didn’t do much with her metabolism.
Keeping the envelope hidden inside her pack, she pulled out two twenties, and pocketed them. The rest remained inside. She secured the pack, and hefted it onto her shoulders. La Panier , a restaurant here at the market, remained open twenty-four hours. She’d have some breakfast, and try to make some sense of what had happened to her.
Chapter Eight
Whiskey stepped off the bus near the U District Youth Consortium. Her stomach comfortably full of baguettes and coffee, she’d changed back into her ragged cargo pants in the market restroom, carefully tucking the latex ones away. No need to advertise her sudden good fortune, and invite an attack by her peers. The tattoo publicized it enough. The sun beat down upon her, and she readjusted her sunglasses with a grimace. In another hour, the shoe place downtown would open. She’d already spent the better part of an hour staring into the window at the boots on display there. She’d promised Castillo she’d check in with him, else she’d have blown him off to make her purchase. Too many people broke promises these days; she didn’t.
Whenever her mind wandered to the night before, she chastised herself for gullibility. Vampires only existed in books, movies and video games. Whiskey ridiculed the whole concept of a completely different race of beings living off human blood. These vampire wannabes said that to justify their lifestyle. She’d done some reading, heard some things; she must have come across the word Sanguire somewhere else before.
Hefting her pack, she walked the two blocks to the shelter. The sidewalks were crowded with people enjoying the early spring sunshine. Seattle skies were cloudy more often than not—a plus in Whiskey’s book—so people always came out to catch rays on days like today. Her exposed skin stung with sunburn, though she hadn’t been out in it for long. Her body always felt like that to her on sunny days, even as a child. When she arrived at the shelter, she gratefully pushed inside.
She nodded to the two street kids lounging in the day shelter, neither of whom she knew well. The rest of the regulars were probably at the nearest park or the campus, like everyone else. At the registration desk, she slouched out of her pack, and set it on the floor. “I have an appointment with Father Castillo.”
The chunky little woman peered up at her through her bifocals. “Whiskey! How are you?” Her expression belied the welcome tone in her voice. She looked like she stared at a particularly ugly bug in a microscope.
Not put off, Whiskey spoke evenly. “Pretty good, Sister. You?” She mentally recited the nun’s next words, doing her best not to roll her eyes.
“God blesses me in every way.” The nun peered at a clipboard with the same loathing.
Whiskey wondered if she’d always had that look on her face. Maybe there’s truth to that saying, “Don’t make faces or yours will freeze that way.”
The nun stared at Whiskey’s right arm. “That’s new, isn’t it?”
Whiskey held her arm forward and turned it, showing off the artwork. “Yeah, it is. You like it?” She rubbed the light scabs with one hand, reminding herself to use the ointment again before heading out.
“I’ll let Father know you’re here.”
She chuckled at the nonanswer. “Thanks, Sister.” She moved her pack to a nearby couch. The woman hoisted her bulk out of her chair and waddled down a hall.
“Big score?” one of the other kids asked.
“Kind of.” Whiskey flopped next to her pack. “Got this out of the deal.” She breathed a sigh as the teenager quickly lost interest, glad he’d accepted she had nothing else. She relaxed, her eyes drifted closed of their own volition. She’d use some of the money for a motel room today. With Gin’s boyfriend, Ghost, back in town, she had a fifty-fifty shot whether she’d be allowed to bunk down with his street family. The longer she avoided him, the less jealous
Keeping the envelope hidden inside her pack, she pulled out two twenties, and pocketed them. The rest remained inside. She secured the pack, and hefted it onto her shoulders. La Panier , a restaurant here at the market, remained open twenty-four hours. She’d have some breakfast, and try to make some sense of what had happened to her.
Chapter Eight
Whiskey stepped off the bus near the U District Youth Consortium. Her stomach comfortably full of baguettes and coffee, she’d changed back into her ragged cargo pants in the market restroom, carefully tucking the latex ones away. No need to advertise her sudden good fortune, and invite an attack by her peers. The tattoo publicized it enough. The sun beat down upon her, and she readjusted her sunglasses with a grimace. In another hour, the shoe place downtown would open. She’d already spent the better part of an hour staring into the window at the boots on display there. She’d promised Castillo she’d check in with him, else she’d have blown him off to make her purchase. Too many people broke promises these days; she didn’t.
Whenever her mind wandered to the night before, she chastised herself for gullibility. Vampires only existed in books, movies and video games. Whiskey ridiculed the whole concept of a completely different race of beings living off human blood. These vampire wannabes said that to justify their lifestyle. She’d done some reading, heard some things; she must have come across the word Sanguire somewhere else before.
Hefting her pack, she walked the two blocks to the shelter. The sidewalks were crowded with people enjoying the early spring sunshine. Seattle skies were cloudy more often than not—a plus in Whiskey’s book—so people always came out to catch rays on days like today. Her exposed skin stung with sunburn, though she hadn’t been out in it for long. Her body always felt like that to her on sunny days, even as a child. When she arrived at the shelter, she gratefully pushed inside.
She nodded to the two street kids lounging in the day shelter, neither of whom she knew well. The rest of the regulars were probably at the nearest park or the campus, like everyone else. At the registration desk, she slouched out of her pack, and set it on the floor. “I have an appointment with Father Castillo.”
The chunky little woman peered up at her through her bifocals. “Whiskey! How are you?” Her expression belied the welcome tone in her voice. She looked like she stared at a particularly ugly bug in a microscope.
Not put off, Whiskey spoke evenly. “Pretty good, Sister. You?” She mentally recited the nun’s next words, doing her best not to roll her eyes.
“God blesses me in every way.” The nun peered at a clipboard with the same loathing.
Whiskey wondered if she’d always had that look on her face. Maybe there’s truth to that saying, “Don’t make faces or yours will freeze that way.”
The nun stared at Whiskey’s right arm. “That’s new, isn’t it?”
Whiskey held her arm forward and turned it, showing off the artwork. “Yeah, it is. You like it?” She rubbed the light scabs with one hand, reminding herself to use the ointment again before heading out.
“I’ll let Father know you’re here.”
She chuckled at the nonanswer. “Thanks, Sister.” She moved her pack to a nearby couch. The woman hoisted her bulk out of her chair and waddled down a hall.
“Big score?” one of the other kids asked.
“Kind of.” Whiskey flopped next to her pack. “Got this out of the deal.” She breathed a sigh as the teenager quickly lost interest, glad he’d accepted she had nothing else. She relaxed, her eyes drifted closed of their own volition. She’d use some of the money for a motel room today. With Gin’s boyfriend, Ghost, back in town, she had a fifty-fifty shot whether she’d be allowed to bunk down with his street family. The longer she avoided him, the less jealous
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