Read Online The Girls With Games of Blood by Alex Bledsoe - Free Book Online Page B

growing in a narrow strip of bare ground between properties. On one side was a small used-car dealership, and on theother a gas station. Directly across the street was a large pawnshop, and behind the bar were the back entrances of a strip mall that fronted on another street.
    From the outside, in bright summer daylight, the bar was ugly and crude, a collection of mismatched modifications accumulated through the years. At night, though, strategically placed lights hid its flaws and gave the facade enough glamour for the crowd Barrister liked to attract.
    Zginski had parked the car in the shade at the back of the bar, beside the overflowing Dumpster. Leonardo had put Mark’s truck beside it, which made the Mustang look even more spectacular. Zginski brushed aside a leaf that had fallen from a nearby tree; the drought had turned the foliage brown and yellow months early. “This is my automobile,” he said, enjoying the sound of the words.
    Patience took a moment to appreciate the vehicle. “Yes, sir,” she said with admiration. “That is a fine set of wheels. And you named her ‘Eleanor’?”
    “No, an identical automobile in a movie carried that name. I shall choose something more individual.”
    “Any idea what?”
    He nodded. “ ‘Tzigane.’ ”
    “Is that a Gypsy name?”
    “It is.”
    “Is it a
girl’s
name?”
    “Yes.”
    She smiled knowingly. “A
special
girl?”
    He frowned and did not reply. Unbidden memories burst vividly into his consciousness: her black tangle of hair cascading around her bare shoulders as she sat astride him muttering strange incantations, the smell of her sweat mixing with the incense inside her tent, and most clearly the coppery taste of blood that signaled her betrayal. And yet, were she here before him, would he destroy her again or beg her forgiveness? He would never know.
    She nodded at the car, changing the subject. “Can I see the engine?”
    Zginski hesitated; he knew how to open the hood on the truck, but Crabtree had done so at the barn, and the attendant Clyde at the gas station. He fumbled behind the grille for the latch, until Patience nudged him aside and opened it easily. She propped the hood on its brace and looked over the engine.
    “It looks,” she said after a moment, “a lot like the 351 Cleveland, doesn’t it?”
    “I have no idea.”
    She smiled and looked up at him, tossing her long hair aside. “You don’t know anything about cars, do you? You were showing off for my benefit.”
    Her constant good nature was infectious. He shrugged and said, “I am learning.”
    She put her hands on her hips. “About which, cars or how to impress me?”
    He regarded her carefully. “Of the two, I suspect impressing you would require more study.”
    She wagged a finger at him in mock-scolding. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”
    “I have known you for mere minutes.”
    “Yeah, but I can sense things. I know what you’re thinking.”
    “That seems unlikely.”
    “You think between you, me, and Fauvette, we’ll draw too much attention. Because we’re not as careful as you, there’ll be too many bloodless corpses littering the riverfront, and people will start to notice.” He glanced around to make sure the remark had not been overheard, and she laughed. “You
are
a skittish thing, aren’t you?”
    “I have reason to be,” he snapped, the momentary spell broken. “And I do not wish to add to the list of my concerns.”
    “Aw. Are you sure?”
    “I am sure, and not in the way you imply.”
    “If I told you I fed on people’s energy without either touching them or killing them, would that make you feel better?”
    “No, because I would then be certain that you were unbalanced. Now tell me, why are you
truly
here?”
    Her smile changed to an annoyed scowl. “Well, it’s true, Mr. Big Shot. And I
did
tell you. I grew up about an hour away from here.”
    “When?”
    “I was born in 1844. I became what I am in 1864.”
    “And where have you