Sonja Blue - Paint It Black Part 3

'h.e.l.lo, Chaz.'

The ghost of my former lover makes a noise that sounds like a cat being drowned. The Dead cannot speak clearly - even to Pretenders - except on three days of the year: Fat Tuesday, Halloween, and the vernal equinox.

'Come to see how your murderer is getting on, I take it?'

Chaz makes a sound like a church bell played at half-speed.

'Sorry I don't have a Ouija board, or we could have a proper conversation. Is there a special occasion for tonight's haunting, or are things just boring over on your side?'

Chaz frowns and points at the sc.r.a.p of paper I hold in my hand. The ghost light radiating from him is the only illumination in the room.

'What? You don't want me to call this number?'

Chaz nods his head, nearly sending it floating from his shoulders.

'You tried warning Palmer away from me last Mardi Gras.

Didn't work; but I suppose you know that already. He's living in Yucatan right now. We're very happy.'

The ghost's laughter sounds like fingers raking a chalkboard.

'Yeah, big laugh, dead boy. And I'll tell you one thing, Chaz; Palmer's a d.a.m.n sight better in bed than you ever were!'

Chaz makes an obscene gesture that is rendered pointless since he no longer has a body from the waist down. I laugh and clap my hands, rocking back and forth on my haunches.

'I knew that'd b.u.m your a.s.s, dead or not! Now p.i.s.s off! I've got better things to do than play charades with a defunct hustler!'

Chaz yowls like a baby dropped in a vat of boiling oil and disappears in a swirl of dust and ectoplasm, leaving me alone with judd's phone number still clenched in one fist.

h.e.l.l, I think as I reach for the cordless phone beside the futon, if Chaz didn't want me to call the guy, then it must be the right thing to do.

The place where we rendezvous is a twenty-four-hour establishment in the French Quarter that has, over the course of the last fifty years, been a bank, a show bar, and a p.o.r.no shop before becoming a coffeehouse. We sit at a small table in the back and sip iced coffee.

Judd's hair is freshly washed and he smells of aftershave, but those are the only concessions he's made to the mating ritual.

He still wears his nose and earrings and a Bongwater T-shirt that had been laundered so often the silk-screened image is starting to flake off.

Judd pokes at his iced coffee with a straw. 'If I'm not getting too personal, what was last night all about?'

I study my hands as I speak 'Look, Judd. There's a lot about me you don't know, and 'I'd like to keep it that way. If you insist on poking into my past I'm afraid I'll have to leave. It's not that I don't like you -- I do -- but I'm a very private person.

And it's for a good reason.'

'Is ... is there someone else?'

'Yes. Yes, there is.'

'A husband?'

I have to think about that one for a few seconds before answering. 'In some sense. But no, I'm not legally married.'

Judd nods as if this explains something. It is obvious that some of what I've said is bothering him, but he is trying to play it cool. I wonder what it is like, living a life where the worst things you have to deal with are jealous lovers and hurt feelings. It seems almost idyllic from where I am.

After we finish our iced coffees, we hit the Quarter. It is after midnight and the lower sector of Decatur Street the portion located in the French Market, is starting to wake up. The streets outside the bars are decorated with clots of young people dressed in black leather, sequins, and recycled seventies rags. The hipsters mill about flashing their tattoos and b.u.mming cigarettes off one another, as they wait for something to happen.

Someone calls Judd's name and he swerves across the street towards a knot of youths lounging outside a dance bar called the Crystal Blue Persuasion. I hesitate before following him.

A young man dressed in a black duster, his shoulder-length hair braided into three pigtails and held in place by ivory beads carved in the shape of skulls, moves forward to greet Judd.

Out of habit, I scan his face for Pretender taint Human. While the two speak, I casually examine the rest of the group loitering outside the club. Human. Human. Human. Hu-- I freeze.

The smell of vargr is strong, like the stink of a wet dog. It radiates from a young man with a shaved forehead, like that of an ancient samurai. The hair at the back of his head is extremely long and held in a loose ponytail, making him look like a punk mandarin. He wears a leather jacket the sleeves of which look as if they've been chewed off at the shoulder, trailing streamers of mangled leather and lining like gristle. He has one arm draped over the shoulder of a little goth chick, her face made deathly pale by powder.

The vargr meets my gaze and holds it grinning his contempt Without realizing it, my hand closes around the switchblade.

'I'd like you to meet a friend of mine--'

Judd's hand is on my elbow, drawing my attention away from the teenaged werewolf.

'Sonja, I'd like you to meet Arlo, he's an old buddy of mine...'

Arlo frowns at me as if I've just emerged from under a rock, but offers his hand in deference to his friend. 'Pleased to meet you,' he mumbles.

'Yeah. Sure.'

I shoot a sidewise glance at the vargr twelve feet away. He is murmuring something into the punk girl's ear. She giggles and nods her head and the two break away from the rest of the group, sauntering down the street in the direction of the river.

The vargr pauses to give me one last look over his shoulder, his grin too wide and his teeth too big, before disappearing into the shadows with his victim.

That's right. Pretend you didn't see it Pretend you don't know what that grinning h.e.l.lhound's going to do with that girl. You can't offend lover boy here by running off to do hand-to-hand combat with a werewolf, can you?

'Shut the f.u.c.k up, d.a.m.n you,' I mutter under my breath.

'You say something, Sonja?'

'just talking to myself.'

After leaving Arlo and his friends, we head farther down Decatur. This is a part of the French Quarter that few tourists wander into after dark, populated by gay bars and less wholesome establishments. As we pa.s.s one of the seedy bars that cater to the late-night hardcore alcoholic trade, someone's mind calls my name.

A black man, his hair plaited into dreadlocks, steps from the doorway of the Monastery. He wears a black turtleneck sweater and immaculate designer jeans, a golden peace sign the size of a hood ornament slung around his neck 'Long time no see, Blue.'

'h.e.l.lo, Mal.'

The demon Malfeis smiles, exposing teeth that belong in the mouth of a shark. 'No hard feelings, I hope? I didn't want to sell you out like that girlchick, but I was under orders from Below Stairs.'

'We'll talk about it later, Mal . . .'

Just then the demon notices Judd. 'Got yourself a new renfield, I see.'

'Shut up!' I hiss, my aura crackling like an electric halo.

Mal lifts his hands, palms outwards. 'Whoa! Didn't mean to hit a sore spot there, girly-girl.'

'Sonja? Is this guy bothering you?' judd is hovering at my elbow. He gives Mal a suspicious glare, blind to the demon's true appearance.

'No. Everything's cool.' I turn my back on the grinning demon and try to block the sound of his laughter echoing in my mind.

'Who was that guy?'

'Judd--'

'I know! I promised I wouldn't pry into your past But you can't expect me to just stand by and not say something--'

'Mal is a ... business a.s.sociate of mine. That's all you need to know about him, except that, no matter what, never ask him a question. Never.'

We walk on in silence for a few more minutes, then Judd takes my hand in his and squeezes it. We stop at the corner and he pulls me into his arms. His kiss is warm and probing and I feel myself begin to relax. Then he reaches for my sungla.s.ses.

I bat his hand away, fighting the urge to snarl. 'Don't do that!'

'I just want to see your eyes.'

'No.' I pull away from him, my body rigid.

'I'm sorry--'

'I'd better leave. I had a nice time, judd. I really did. But I have to go.'

'You'll call me, won't you?'

'I'm afraid so.'

Why don't you f.u.c.k him? He wants it bad. So do you. You can't hide that from me. The Other's voice is a nettle wedged into the folds of my brain, impossible to dislodge or ignore. I open the refrigerator and take out a bottle of whole blood, cracking its seal open as I would a beer.

Not that bottled c.r.a.p again! I hate this s.h.i.t! You might as well go back to drinking cats! Wouldn't you rather have something nice and fresh? Say a nice group B mugger or a group o rapist? There's still plenty of time to go trawling before the sun comes up ... Or you could always pay a visit to lover boy.

'Shut up! I've had a bellyful of you tonight already!'

My-my! Aren't we being the touchy one? Tell me, how long do you think you can keep up the pretense of being normal? You've almost forgotten what it's like to be human yourself. Why torture yourself by pretending you're something you're not simply to win the favor of a piece of beefsteak?

'He likes me, d.a.m.n it He actually likes me.'

And what, exactly, are you?

'I'm not in the mood for your f.u.c.kin' mind games!'

Welcome to the fold, my dear. You're finally one of us. You're a Pretender.

I shriek and hurl the half-finished bottle of blood into the sink, I pick up the card table and smash it to the floor, jumping up and down on the scattered pieces. It is a stupid, pointless gesture, but it makes me feel better.

I keep calling him. I know it's stupid, even dangerous, to socialize with humans, but I can't help myself. There is something about him that keeps drawing'me back, despite my better judgment.

The only other time I've known such compulsion is when the Thirst is on me. Is this love? Or is it simply another form of hunger?

Our relationship, while charged with an undercurrent of eroticism, is essentially s.e.xless. I want him so badly I dare not do more than kiss or hold hands. If I should lose control, there is no telling what might happen.

judd, unlike Palmer, is not a sensitive. He is a human, blind and dumb to the miracles and terrors of the Real World, just like poor, doomed Claude Hagerty was. Rapid exposure to the world I inhabit could do immense damage.

To his credit, Judd has not pressed the s.e.x issue overmuch.

He is not happy with the arrangement but honors my request that we 'take it slow'.

This, however, does not sit well with the Other. It constantly taunts me, goading me with obscene fantasies and suggestions concerning Judd. Or, failing to elicit a response using those tactics, it chastises me for being untrue to Palmer. I try to ignore its jibes as best I can, but I know that something, somewhere is bound to snap.

From the diaries ofSonja Blue.

Kitty wiped at the tears oozing from the corners of her eyes, smearing mascara all over her cheek and the back of her hand. It made the words on the paper swim and crawl like insects, but she didn't care.

She loved him. She really, truly loved him. And maybe now, after she'd done what she had to do to save him, he'd finally believe her. Proof. He needed proof of her love. And what better proof than to rescue him from the clutches of a monster?

Dearest Judd, I tried to warn you about That Woman. But you are blind to what she Really Is. She is Evil Itself, a demon sent from h.e.l.l to claim your Soul! I knew her for what she truly is the moment I first saw her, and she knew I knew! Her hands and mouth drip blood! Her eyes burn with the fires of h.e.l.l! She is surrounded by a cloud of red energy. Red as blood. She means to drag you to h.e.l.l, Judd. But I won't let her. I love you too much, to let that happen. I'll take care of this horrible monster, don't you worry. I've been talking to G.o.d a lot lately, and He told me how to deal with demons like her. I Love you so very, very much. I want you to Love me too. I'm doing this all for you. Please Love Me.

Kitty.

Judd woke up at two in the afternoon, as usual. He worked six to midnight four days a week and had long since shifted over to a nocturnal lifestyle. After he got off work he normally headed down to the Quarter to chill with his buddies or, more recently, hang out with Sonja until four or five in the morning.

He yawned as he dumped a couple of heaping scoops of Guatemalan into the hopper of his Mr Coffee machine.

Sonja. Now there was a weird chick. Weird, but not in a schizzy, death-obsessed, art-school freshman way like Kitty.

Her strangeness issued from something far deeper than bourgeois neurosis. Sonja was genuinely out there, wherever that might be. Something about the way she moved, the way she handled herself, suggested she was plugged into something Real. And as frustrating as her fits of mood might be, he could not bring himself to turn his back on her and walk away.

Still, it bothered him that none of his friends - not even Arlo, whom he'd known since high school - liked her. In fact, some even seemed to be scared of her. Funny. How could anyone be frightened of Sonja?

As he shuffled in the direction of the bathroom, he noticed an envelope shoved under his front door. He retrieved it, scowling at the all-too-familiar handwriting.

Kitty.

Probably another one of her d.a.m.n fool love letters, alternately threatening him With castration and begging him to take her back. Lately she'd taken to leaving rambling, wigged-out messages on his answering machine, ranting about Sonja being some kind of vampire out to steal his soul. Crazy b.i.t.c.h.

Sonja was crazy, too, but hardly predictable.

Judd tossed the envelope, unopened, into the trash can and staggered off to take a shower.

I greet the night from atop the roof of the warehouse where I make my nest. I stretch my arms wide as if to embrace the rising moon, listening with half an ear to the sound of the baying dogs along the riverbanks. Some, I know; are not dogs.

But the vargr are not my concern. I've tangled with a few over the years, but I prefer hunting my own kind. I find it vastly more satisfying.

The warehouse's exterior fire escape is badly rusted and groans noisily with the slightest movement, so I avoid it altogether.