Read Online Moonshine: A Novel by Alaya Johnson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alaya Johnson
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tottered off between the tables, and had no trouble at all striking up a conversation with a young gentleman of average looks who was perhaps made more appealing by his diamond cuff links and hand-tooled leather shoes.
When I turned to face Amir again, he had reseated himself at the table and was looking up at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. He seemed almost sad, which was odd. I leaned against the edge of the stage, where a much larger band was setting up, and faced him. I felt a little more in control of the situation when I could look down at him.
"You were excellent," he said, surprising me.
"Scimitars?"
He smiled. "Singing."
I bit my lip and looked away. "Right. Of course. Um . . . thank you."
He shook his head and signaled to a nearby waitress. "A gin and tonic, please."
When she returned with the drink, Amir handed it to me.
"But I don't drink," I said.
This seemed to delight him. "The tireless efforts of the Temperance Union, vindicated. I thought we'd have a toast. To the singing vampire suffragette."
He raised his glass. Bemused, I clinked his with mine and tentatively sipped. The alcohol was as vile as I remembered it, but it made my throat tingle and heat in a not unpleasant manner. I took another.
"What a bloody stupid name. Did you know they called me that?"
"Darling, who doesn't? And now you sing! It's a coup."
I frowned at my glass--much safer than staring for too long at his face--and took another gulp. "Is that how you found me?"
"I heard a rumor. I was curious. You are a bit of a contradiction, aren't you? A wholesome Montanan girl comes to the city, dabbles in demon hunting and then reinvents herself as a martyr to the poor and disenfranchised?"
I looked down at him in immediate indignation. The alcohol seemed to have made all my other confusing reactions of far less consequence.
"I did not 'reinvent' myself. I'm not proud of working with the Defenders, but I never staked a vampire that didn't deserve it. I tried to restrain them."
Amir looked contemplative. "The lies we tell ourselves to sleep at night," he said softly. "Fine. If you believe that. Still, I'm glad you were good at your job."
"Why? So I can murder someone for you?" I was honestly furious, now, and the taste of the alcohol didn't seem to matter, compared to the way its warmth fed my fire.
He shook his head. "I'll be the one to commit murder, if it comes to that. But you know I need your help to find him."
"You're counting on that, right?" God, his eyes were so dark close up. They seemed to suck in the light around them, to almost glow themselves. A new drink appeared in my hand without my being aware of taking it.
"Have you ever refused help to someone who asked it?" he said.
An image flashed through my brain: Amir in a sweater and knickers, a boy cradled over his shoulder.
"How is he?" I asked, sitting down abruptly in the chair closest to him. Aileen's shoes were too small, my knees too weak. This close, I caught myself breathing deeply of his impossible scent. I wondered if he noticed.
"Safe," he said.
I understood why he wouldn't tell me more--what we had done was illegal enough to put us both in prison for de cades if anyone found out. "Is he still . . ." I trailed off, unwilling to say "blood-mad."
He shrugged. "The same."
"I have to find his family. They should at least--"
"Yes. At least."
The reminder of my debt to him made my insides twist and my heart pound. Or maybe that was just the intent look he had fixed on me. As though we were alone in his bedroom instead of in the middle of a nightclub. "He couldn't have been older than eleven," I said. "We don't know if they ever . . . come back. The children. What if he's like that forever? What should we do?" I took another sip and saw that I was halfway through the glass. Impressive for a chick who doesn't drink, Zephyr .
He reached across the table and brushed the top of my hand with his fingertips. I took a moment to marvel over the relative
When I turned to face Amir again, he had reseated himself at the table and was looking up at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. He seemed almost sad, which was odd. I leaned against the edge of the stage, where a much larger band was setting up, and faced him. I felt a little more in control of the situation when I could look down at him.
"You were excellent," he said, surprising me.
"Scimitars?"
He smiled. "Singing."
I bit my lip and looked away. "Right. Of course. Um . . . thank you."
He shook his head and signaled to a nearby waitress. "A gin and tonic, please."
When she returned with the drink, Amir handed it to me.
"But I don't drink," I said.
This seemed to delight him. "The tireless efforts of the Temperance Union, vindicated. I thought we'd have a toast. To the singing vampire suffragette."
He raised his glass. Bemused, I clinked his with mine and tentatively sipped. The alcohol was as vile as I remembered it, but it made my throat tingle and heat in a not unpleasant manner. I took another.
"What a bloody stupid name. Did you know they called me that?"
"Darling, who doesn't? And now you sing! It's a coup."
I frowned at my glass--much safer than staring for too long at his face--and took another gulp. "Is that how you found me?"
"I heard a rumor. I was curious. You are a bit of a contradiction, aren't you? A wholesome Montanan girl comes to the city, dabbles in demon hunting and then reinvents herself as a martyr to the poor and disenfranchised?"
I looked down at him in immediate indignation. The alcohol seemed to have made all my other confusing reactions of far less consequence.
"I did not 'reinvent' myself. I'm not proud of working with the Defenders, but I never staked a vampire that didn't deserve it. I tried to restrain them."
Amir looked contemplative. "The lies we tell ourselves to sleep at night," he said softly. "Fine. If you believe that. Still, I'm glad you were good at your job."
"Why? So I can murder someone for you?" I was honestly furious, now, and the taste of the alcohol didn't seem to matter, compared to the way its warmth fed my fire.
He shook his head. "I'll be the one to commit murder, if it comes to that. But you know I need your help to find him."
"You're counting on that, right?" God, his eyes were so dark close up. They seemed to suck in the light around them, to almost glow themselves. A new drink appeared in my hand without my being aware of taking it.
"Have you ever refused help to someone who asked it?" he said.
An image flashed through my brain: Amir in a sweater and knickers, a boy cradled over his shoulder.
"How is he?" I asked, sitting down abruptly in the chair closest to him. Aileen's shoes were too small, my knees too weak. This close, I caught myself breathing deeply of his impossible scent. I wondered if he noticed.
"Safe," he said.
I understood why he wouldn't tell me more--what we had done was illegal enough to put us both in prison for de cades if anyone found out. "Is he still . . ." I trailed off, unwilling to say "blood-mad."
He shrugged. "The same."
"I have to find his family. They should at least--"
"Yes. At least."
The reminder of my debt to him made my insides twist and my heart pound. Or maybe that was just the intent look he had fixed on me. As though we were alone in his bedroom instead of in the middle of a nightclub. "He couldn't have been older than eleven," I said. "We don't know if they ever . . . come back. The children. What if he's like that forever? What should we do?" I took another sip and saw that I was halfway through the glass. Impressive for a chick who doesn't drink, Zephyr .
He reached across the table and brushed the top of my hand with his fingertips. I took a moment to marvel over the relative
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