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e snatch of song he had heard trailing from its windows。 He wondered where the van was now。
Wherever it was； he wished he were there too。
Chapter 3
The road was long and hilly； the black van was hurtling along like a roller coaster； and the day was fine。 Twig drove with an elbow cocked out the window。 Molochai hung out the other side； gnawing on his sticky fingers； letting the wind blow in his face。 Zillah lolled on a mattress in the back； luxuriating in the clear autumn warmth。 The mattress was filthy； parts of its fabric caked with stiff stains that faded from dark' maroon to nearly black。 They would have to unload it at a dump and find a cleaner one soon。
Molochai swivelled his head as they passed the school。 〃Hey！ Kiddies！〃
Twig swatted him。 〃Small game。 How boring。〃
〃There'd be plenty to do at a high school。 All those candy boys； all those sugar girls 。 。 。〃 Molochai pictured himself gliding through shadowy afternoon halls when almost everyone had gone home； his nose and mouth full of the dry smell of paper； the soft scent of years' dust grimed into the corners； the underlying thrill of odor left behind by healthy young flesh shot through with sizzling hormones； greased with quickening blood。 Maybe one of them would have stayed behind； kept after school： a bad girl； sulking in an empty classroom； her eyes downcast。 She would never see the shape ing down the hallway； pausing at the door。 Molochai thought of ripping soft bellyskin； white and firm just above the tangle of pubic hair。 That was his favorite spot to bite girls。
〃A temple of boredom；〃 Zillah offered from the back。 He was braiding his hair。 He kept a streak of it dyed purple； gold； and green； and he was weaving the three colored strands together； toying with the braid； then delicately pulling it apart with his fingers。 〃Boredom is a sin。 Boredom is unholy。〃
Molochai snorted。 〃What do you know about it？ When have you ever been bored？〃
'I'm a hundred；〃 said Zillah； studying his long fingernails critically。 He produced a bottle of black nail polish and began painting his nails； neatly； carefully。 〃You two are only seventy…five； but I am one hundred years old this very year。 I have been bored。 I'm bored now。
〃I'm a hundred。〃 Twig reached under the driver's seat and found a bottle。 〃And this wine was born last Tuesday！ Let's drink to it。〃
'I'm a hundred；〃 Molochai mumbled around the neck of the bottle。 The wine was sticky； sweet as rotten grapes。 He licked his lips and took another swig。
They kept driving； kept drinking； never looked at a map。 They did not need maps； the possibility of alternate routes； charted yellow and red and green roads； cryptic legends； held no fascination for them。 By some warm alcoholic magnetism in their blood they were drawn on to the next city and the next。 Twig always knew what roads to take； what highways he could roar along the fastest； what country blacktops were haunted by state troopers and God…fearing folk。 They had just e from New York City where they were able to sate their appetites every night on blood rich with strange drugs； where a hophead chick they met had let them sleep the days away in her East Village apartment until they grew careless and left a shredded mess in her bathtub。 Kinky stuff was fine； she said； but she wasn't into death。 And there were gore stains on her only set of towels。 She had still been trying to decide how to get rid of the body when they sneaked out。
Molochai； Twig； and Zillah were good at sneaking out。 They had plenty of practice at it： Zillah had taught Molochai and Twig how to act nonchalant； how to wipe the blood off their faces and control their passionate breathing before they left the scene of a kill。 Without his guidance； Zillah reflected； they would both have been dead several times over； probably with stakes driven through their punky little hearts。 It was true that Zillah was a hundred and the others only seventy… five； even so； they were just teenagers by the standard of their race。 Zillah remembered the depthless eyes of Christian； his quiet； almost painful dignity。 How old would Christian be now？ Three hundred years？ Four？ But even when Christian had been a mere babe of fifty； Zillah found it hard to imagine him acting as stupid as Molochai and Twig。
Still； they were his charges。 They took orders without question； and in return they expected Zillah to take care of them； to do their thinking for them。 They had perhaps half a brain between them。 They knew Zillah was the smart one。 But they were good fun。
Zillah had met them at an elegant garden party in the roaring twenties； a Great Gatsby…ish affair with paper lanterns and drunken croquet games on the lawn。 Molochai and Twig were huddled in a corner of the garden making fun of the women's fancy dresses。 Whenever a waiter came by with a tray of champagne flutes； they would reach out and grab two glasses apiece； one in each hand。 When Zillah approached them； they were too drunk to recognize him as one of their own； but they liked his pretty face and his natty suit of white linen。 They led him into the big house； thinking they were luring him to his death； and tried to attack him in an upstairs parlor decorated entirely in animal skins and trophy heads。 Zillah threw them across the room； hoisted them up； and cracked their heads together beneath the eternally roaring jaws of a stuffed lion。 Then he opened a vein in his wrist and tenderly gave them to drink。 After that they were his forever。 Or nearly so。
Several miles outside the town； they gave up on finding the doughnut shop that Molochai thought he remembered once seeing along this highway。 They stopped at a 7…Eleven instead。 Molochai filled a big bag with candy and Hostess cakes。 Twig chose a package of sliced bologna and stocked up on cheap wine。
The cashier watched them with an absorption that bordered on awe； readjusting her heavy ass on the stool behind the register； pushing at the colored plastic barrettes that held her stringy hair in place。 When Zillah's eyes met hers； she felt her insides go runny。 The unfamiliar territory between her legs twitched； suddenly moist。
She had moles on her face； and she was vastly overweight； and she figured she would reach forty untouched by a man。 But something in his green eyes made her feel the way she used to when she would look at the Playboy and Penthouse magazines that were sold in the store； before she told herself she wasn't interested and started going to church again。 Something in his eyes made her wonder how it would feel to let a man lie on top of her； to push his thing inside her。 She felt for her pack of Moms； lit one； and sucked the smoke up hungrily； watching the black van pull away； wondering if that green…eyed angel would ever return。
On the read again； Twig peeled off slices of bologna and stuffed them into his mouth； tossing his head like a feeding leopard as he swallowed； hardly chewing the soft meat。 Molochai gulped sticky mouthfuls of cake and cream。 Zillah licked at a sliver of bologna； nibbled delicately around the edges of a Twinkie； sipped from the bottle of Thunderbird。 None of them were satisfied。
〃Will we be in DC by tonight？〃 Molochai asked； licking chocolate off his fingers。
Twig stared at the road。 〃Shit； we'll be there in an hour。 But you can count on staying hungry till way after dark。〃 No one bothered asking why。 They knew where the best city pickings were…in the clubs； in the alleys； under the midnight moon。
〃Yeah。〃 Molochai managed a sticky smile； thinking of nights in the city。 〃So we stay in DC for a couple of nights。 Then what？〃
Twig thought。 〃We could check out California again。 You liked the ice cream shops in Chinatown。〃
〃But that's so far。 And the whole desert in between us and it。 Nothing to eat。 Nothing to drink。 No people。 No blood。〃
Zillah closed his eyes； stroked his eyelashes with the tip of one shiny black nail。 〃We could drive down to New Orleans；〃 he said。 〃We could visit Christian。〃
Twig's eyes lit up。 〃Christian！ Remember Christian？〃 〃Good old Christian！〃
〃He doesn't drink…wine！〃
They all laughed。
〃Yeah； but he might still be tending bar。 Free drinks！〃
〃And everyone's blood full of wine and beer and whiskey。〃
〃And Chartreuse；〃 said Zillah。
They paused for a moment； tongues tasting a memory of altars； of the Garden of Eden。
〃Let's do it。〃
〃Let's go see good old Christian。〃
〃Good old Chrissy；〃 said Molochai。
〃Chrissy！〃 Twig collapsed in giggles over the wheel。
Zillah passed the wine up to Molochai。 〃Let's start saving our empties。 We'll need to bottle some up tonight。 Things may be quite a bit drier after DC。〃
Molochai and Twig were quiet； considering the possibility of a long dry spell。 Then Twig shrugged and said； 〃Yeah； but fuck it…we're going to New Orleans！〃
Molochai turned the music back on； and they sang along with Bowie； leaning on each other； their voices soft and lilting as they got drunker。 Zillah ran his hands through Molochai's hair； pulling out the knots。 Twig grinned as the road stretched out ahead； long and smooth and magical； unrolling like a carpet all the way down to Christian's ba