infamous Turn Boys gang, and I wasn't even that scared. Carefully, I opened my messenger bag and pulled out a thick, transparent bag of blood. The room suddenly fell silent enough to hear the faint rumble from a subway train passing below. Not a breath stirred the air but mine.
Okay, I revise that bit about not being scared.
The child at the bar leaned forward slightly. His eyes were a little brighter than the others' and his threatening smile wavered oddly. I wondered how long it had taken him to recover his mind--whatever he had left of it. I wondered if the little boy I had plucked from the gutter ever would. It occurred to me that this child might be their leader.
"Bank grade?" he said. His accent was a curious mixture of Italian and broad-voweled New York, and weirdly beautiful.
I nodded. "Fresh, O-negative."
"You a dealer?"
The bartender--not a vampire, but not human either, judging from the scales on his jaw--laughed and poured himself a shot of some liquor. "Not unless charity's got a street price."
The boy gave him an amused glance. "You reckon I should know her. Should I?" he asked, turning toward me again.
I sighed. Two days and I already hated this newly discovered reputation of mine. "I teach night school at Chrystie Elementary."
Light dawned in his eyes. Literally--I don't recommend long conversations with vampires for suggestible stomachs. "The vampire suffragette! Boys, we got a live social activist. How about making her welcome." He and the others laughed, their voices eerily high and in sync. I took a deep breath.
"You afraid of us?" he asked, cutting abruptly into the laughter.
I tossed him the first bag of blood and pulled out a second. "AB, for those of you who like it crunchy."
He turned the bag curiously in his tiny, graceful, vicious hands. In an impossibly swift move, he put the bag to his lips, broke the seal and drank half the blood. He tossed the remaining half to a vampire behind him and smiled. No blood stained him, but his cherubic ruby lips and flushed cheeks evoked a primal fear. Lord, I wanted to run away, but I knew they'd never let me out now.
"Good," he said, voice cracking as it dipped to a lower register. "So, we're your little charity, or you want something."
"Think of it as a peace offering," I said, tossing him the second bag.
"You afraid of us?"
"A little ."
" Very good. Why don't you tell the boys and me what Charity Do-good wants with a bunch of no-good criminals."
Good question. But I didn't think "I want to help kill your boss" would go over very well.
"Well . . ." I said, looking around the room. Did those watching eyes look just a little less predatory? Maybe wishful thinking, but I pulled out the last bag of blood and held it to my chest like a protective talisman. "I've been in need of some cash recently."
"Terrible pity."
"So . . . I was wondering if any of you fine boys needed a tutor."
Sweaty and covered in the spray of muddy water from a taxicab careening through a pothole, I staggered into the cocktail lounge of the Roosevelt Hotel ten minutes after one. I saw Lily almost immediately--she had taken a table in full view of the rest of the room and was busy laughing and entertaining some broad-shouldered blond male. Something about those shoulders struck me as familiar, but I was so exhausted and exhilarated that I ignored the tease of memory and walked toward her. I noticed a few of the older ladies looking at me surreptitiously behind their cups of tea with shocked and disapproving expressions. Well, they never liked me anyway; the extra mud just made it easier to reach conclusions. Lily was drinking coffee and nibbling on a plate of cucumber sandwiches. She stood up when she saw me and clapped her hands, unguardedly pleased for a moment.
"I was growing afraid you wouldn't make it."
"I almost didn't. You are now speaking to the offcial tutor of the notorious Turn Boys. Turns out their leader has seen the virtues of literacy."
Lily gasped, but I
Okay, I revise that bit about not being scared.
The child at the bar leaned forward slightly. His eyes were a little brighter than the others' and his threatening smile wavered oddly. I wondered how long it had taken him to recover his mind--whatever he had left of it. I wondered if the little boy I had plucked from the gutter ever would. It occurred to me that this child might be their leader.
"Bank grade?" he said. His accent was a curious mixture of Italian and broad-voweled New York, and weirdly beautiful.
I nodded. "Fresh, O-negative."
"You a dealer?"
The bartender--not a vampire, but not human either, judging from the scales on his jaw--laughed and poured himself a shot of some liquor. "Not unless charity's got a street price."
The boy gave him an amused glance. "You reckon I should know her. Should I?" he asked, turning toward me again.
I sighed. Two days and I already hated this newly discovered reputation of mine. "I teach night school at Chrystie Elementary."
Light dawned in his eyes. Literally--I don't recommend long conversations with vampires for suggestible stomachs. "The vampire suffragette! Boys, we got a live social activist. How about making her welcome." He and the others laughed, their voices eerily high and in sync. I took a deep breath.
"You afraid of us?" he asked, cutting abruptly into the laughter.
I tossed him the first bag of blood and pulled out a second. "AB, for those of you who like it crunchy."
He turned the bag curiously in his tiny, graceful, vicious hands. In an impossibly swift move, he put the bag to his lips, broke the seal and drank half the blood. He tossed the remaining half to a vampire behind him and smiled. No blood stained him, but his cherubic ruby lips and flushed cheeks evoked a primal fear. Lord, I wanted to run away, but I knew they'd never let me out now.
"Good," he said, voice cracking as it dipped to a lower register. "So, we're your little charity, or you want something."
"Think of it as a peace offering," I said, tossing him the second bag.
"You afraid of us?"
"A little ."
" Very good. Why don't you tell the boys and me what Charity Do-good wants with a bunch of no-good criminals."
Good question. But I didn't think "I want to help kill your boss" would go over very well.
"Well . . ." I said, looking around the room. Did those watching eyes look just a little less predatory? Maybe wishful thinking, but I pulled out the last bag of blood and held it to my chest like a protective talisman. "I've been in need of some cash recently."
"Terrible pity."
"So . . . I was wondering if any of you fine boys needed a tutor."
Sweaty and covered in the spray of muddy water from a taxicab careening through a pothole, I staggered into the cocktail lounge of the Roosevelt Hotel ten minutes after one. I saw Lily almost immediately--she had taken a table in full view of the rest of the room and was busy laughing and entertaining some broad-shouldered blond male. Something about those shoulders struck me as familiar, but I was so exhausted and exhilarated that I ignored the tease of memory and walked toward her. I noticed a few of the older ladies looking at me surreptitiously behind their cups of tea with shocked and disapproving expressions. Well, they never liked me anyway; the extra mud just made it easier to reach conclusions. Lily was drinking coffee and nibbling on a plate of cucumber sandwiches. She stood up when she saw me and clapped her hands, unguardedly pleased for a moment.
"I was growing afraid you wouldn't make it."
"I almost didn't. You are now speaking to the offcial tutor of the notorious Turn Boys. Turns out their leader has seen the virtues of literacy."
Lily gasped, but I
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