you’ll tire out or you’ll give up.”
I punched the dashboard.
Sly gave me a dirty look, but I ignored it.
“I’m not becoming a vamp, Sly. I’d rather die.”
Sly nodded. “That’s your other option.”
I couldn’t believe how casually he had let that drop. Then again, I never knew Sly to try to sugar coat the hard truths. He was one of the few people who hadn’t fed me a sympathetic line of bullshit after Dad was killed. He laid it right out for me—someone had done my parents wrong, and I’d better not forget shit like that happened all the time among those of us who lived on the other side of reality’s veil.
I pressed my knuckle against my mouth to keep myself from shouting out. My nostrils flared. I glared out the window at the passing strip malls and furniture stores and party stores in the night. Some of them had lights on inside, or illuminated signs in the lots. Others stood dark, their blank windows like dead eyes staring back at me.
A chill ran down my spine.
I was so very screwed.
Neither of us spoke for the rest of the trip to Sly’s shop.
When he turned on the lights after disabling the alarm, the sudden blare stung my eyes. A massive headache bloomed behind my right eye.
Sly hurried into the back without bothering to give me a second look. I shuffled in after him. He was already pulling out boxes and sorting through the contents by the time I came in. I stood back and let him work. Vilas and powders and strange smelling plants. He looked like one of those chefs in a cooking competition on TV the way he worked so calmly yet with frantic speed. Iron Alchemist.
It took him about thirty minutes to finish, and at the end he had a tiny murky fluid that only filled the bottom inch of a vial.
He handed it over.
“Take it now. It expires quickly.”
I lifted the vial to my nose and took a sniff. What smelled like rotten tuna stung my nostrils and twisted my stomach. “Agg.”
Sly rolled his eyes. “You know better than to smell a potion. Just drink the damn thing.”
I pinched my nose, then tossed the potion back. It was thick and cold and felt like I was swallowing raw sewage. But I managed to swallow and keep it down without hurling. I handed the vial back to Sly, who promptly hit the pedal on a trash can to pop the lid and tossed the vial in.
“Isn’t that a waste of a perfectly good vial?”
“There’s no redeeming that. The stuff will never come clean.”
I wondered what that meant for the inside of my stomach, but didn’t ask. First off, I trusted Sly. Secondly, I probably didn’t want to know any details anyway.
“Now what?”
Sly waved me out to the shop. I followed him behind the glass counter holding all the fancy smoking implements. He pulled open a wooden drawer underneath the cash register, rummaged around, and came out with a joint. “Stupid kid thinks I don’t know he stashes these here for his breaks.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I’m okay with it for times exactly like this.” He pulled out a Zippo from his pocket and fired up the blunt. The smell of pot quickly clouded around both of us. Like I said before, I don’t do mind-altering substances—except for an occasional craft beer—because it takes the edge off my power. I wasn’t morally opposed to it in any way, though, and Sly deserved the chance to relax with some grass.
He took a deep hit. The end blazed orange. It reminded me of the warehouse, of all those vamps I’d cooked. Suddenly, I felt tired all over. I leaned up against the counter to keep from collapsing.
Sly held his breath for a moment, then blew out a series of smoke rings. “You all right?”
“I need a thousand years of sleep.”
He snorted. “You’ll get it if you relax too much.”
“So the potion you gave me? What’s it supposed to do?”
He shrugged and took another long draw on his joint before answering. When he spoke, he let the smoke puff out along with his words. “It’s the equivalent of
I punched the dashboard.
Sly gave me a dirty look, but I ignored it.
“I’m not becoming a vamp, Sly. I’d rather die.”
Sly nodded. “That’s your other option.”
I couldn’t believe how casually he had let that drop. Then again, I never knew Sly to try to sugar coat the hard truths. He was one of the few people who hadn’t fed me a sympathetic line of bullshit after Dad was killed. He laid it right out for me—someone had done my parents wrong, and I’d better not forget shit like that happened all the time among those of us who lived on the other side of reality’s veil.
I pressed my knuckle against my mouth to keep myself from shouting out. My nostrils flared. I glared out the window at the passing strip malls and furniture stores and party stores in the night. Some of them had lights on inside, or illuminated signs in the lots. Others stood dark, their blank windows like dead eyes staring back at me.
A chill ran down my spine.
I was so very screwed.
Neither of us spoke for the rest of the trip to Sly’s shop.
When he turned on the lights after disabling the alarm, the sudden blare stung my eyes. A massive headache bloomed behind my right eye.
Sly hurried into the back without bothering to give me a second look. I shuffled in after him. He was already pulling out boxes and sorting through the contents by the time I came in. I stood back and let him work. Vilas and powders and strange smelling plants. He looked like one of those chefs in a cooking competition on TV the way he worked so calmly yet with frantic speed. Iron Alchemist.
It took him about thirty minutes to finish, and at the end he had a tiny murky fluid that only filled the bottom inch of a vial.
He handed it over.
“Take it now. It expires quickly.”
I lifted the vial to my nose and took a sniff. What smelled like rotten tuna stung my nostrils and twisted my stomach. “Agg.”
Sly rolled his eyes. “You know better than to smell a potion. Just drink the damn thing.”
I pinched my nose, then tossed the potion back. It was thick and cold and felt like I was swallowing raw sewage. But I managed to swallow and keep it down without hurling. I handed the vial back to Sly, who promptly hit the pedal on a trash can to pop the lid and tossed the vial in.
“Isn’t that a waste of a perfectly good vial?”
“There’s no redeeming that. The stuff will never come clean.”
I wondered what that meant for the inside of my stomach, but didn’t ask. First off, I trusted Sly. Secondly, I probably didn’t want to know any details anyway.
“Now what?”
Sly waved me out to the shop. I followed him behind the glass counter holding all the fancy smoking implements. He pulled open a wooden drawer underneath the cash register, rummaged around, and came out with a joint. “Stupid kid thinks I don’t know he stashes these here for his breaks.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I’m okay with it for times exactly like this.” He pulled out a Zippo from his pocket and fired up the blunt. The smell of pot quickly clouded around both of us. Like I said before, I don’t do mind-altering substances—except for an occasional craft beer—because it takes the edge off my power. I wasn’t morally opposed to it in any way, though, and Sly deserved the chance to relax with some grass.
He took a deep hit. The end blazed orange. It reminded me of the warehouse, of all those vamps I’d cooked. Suddenly, I felt tired all over. I leaned up against the counter to keep from collapsing.
Sly held his breath for a moment, then blew out a series of smoke rings. “You all right?”
“I need a thousand years of sleep.”
He snorted. “You’ll get it if you relax too much.”
“So the potion you gave me? What’s it supposed to do?”
He shrugged and took another long draw on his joint before answering. When he spoke, he let the smoke puff out along with his words. “It’s the equivalent of
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