I never drink....wine
Robert had just gotten some groceries and was unloading them in the kitchen. Usually he offered people coffee and water so there was a large container of plastic water bottles and a new canister of coffee. He didn't sleep much, some nights not at all. It didn't have anything to do with being restless, it was just his biology. Some demons sort of meditated into trances during those quiet hours, contemplating the roundness of an egg or how certain foods tasted. Poured some grins into a filter, he started the coffee pot and began putting the other things away.
He was a simple eater, and while he would occasionally prepare things he didn't enjoy doing that with his time very often. He didn't have a love for fast food or cheap meals, so it was eating things that were basic but good quality. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Slices of smoked gouda. The coffee pot began to grumble and bubble as the water heated up.
There was scratching of a key at the front door and then, then there was a spectre at the edge of his kitchen. Like a Ghost from Lifetimes Past (because fuck Christmas, that was the worst time of year) with smudged panda eyes and holding a package wrapped in white, crinkled paper. The ghost approached Robert, holding out the package like it was a peace offering. "Don't thank me. I'll get super pissed if you do. Just take it." The key was shoved away in her pocket, her other arm outstretched towards him like she was about to hug him, but she didn't move, her face blank stone. "It's... a thank you for the stuff you've been doing. I know I'm a fucking shit to have around and I knows you are stretchin' neck on the deets. I'll be moving out too.. so.. like.. I'll be out of your hair soon."
The rough stroke of her eyes briefly flipped to the coffee pot before lazing on him. "I got a place in West End."
He had just set down a coffee mug when he knew, or felt, she was there. His body turned as if his spine was stiff, puppeting on a cord that ran through his body. He watched her approach him and the package wrapped in white paper made him think of something that one would pick up at the butcher's shop. The first thought was... how odd... and also, that his immediate impulse was not to thank her. He reached for it, gingerly setting it on the counter.
Outstretched arms. Was this a hugging moment? Robert blinked a few times and stepped forward, then paused weirdly like he wasn't entirely sure how someone went about hugging her without getting their wallet swiped, "I've found out a few more things... You'll like the West End, it feels more like the Nola you knew."
He paused and she dropped her arms and avoided it altogether. Did people hug when they gave gifts? She didn't know! She stepped around him and went for the mug he had just placed down and moved to help herself to a coffee. Her back kept to him in her obvious awkwardness at having tried to be... nice? Or some fucking thing that wasn't completely awful. He was *helping* her and if anything had been drilled into her, the last five years in particular, it was that when someone did something for you, even a little thanks, went a long way. And hell, she might need him again some day? She stared into the coffee. "It's nothing much." Inside white paper was a square box. Simple, unremarkable, cardboard. "Open it later if you like." She turned then, hip back to the bench. "What did you learn?"
"Should I open it now?" He could tell after he failed to hug her that he should have by the way she stepped around him. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze as she helped herself to the coffee. He reached over her head, gripping a mug by the handle and then setting it down. There were two containers against eh wall that he brought in closer because they had the sugar and cream in them, "Apparently a deal has gone sour and you're being credited for it."
Her eyes much like her squeezed shoulder showed nothing. Most might flinch or blink a few extra times, lick their lips or scratch at their head when a change comes into the air - the unexpected, whether it be touch or an admission. But Roach simply stared him, the expression often on the faces of people mindlessly staring at a tv set when you look past the curtains passing by a house late at night. Whether it was her defensiveness, or genuine apathy... who knew. It could have been a hybrid of both. But it was for certain, Robert had her attention. The coffee had gone untouched. The flat-lining heartbeat of her voice pressed against the silence of the room, like a hand trapped in plastic, trying to tear free. "Is this... to do with Zoel, or is this a deal back in NOLA?" It was only then she went for a sip.
"
Open it whenever." A murmur. Her voice clean of emotion. But, perhaps, she glanced at the package for a beat overlong. A drum-kick out of time with the rest of the band.
"Zoel. There's... around a quarter of a million dollars worth of drugs missing that somehow is tied to you. Zoel wanted you dead and knew you were in Nola. He asked the Idol of New Orleans to deal with you. I don't know if they think you sold it or used it up, or what, but he didn't seem to think you'd be good to fix the situation... so," he slid the box in front of him on the counter and lifted the lid off, eyeing what was there to see if he could know what it was without sticking his hand in, first. Robert continued, "they were going to fix you and wash their hands of it. Eko was simply employ you for his dirty jobs until it got you killed. Humans killing demons isn't a recipe for longevity.
"...He, did?" Her tone emphasising the noun. Her expression did change then. She took another sip of the pitch-dark liquid and set it down, swinging backwards with a jump to seat herself on the counter near where he was. "Fuck. I told Kate to look for a woman. Look, look. I haven't, we haven't had the chat about Zoel. Zoel, I was a told, was a human. But she's a *****.. genie. And .. jesus. It makes so much sense, why I haven't been able to track her, and why Kate hasn't come through yet. She's fucking shifted. Who told you this? Who? How do they know it's Zoel? I'm not at all surprised that a genie **** has put a pricetag on my head nor that Jimmie is as despicable as this.. this shit here. But.. damn. Why didn't I think of..." "And that twenty five worth, Robbie? My previous collague, the guy who was out here first, looking for Zoel, and who failed, he quit. He's the asswipe who took the **** dollars."
Underbelly New York came out in her voice towards the end, letters rammed up close together in a mouth that wasn't opening all the way, as she spat the words with tight lips. She threw a hand back through her dreads and watched him with the package. As the lid came away. An envelope was within and a pair of silver keys.
"It's been put on you, one way or another. My source is a demon I know, Gus. He helped me a few times and he's not that expensive... just a coward." Robert was blinking at the wealth of information from her. There was a small give in his eyes, drawing up the keys as he spoke to her, "Gus isn't perfect, and he's getting things through demon sources... not genie or human. That makes the details questionable. Don't take it to be the truth... just what can be dug up. The bottom line, and what he was most certain of, is that a deal went south and the blame lands on you."
He was't sure if he could recognize what the keys went to, so he opted to open up the envelope for more answers.
oach fell silent watching him. Letting the words go down, blunt and black like her choice of coffee. There was some breed of reassurance if not every single fact was infallible, if there was any crack in the story that she could squeeze through, and she was good for that. When she was done soaking in her thoughts and she recognised that Robert was peeling open the letter, she diverged from the topic of demons and debts to explain the gift. "That's a few signed autographs from Legosi. Saw what you were doin' 'round here so got you. Legit. Certifiably, indu-bit-a-bly." A beat. "One of the guys I was sellin' to, that Kate got me hooked up with? He showed me around this warehouse he runs, got all this weird ass stuff, curios, looked like Reverand Voodoo's off of Bourbon only like.. fucking giant.. and with a lot more antiques.. anyway anyway... so I told him what I was after and he just had this hit lying around. Says he knows off-world junk will always be wanted by someone, which is why he kept it around. The keys.... I may have.. procured via more illicit means. But... nothin' you gotta worry about."
"What do the keys mean?" The pictures of Bela Lugosi prompted a smile from him, which was nice. Robert didn't seem to smile very often. At least she had known his smile to be salted, bitter and drunk when they wasted themselves on the streets those many years ago. Even then, it hadn't really seemed like a smile, or what a smile was supposed to be. It wasn't supposed to be rueful but glad. Perhaps even gentle. Like the smile that was on his lips just then, showing he was curious and perhaps had not received a gift in a long time.
"Spare set. To mine. I'm plenty aware of how deep this all might go. And, if any trouble ends up at your door.. " she looked at the ceiling, like it was a struggle for her to say it, her eyes falling back to his profile, turned as he was just so at their angle, but she saw the smile, she did, and it made her speak on.."door's open...but extenuatin' circumstances. I like my privacy. But you and me, we go's way back. Least I can do.. like, return the favor. You let me stay here......" she had begun pulling at the frayed end of her hooded cardigan's sleeves. Bands of white now cream, bands of black now grey. Black, peeling nails folded in and out of the fabric, too big for her arms. "I felt it was the right thing to do, yo." The right side of her mouth actually moved. A smile that was sideways and backtofront and inside out.... but nonetheless, there. "You're the one person I don't fuckin' hate."
"Thank you," he set the pictures off to the side, on the other side of the sink so that a coffee spill wouldn't be a concern. The keys were like a paperweight, holding the images down. He feel into the not-hated crowd for her. He thought he remembered her telling him that once, but the reasons were different and not nearly so recent. It had... why had it been? They were drunk with their backs to a brick wall and it was raining. Then a guy ditched a large box used to mail refrigerators and they begrudgingly shared it after having scrapped by on the streets for a month. They had slept with feet and heads on opposing ends. He saw her hand clutching a knife the whole time incase he 'wanted to ****** try anything.' After that, he was all right for not having tried anything with her and for sharing the box.
He extended his arms to her for a hug that was close enough that she could just lean forward without having to slid off the top of the counter.
There was a hard rush of air from between her lips, and the woman that looked like winter found that perhaps the ice of her knew what it meant to melt. Even a little. The vacuum of silence around them didn't feel like plastic then and there. He had said thank you but she wasn't getting angry. Instead, Roach leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. It wasn't a half-hearted attempt at one, her hug was tight like a throat about to cry. It was a hug and she meant it.
"Sometimes I can't believe we're still alive" A whisper.
He still smelled the same. She smelled better. Robert had a slight metallic... like copper and cinnamon, to him. He'd once been told that kissing him burned a little bit, not exactly like something spicy but more along the lines of what he smelled like--cinnamon. It was a fiery sort of scent, and maybe it spoke more of smoke because of all the cigarettes he had. Roach had smelled too much like the street and even the pungent sewer water. Maybe it was being human, or maybe she had just always hit the bottle harder than he did.
Sometimes I can't believe we're still alive.
Mahis' voice echoed back in his mind with "Then his friends will descend and you will be dead. "
Robert cleared his throat, "Yes." He didn't know why Roach was on the verge of tears. He didn't know if it was a happiness or sadness that threatened to rip out of her body. He stood there, the pressure of his arm around her intending to stay until she seemed less... vulnerable.
Scent always made her think of wires. Thin, crystal-clear wires in a chamber, spiraling out like a great web. When she smelled him, which wasn't something she had done.... recently, for physical contact on the whole made her feel nauseous, it took her straight down one of those crystalline wires and to New Orleans. To be huddled in the rain like washed up shipwreck survivors. The memory hit her so hard, so vividly, she jerked in his arms. Cinnamon, copper, cinnamon, copper... the dirty streets, the tainted rain, the smell of stale, watered down beer. In his arms and then she was not, sat back and looking at him very directly. Her scent, was infinitely more pleasant than the days of old, when a shower was as rare as a solid, three veg meal. There was a scent to her, a lingering steel, a faint tang of gasoline or skidding-wheel smoke, but always, patchouli. The oil kind, found in head shops or hot topic. Her hands fell to her lap, back to the figet with the ends of her dragging sleeves. She was silent.
"I think it will be all right," he said to her, stepping to the side and then working on pouring a cup of coffee. He had it the same was she did, which was with no additives. The taste of coffee dominated his mouth. He put one hand to the counter top and took a swallow of it, diverting the course of their conversation from tombstones and keys to an unconnected happening, "The exhibit is changing. It'll be vampires, soon. I think you'd find it... somewhat humorous." Not that the exhibit would be at all silly, but that there was something interesting about a creature who was so feared and also... incredibly dependent upon that which it fed.
"Hence the Lugosi stuff.. I saw the advertisements in town. I think it'll be sweet, Robbie. Hell, you'd have loads to draw on... well.. dependin' if you recall lots of the Nawlin's vampire backgrounds. The local myth.. do you remember at all? The Ursuline Convent and the vampires in the attic.. the Carter Brothers?" Her voice thinned out, losing its gravel, as though the subject elevated her. Over his hand, she swept up her mug, half-cool, but sipped it anyway. To a rat, coffee was coffee. She brought it against herself and looked over to the door. "So... what's your story anyway. Like, kids, wife, girlfriend, screwbuddy.. what's going on there? Never see you bring anyone back?" She slipped down off the counter, as if to define space between them, to define the space between the counter and the embrace. Roach looked into the mug, saw her pierced reflection swimming it in. This .. whole.. conversation, had roiled darkly and in unexpected fashion. It was all so... ironic. The eyes that found him in them again weren't quite so scornful or cold. The way she looked at him was with interest, real interest, not the manufactured kind. "Do you even want those things?"
There was the catch of his smile at the corner of his lips and he nodded when she spoke of it. It was endearing, somehow, that she wanted to protect the New Orleans monsters from not being represented. Still, he did have to strain his mind to recall some of the details. He had thought...first a little on one and realized that he was mixing up the story with something else entirely.
"There's no one."
He'd been that way on the street, too. Never shared a box with anyone, male or female, in the way she had worried about how h had offered it to her. Then again, Robert never seemed particularly lonely in that way. There were never bitter comments in February, which was usually the sign of someone who lamented being single during the holiday laden with hearts. Seeing couples laugh and kiss, or how they might act foolish, went unnoticed. She had never asked him about it, but there were a lot of things that stayed in that intoxicated haze. He took a swallow of his coffee as he thought over her latter question and then looked at her, "I suppose it would be nice."
That didn't sound like someone who was aching. Or, as Helena had put it, a person with a hole in who they were, creating a vacuum for the space to be filled. Yet it brought to surface his own curiosity about her, "Why do you ask?"
"I ask cuz I wondered if you're bangin' anyone. I never see you with nobody. You polished up and like I dunno.. most peeps clean up, get a new job, a new place and a someone else. How it goes. Seems like you gots two out of the three." She sipped. "Also like.. I don't wanna get in the way by stayin' here.. you know.. if you needed me gone while you play p***, until I can move in the next place." She barked a laugh at the thought of interrupting his intimate hour, because, well, that was a certain hilarity to it. And maybe, a touch of humor in seeing him further in this new light he had cast... the museum, the finer clothes, his sobriety. His response surprised her and she didn't hide it. Roach moved, at the sink rinsing out the mug.
They were both New Orleans monsters, though, weren't they? Only, they had never made it into the history books with notoriety. They had somehow gotten out of the books and into the streets, leading strange, fragmented with even stranger consequences, lives that only a monster could lead. She was a monster, right? Put her in the exhibit. "I'm looking forward to the show here, Robbie. If like you need a hand with it... you know.. actually.. I have zero fucking idea what I could do here, but like.. yeah. Or if your assistant flakes?" She turned, an arm out where she dusted away some fallen coffee granules. "The shit with Zoel is kind of getting me down and all this hiding in the shadows is making me bored. I feel like.. I need something else to do."
"I was seeing someone, but that ended before your arrival." She seemed concerned about him, as if he had become an antisocial oddity and might dissect animals in his spare time because he wasn't calling escorts or asking anyone on a date. No, he was in a quiet period of life, one where he wasn't exactly desirous of a partner. That would change, though, when there was a bit more time and distance from the experience. The truth of his was what it always had been, "I've been focused on work." Ten years ago, that was being drunk and feeling lost and sorry for himself. Then it was finding Timothy. Now it was the museum. It was hard to be close to someone whose goals took priority, even in their heart.
"More than the work you are doing with Kate?" he offered, thoughtfully. No, Roach could not be used to help showcase the exhibit as a guide but... maybe... "I am having a few more advertisements posted, if you think you could get around town and display them."
"That sucks, man. But how about that timing." She cackled, as if the mere influence of her trajectory into his life had called the demise of his relationship. Her teeth bared in a grin. "I would have sent her screaming and running into the distance anyway." She listened to his offer with a tip of her head like she was weighing the thought and it had become too heavy. "Yeah, that's easy enough. I'll tell my homes who runs that weird ass joint I told you about.. maybe he could display some posters, maybe he's got more vampy shit in storage. I'm telling you, Robbie, place is h-u-g-e", her arms went out, expanding from palm to palm and outwards, "you would spend hours trawling through his crap. I'll take you one day.. well.. technically, you'd take us *both* there in yer track. How about it? But the posters.. done. I know just the places. I'll drop into a few bars, like Charlie's over that way, see if they're interested in stickin' up a few too."
"Maybe." Her cackle drew a short smile from him. The offer was the only thing he could think of for her to help the museum and still be comfortable in her own skin. He set his coffee down on the counter and nodded to her, "I suppose you do befriend eccentric men who have a collection of oddities." Since she was standing in the company of one now, except he was more so a "borrower" of the items more than anything. She illuminated with tales of how great this other storage area was and he nodded, "What did you say this man was? A vampire himself?" Humans could acquire that sort of wealth, he just thought she had hinted to something more about it earlier in the conversation. "Yes, but... helping with the advertising would be good. No one will come if they don't know about it."
"Eccentric men is what I collect. It's this .. **** magnetism I have. Jimmie used to be one of them, or, so I thought. That was his guise for a long time anyways." There was a bitter accord to her sawmill voice as she leaned there against the counter, all machismo. "I don't know if he be a monster or all man... if anything, homes reminds me of a living .. what are they called, in the garden? Beards and those stupid **** pointed hats? Gnome? Is it gnome? He looks like one of those ****. "He was helpful though... you two gotta meet, seriously, network a little.. I could set you up. See, already helping you Robbie-boy. I swear, I'm not all bad." The corner of her mouth lifted up.
"Yes... gnomes." He wet his lips and opened the plastic containers of water bottles, offering her one, "I'm not particularly good at networking." He admitted, unnecessarily. Most museum curators were expected to be more like businessmen and when it came to his flaws... networking to promote the museum was one of them. He did ads and made his best attempts, but Robert was sometimes told that he had an unnerving, unfinished quality about him which was either intriguing or off putting. Still, Roach was trying to help and he could see that she was attempting to be something... positive in his life. This was not exactly what he had expected of her upon her first arrival. She had come in with sharpened teeth. He expected that she ate the way people who had gotten out of prison did, elbows out and eyebrows shot downward to say they meant business.
"Thanks for your clarification, bro", grinned again though her eyes grew distant in the span of time she stepped towards him for the bottle. She stayed there, closer, as if they were getting to the meaty part of this interaction. Wheeling, dealing. Roach had the look of someone who could spook and run, or spook and bite. She was a wolf of a woman, someone you didn't want to corner. Because wolves, like vampires, took their kill by the throat. In all honesty, the rat didn't know what she was doing, but she knew opportunity when she saw it... the cracks she liked to squeeze through, it was her forte. It was one of the things, when Jimmie had been good to her, and there had been a time, he had favored in her. For all her flaws and they were overwhelming at times in their ferocity, for she was a creature of extremes in all ways, she was savvy. It was the kind of skill, though, that could only be instilled and honed on the street. Desperation made the mind work overtime, and though she didn't starve these days, not like she had anyway, her mind still went a hundred miles an hour. Connecting the dots, looking for answers.
"I... could help you. I know I don't look like an obvious bet, but it's what I do. I talk the talk you gotta to make people do what you want, or open up. Homes didn't just hand over signed autographs of Bela Lugosi because I showed him my tits or made a witty comment... I got on his level, I mimicked his way, I asked the right questions. He's someone you could get somethinf going with. That part and how much is all up to you, yo. But there's something there. He doesn't do coke neither, he does the shit Kate gave me.. so, he might be out of it a week of the month in a glitter-fucked high, but he's lucid and operating the other three weeks. Got a mean sense of humor too." She opened the bottle and took a swig like the way she handled her patron or a beer. She washed her mouth clear of the bitter tang of the caffeine and replaced the lid. "Worth a visit I think." She shrugged and that smile got bigger. That brain was burning fuel, racing ahead.
He's patient and calculating, qualities that one might consider attributing him to being "wooden." It was the only way to explain how a demon almost single handedly killed ten Nephilim. He was patient, thoughtful, but that didn't mean he wasn't potent. Maybe that was the underlying fire, as opposed to cinnamon and copper and the feeling that a fire was about to crackle under his skin.
He nodded towards the door of the kitchen which lead outside, "I need a smoke." He didn't, bu he wanted to do something with his hand other than drown his guts in coffee and water. He motioned her to follow him as he stepped outside. The metal table and two chairs were sitting there, waiting for them. At one point they had been a mint green but the paint had peeled off in many places. On the small cement slab beneath the table and chairs were the running dye marks of rust. Robert dusted off the seat of the chair, noted that the ash tray was full but not too full that it could't serve him.
He drew out a cigarette and looked up at her from his seat, "He's definitely a venture worth pursuing. I just... don't do deals with demons very much." To put it mildly.
Following him out, she felt the chill of excitement welling in her body from the feet up. Was she so lacking in purpose that even talking to a fucking gnome was exciting? Zoel, that whole shebang, wasn't a purpose anymore, it was a charade, a desperate, trying, empty charade and she didn't know why she was keeping it running. That feeling of excitement made her tense but only briefly as she sunk into the chair and shuffled it over nearer to him, the steel grating on the ground as she did, then sat back and placed the ankle of one leg over her knee, reclined like a man. She took out a smoke of her own (suprise, ***** surprise) and lit up, and when she exhaled, that squeezing eagerness tempered by ... what was that, feeling hollow, floated off into the air on its merry ***** way. "I don't think he is.. I .. can see that shit on people, but I didn't see no glamour, no whistles, no bells, no sparkly shit. He's just an old man selling old crazy shit. Maybe, maybe there's a fucking door to another realm behind the grandfather clock, but I doubt it, Robbie."
Then, she remembered. Why the charade was still running - oh yeah, she wanted to live. She took another drag on the smoke, holding it between her thumb and index like Sinatra, and exhaled over her shoulder. "Uh... like... I wanna repay what you've been doing for me, you know. I know there's someone else out there who could run this networking shiz tighter, but... I'm afraid, Robbie. I am. Going back to Nola, this debt on my head.. I feel like... I feel like.. I'm so over my head that maybe .. I could just ..focus on something else and it'll all go away. My death won't clear Jimmie's calender. I don't weigh enough in worth to him, or any of them. I'm just a monster. Nothing special." She seemed convinced.
"You forget that I have none of those, either," stated pointedly. At times he thought Roach completely forgot he was a demon because he didn't have the sort of showmanship she expected. He wasn't particularly vulgar and usually most people thought he was overdressed and awkward. Robert wasn't exactly awkward, not in the way people saw him. Socially he was not bothered by company and usually found that his unease came with the sense that something was happening.
"Right now you have a price on your head. I'm not sure that repaying me is a priority... it certainly isn't a possibility, if you're dead. I don't have the sort of clearance to get you out of Hell." Was that last part a joke? Seemed Robert did have some humor buried in him somewhere. He cleared his throat, "The only reason you are an issue is because the money is an issue. From what I understand you did not personally offend anyone except for the assumption of your guilty action so... exonerate yourself."
Hell. She smirked with distaste and drew again. Her eyes lifted up to the sky. Hell seemed to be a state of mind, as much as a place. Hell was other people, hadn't she read that somewhere.. on the back of a toilet door in Brooklyn, at the Roebling Tea Room? She had never forgotten that line and when he said what he said, it brought it back to her. Only, when she thought of that sentence now, it was in Robert's voice. "I can't... you know.. just do that, Robbie. It isn't so easy. If they wants me dead, I can't .. I can't do this. Not like it's a change of weather. I either have to find a loophole in the contract, sell my soul off to someone else, actually sell it... with Jimmy, it's technically a loan, OR, die. Or stage a death. Maybe Zoel can turn me into a frog."
"I agree... I can't do nothin' long term and I sure as shit can't stay in this place for .. you know.. a long time. This is a stint, this is a skip of a rock in the pond. I need to make a decision, based on actual, legitimate options, or go back to New Orleans and be slain myself. I want to go back, I thought.. I thought I'd be back by now.. But I know, I can't. I can't ever have that life. Even if I get myself out of this, I'll be staying somewhere else... not that city." She looked down and sighed, pucking her lips up like a kiss as she let the air out. Arm bent, elbow on her knee as she curled up close, a shrinking violet, her hand curled with the embering cigarette by her face. "I .... I don't even know if I even care about dyin' anymore. This is all.. so much.. worse than I figured, you know. And I wonder why I am trying."
"And the more I think about it, the more it doesn't seem like its worth the trouble. What you're telling me... and what will I do if I get out of it? The likeliest option besides death is hocking my soul to the highest bidder. I need a demon willing to buy my tattered little soul. Who wants that on their mantle?"
"I didn't say it would be easy," he countered, his eyebrows lifting fractionally before he added, "It took me ten years to get what I needed. Taking a shortcut and selling your soul is... a temporary solution leading to a deeper hole." His eyes steadied on her. A hazel of greens and blues and browns. Shattered colors that blended and sometimes seemed more defined from one another. All in the diet, right?
He put his cigarette to his lips and lit it, finally. The smoke came in to him and then he looked back at her, "I think you need to look into how the finger got pointed to you and start there. Maybe this is all about pointing that finger in the right direction to get the monkey off your back." That sounded easier than it was. People weren't always so trusting when it came to drugs and money. Lots of drugs and money. There was a clearing of his throat, "Humans don't know what the value of a soul is. It isn't like an outdated view on virginity or anything. It's the value it has to the demon. Think of it like food. Some of us like it salty."
"I have my notions on who. But I'm good collatoral, none the less." That was what she perceived to be the biggest problem. "I can only appeal to Jimmie, in some way. Killing Zoel for Jimmie was his way of throwing me into the tiger pit. This was how he was getting rid of me. I see that now. If Zoel went to Jimmie, and they are in fact operating together, then .. I just don't even know where to start. I can only think, that Jimmie, that getting to him in some way... however outlandish this is, is my only way. Barrig that.... sell this soul for what its worth. Which isn't much, let me tell you."
Roach looked back to the doorway behind her that wound into the museum and thought again about the exhibit, the vampires, of mythology. Vague memories of Nosferatu. Her grandmother watching it one rainy Saturday night and younger Roach joining her on the couch, and it absorbing her. Count Orlok up the stairs, Count Orlok across the room, creeping towards Ellen, the shadow of evil stretching across her.
