were his fault； as if he had seduced her。 As if he had forced himself into her。 He did not know whether he would be able to meet his daughter's eyes。 But that did not matter； for he never saw Jessy again。
More and more often during his search； he found himself drawn to the place called Christian's； the dark bar with the stained…glass windows that threw colored shadows onto the sidewalk。 It was a little place way down Chartres； away from the life of the Quarter。 He came here because he knew Jessy had liked the place； and he decided he might as well have a drink or two or three。 He watched the bartender。 Christian moved behind the bar； mixing drinks with detached expertise； answering his customers' chatter politely if rather coldly。 Unless someone spoke to Christian； he was silent。
When Wallace watched Christian； studied the impossibly tall； gaunt； pale figure always dressed in black； the idea of Jessy's vampires no longer seemed quite so preposterous。 Something about Christian frightened him。 Wallace thought of himself as a religious man； but when he was in that chilly presence； God's warmth seemed to shrivel inside him。 One night their eyes met across the bar； and Wallace felt his spine turn to ice。 The coldness in Christian's eyes…that awful； empty coldness； like winds blowing across barren plains…was more convincing than all Jessy's talk； her books and movies； her fevered drinking of blood。
Wallace could not forget those eyes。 When he'd seen them again tonight； he had felt the same icy hand； the same helpless fury。 Wallace believed in vampires now。
Tonight； though； he would not be helpless。 Fifteen years ago he had been afraid。 His fear no longer mattered； not now。 The finger of God had touched him； a fearful； excruciating touch that wrenched his insides and sometimes drew thin dirty blood from them； and soon he would be with Jessy。 Tonight he would avenge her； and he would have his memories of her again； his memories of a child who danced and laughed； of a child who loved him； who was not a dark creature of sex and blood。 He would eradicate his damnable sin。 He would redeem himself。
The air sobered him。 He drew himself up； refused to sway； refused to let his dizziness and fear overtake him。 Tonight belonged to him； and to Jessy。
He walked toward the river。
Chapter 8
Twig kept up a steady string of curses as they drove into DC。 The streets seemed skewed to him； the signs indecipherable。 Finally he turned the wrong way down a one…way street； screeched to a halt in front of a fancy hotel； and said； 'That's where we're staying。〃
Molochai waved the parking valet over； and Twig presented him with the keys to the van。 〃Remember which one is ours；〃 he told the valet。 〃We want this van back； not some pussy Volvo。〃
The lobby was all plush and marble opulence； red…carpet gaudy splendor。 They appreciated it not a bit。 As they checked in； Molochai gaped up at the three…tiered crystal chandelier； and Twig palmed the desk clerk's cigarettes。
Their room was not as gaudy as the public facade of the hotel。 Here on the twentieth floor there was only pale carpeting as thick and rich as whipped cream。 Zillah slipped his shoes off and wriggled his toes in its creamy depths。 Here were only deep； cloud…soft beds and sofas that one might drown in； falling forever； never to be seen again。 Oh yes； they could have fun here。
He drifted to the window and pulled aside heavy draperies。 The city gleamed far below； green and white； immaculate。 The crazy pattern of the streets was a puzzle that wanted deciphering。 In the center of it all the Washington Monument soared up； as clean and stark as a bone。 Zillah smiled a small secret smile。 The city was delicious。 All cities were delicious。 They had only to wait until nightfall。
From behind him came a great howl of delight as Molochai and Twig saw the whirlpool bathtub。 Zillah turned to see them tipping at each other's clothes； throwing shirts and sneakers and socks all over the room in their haste to get undressed。 He watched them for a moment； still smiling； then untied the purple scarf that bound his ponytail and began bing his hair with his fingers； smoothing its silky length； untangling the snarls made by the wind on the road。 Hair slipped between his fingers； tumbled down over his shoulders。
Molochai and Twig stood together by the whirlpool； naked as babes； waiting to see what Zillah would do。 Zillah slipped out of his trousers and jacket； pulled his loose black T…shirt over his head。 He wore no underwear； none of them did。 Slim as a girl； he stood looking at Molochai and Twig； his skin creamy pale； his hair the color of coffee with milk。
They moved toward one another until their shoulders were almost touching。 All three bodies bore the marks of various piercings； tattoos； and scarifications。 Living so long in the same unchanging flesh made them restless； they were pelled to change it themselves。 Age did its own decorating of human bodies…wrinkles； wattled flesh； random sproutings of coarse yellowish hair。 Molochai； Twig； and Zillah were much more pleased with their own methods of decoration： silver rings； intricate patterns in ink or raised flesh。
Twig had twin strands of barbed wire tattooed on his wrists； twining up both arms； and two long thin pieces of metal that pierced the thin skin of his stomach just below the rib cage on either side； capped with nuggets of hone he had saved to have honed and fitted。 Zillah wore silver hoops through his nipples； Molochai's were pierced with safety pins； from one of which dangled a polished fingerbone。 All three had foreskin rings （because of the circumstances surrounding their births； few of their race were circumcised as babies）。 They had linked these together to pose for a series of studies by a famous photographer of erotica； Zillah standing on an inlaid…teak stool that brought his ting up to the level of the others'。