Book of Night(105)

“You’re drunk,” he said defensively.

“If I am, it’s despite you.” She counted out what she owed in quarters and dimes, leaving him as many pennies as she could find at the bottom of her purse.

She turned to Vince, and the fire hadn’t gone out of her eyes. “You think I’m petty, right?”

He thought she was everything Remy had been afraid to be. “I think you’re a vigilante,” he said, smiling.

She contemplated him for a long moment. “Come outside with me,” she said. “It’s too hot in here.”

Vince was torn. If he left with her, Knight and his people would be less likely to spot him. Walking beside her, his missing shadow could be easily overlooked.

But part of him wondered if Knight had come there expecting to be set up himself. If the gloamist was taking precautions instead of making a move against Vince, then the situation was still salvageable.

What he wanted, though, was to go outside with the woman.

He got out his wallet and threw down a couple of bills.

She took his hand and led him toward the door.

He watched the confident sway of her hips. She walked through the bar as though she expected everyone to get the hell out of her way. And, amazingly, they did. “I’m Vince,” he told her.

But her gaze was on Knight Singh, recognition in her expression. Then her gaze slid back to Vince. “Charlie,” she said, pointing to herself. “Charlie Hall.”

Vince had counted five gloamists, but that didn’t mean Knight hadn’t hired people who weren’t gloamists.

People like Charlie.

She might lead him around the back of the bar and sink a knife in his side. And if he was lucky, that was when Knight Singh’s people would restrain him and sell him back to Salt. If he wasn’t lucky, she’d have orders to finish him off.

The cold air of the alley hit his face and he felt a rush of indifference toward risks. He liked her. He liked that she was mean and funny and willing to make a scene.

He liked that she was nothing like him, or anyone from his old life.

He liked her enough to follow her deeper into the alley, despite his suspicions. When she turned against the brick facade of the building and threw him a look that felt like a dare, he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her.

Her lips were chapped. He could smell her perfume, something with smoke and roses in it. Her mouth tasted like gin.

Knight Singh could go hang. Vince could make the exchange some other time.

Drawing away, he looked down at her. Traced the line of scarabs across her collarbone. “Do you want to go somewhere?” he whispered against her hair, although he wasn’t sure where that would be. He’d spent the last night in a van. All he knew was that he wanted her.

“Here,” she said softly, reaching for his belt.

He wasn’t sure if she actually liked him. Maybe she just wanted to forget whatever sadness she’d come to the bar to drink away. He could make her forget.

He concentrated on the hot rush of her breath.

The softness of her hip when he lifted her.

The scratch of the brick against his palm.

He didn’t dare think about the past, and he wouldn’t let himself think about the future. All he let himself think of was her.





30

YE WHO ENTER HERE




On Saturday night, Charlie pulled her mother’s station wagon to the curb far enough from Salt’s house that she didn’t think anyone would notice their arrival. Pressing her forehead to the steering wheel, she took a deep breath.

Then she turned to her sister in the passenger seat. “You don’t have to do this.”

Posey made a face. “You don’t either. At least I’m getting something out of it. I don’t know what you’re getting.”

“A preemptive strike,” Charlie informed her.

She knew Salt was perfectly capable of fulfilling all the worst of his promises. If she didn’t get this right, she might not have another chance.

Charlie got out of the car. “See you later, alligator,” she said, leaning on the door.

Posey grinned. “After a while, crocodile.”

Charlie made her way along the side of the road, backpack slung over one shoulder. The closer she got to Salt’s fairy-tale castle of a house, the more clearly she remembered the last time she’d been there, the panic she’d felt running through those woods. The cockiness Rand had as they went inside. The churn of her guts.

And there she was, years later, about to con her way into a party. Dressed in a scratchy white shirt, cheap black pants, and a vest, looking the picture of a cater waiter. She liked to think Rand would be proud.

She’d spent all of Friday getting ready. Abandoning her collection of wigs, she’d gone to the mall and had a recent beauty school graduate give her a pixie cut. It made the back of her neck itch, but she definitely looked different. With that, she added a fresh round of Halloween makeup to cover her bruises and tucked all the supplies she thought she would need into her backpack. The swelling in her face had gone down a bit, and she was almost entirely sure that her rib was okay.

She was doing great.

Charlie tried to sink into character—resentful and underpaid employee arriving late to a gig to which she already regretted agreeing. It wasn’t that hard.