Night Prayers (21 page)

"Idiot!"

"Asshole!"

"Blind,
arrogant
bastard! What the hell did you think you were
doing
? God!"

Mica glared at the hang-dog eyes staring back at him from on the trailer's wall. He slammed his fist hard against the counter top.

"You fucking prick. Her soul was troubled and in need and all you could see was the package it came in. She
needed
your strength and guidance and all you could think of was humping her legs off! It was the same thing you did to Piper… I fucking don't
believe
you."

Without breaking eye contact, Mica swept his hands over the clutter until they found the large Reference-sized Bible he kept there.

Make it a GOOD one, Lord.

Glancing down just long enough to open the worn pages to Matthew 5:28, Mica scooped the heavy book into his arms before glaring back at his reflection in the mirror.

"And
Jesus
said…
anyone who looks lustfully at a woman has already committed adultery with her in his thoughts. "

Mica skipped the part about gouging out your own right eye, but made it a point to rake his knuckles against the side of the printing press as he set the Bible down. The pain helped
— a little — but it wasn't enough.

He needed to suffer for his sin.

He
needed
plagues and boils and the Angel of Death to come creeping all green and fog-like up to his front door to pay him a little visit; sit a spell and talk about redemption.

He needed…

Allison

Hunching his shoulders, Mica leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the mirror's cool glass. It was the same temperature as
her
breasts. Cool and firm and trembling against his tongue.

NO!

Mica smacked his head against the mirror and felt the rattling vibrations deep inside his ears.
Lord, what are you doing to me? Please… take this cup away from me. I'm not as strong as You think I am
.

ARE YOU NOT?

He stood up, throwing back his shoulders and nodding.
Yes, Lord, I am. Mica is my name and like mica I shall resist the flames of temptation. With Your Love and Understanding I shall prevail
.

I shall face my enemies and embrace them in the true meaning of the Spirit.

Sure you will, his reflection said, just remember to let go afterwards.

His sigh fogged the mirror — obliterating the pathetic looking man that stared back at him.

Taking a deep breath, Mica turned and walked the half-dozen steps back to his unmade, fold-out couch and collapsed onto it. A whole new set of rattles shook the tiny trailer. Mica ignored them the same way he ignored the damp briefs cutting into his crotch. He hadn't dried well enough after the last shower.

Mrs. B had fussed around him like a mother hen the second time he'd asked if he could use the shower. The third time she offered to call the doctor. The fourth she simply handed him a new towel and smiled, saying something about how her late husband, Frankie, had been the same way when they were first "stepping out".

After that, Mica had washed off (cooled down) in the sink.

But still felt dirty.

The clock on the VCR read 5:56, which meant he still had plenty of time to grab dinner, re-read a few selective passages, throw on some clothes, run off another hundred pamphlets and go out to save a few souls or slit his wrists before it was time to be at the Club.

To face her.

To apologize.

Again.

Wrong.

Mica threw one arm over his eyes, trying to block out the stuffy yellow glow that filled the trailer. He kept confusing Allison with Piper and that had to stop. It wasn't fair to either of them.

It wasn't fair to
him
.

He lifted his arm just enough to see the red blinking numbers above the television. 5:58 — Nothing on but sit-coms, news and kiddie shows. He didn't feel worthy enough to put on one of the televised Evangelical programs recorded days, weeks…
months
earlier.

What he needed was someone who'd trod the same ground and would listen without passing judgement.

He needed Gypsy. The big man might rant and carry on for a time about being woken "so God damned
early"
, but Mica knew he'd calm down once he heard what the problem was.

Sometimes sinners could be just as understanding as
real
people.

"Sorry, Lord," Mica said, sliding his arm back over his forehead and gazing up at the water-damaged ceiling, "but You're just too perfect to be dragged into this. And it was written that You help those who help themselves, so I know You'll understand."

Turning onto his side, Mica grabbed the cordless phone off the orange crate end table/night stand and punched in Gypsy's home number.

And listened to it ring.

And ring.

And ring… ring… ring… ring…

He watched the blood red numbers turn to 6:04 as the phone kept ringing in his ear. Where the hell
was
Gypsy?

"Come on, man," Mica whispered between rings, "pick up the phone. I need to talk to you."

He took a deep breath and felt his fingers tighten their hold. Gypsy should be home. One of his hard and fast rules, unless there was booze or women involved, was to always get at
least
twelve hours of sleep a day.

…
unless there were women
…

A mental snapshot of Gypsy helping Allison slip into one of the slinky, form-fitting costumes twisted Mica's belly into a hard knot.

No. Not him. Not Gypsy.

The phone rang another three times before Mica could get the picture out of his head.

Then where the hell
was
he?

Where the hell
was
he?

Allison tightened her grip on the flame-red dressing gown and batted at the smokey air that drifted into the backstage wings. Her new incarnation might have given her perfect predatory night vision but it still didn't allow her to see through walls or around corners…

… or where ever the
hell
Gypsy was hiding when he was supposed to be standing right there next to her, offering immoral support and an open vein. Just like Luci had promised.

But Seth had made promises, too.

"None of this is working the way it's supposed to," Allison muttered as she tugged back a corner of the stage drape and watched Gina
— this time a smokey black otter — dither across the stage on her belly.

Allison couldn't remember if real otters had fangs or not, but
this
one did and none of the clamoring Furverts seemed to notice.

Or care.

"Shit."

She let the curtain fall back into place when her stomach grumbled. Where the hell was that stupid breathing Watcher, anyway?

Gypsy!

"Yeah, I know," he said, stumbling out of the shadows behind her, "I'm late. Sorry. I just couldn't seem to wake up. You won't tell Luci will you?"

He didn't look so much worried as he did terrified — and it would have been a pitiful sight if she hadn't been so hungry.

"Left wrist," Allison said…
commanded
as she held out her own hand. "Now."

The big man instantly unbuckled the studded leather wrist band and held his arm out to her. Smiling. Like he was handing her a beer.

"There you go, ma'am… on the house."

The blind obedience part she could get used to.

On an impulse, Allison let the robe slide down off one shoulder. It produced the desired effect. She could see the veins in Gypsy's wrist swell… and could care less if any other portion of his anatomy was similarly inclined.

It was the first time that Allison could remember being so totally and completely in charge.

Power
. Total and absolute.

It was another thing she could get used to.

Gypsy's entire body quivered as her fangs punctured the soft scabs on the feeding holes from the night before.

The first rush of blood splattering against her tonsils made her light-headed. The second swallow turned her hunger into a raging need. She could drain the man in less time than it would take to drain a beer… and he wouldn't have noticed.

Or cared.

Just like the other Breathers watching Gina strut her stuff as a saber-toothed otter.

Allison forced herself to stop after three — her usual limit back when Tequila had been her drug of choice
— and licked the swollen flesh clean with the care of a child cleaning out a bowl of cookie batter.

Not that she could really remember what cookies tasted like.

Closing the robe over her naked breasts, Allison straightened up and tugged the man's beard gently.

"Thanks, Gypsy," she said softly, "it was great."

"Wrong attitude, Alley-cat." Luci stood near the dressing rooms, "dressed" in a silver-white snow leopard pelt and matching rhinestone collar. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"

"Luci!"

"Gypsy," Luci said as she walked toward them, "tell Alley-cat what you are."

"I am food," he answered. Immediately. Mechanically.

"See," Luci said, taking Gypsy's hand and turning it over. And frowning, the silky whiskers bristling. "Sloppy, Alley-cat… really,
really
sloppy. Didn't your Maker even tell you this much?"

When Allison didn't answer, Luci shook her head.

"We
do
have an image to maintain, you know," she said. "One thrust in to pop the cherry and then just let it flow. You don't have to
gnaw
out a whole new excavation every time you eat… especially on a Watcher who still has to be able to toss drunks. Watch and
learn
."

Luci's fangs curled downward as she lowered her head over the swollen flesh. Gypsy's sigh was lost in the thundering applause coming from the direction of the stage.

"I didn't
gnaw
," Allison mumbled as Luci fed.

I'm not going to argue with you in front of a Watcher
—
it's bad for morale. Besides you don't have the time.

"What do you mean?"

Luci lifted her head — blood glistening on her lips and staining the curved incisors — and blinked.

"What do you mean what do I mean? In case you hadn't noticed, Gina's number just finished. This is it, kid, your big break into show business."

"You know, I'm still not real sure about all this," Allison said. "I mean, I never even learned to dance
normally
. Maybe I should just watch tonight."

Wishful thinking.

"Tol' you she'd be more trouble than she was worth. I still say we should cut 'er loose 'fore she gets us all staked."

Gina walked into the light that spilled through the opening in the curtains, collarless, dark fur shining — glaring daggers at everyone backstage. Allison in particular.

Luci coming in a close second.

"Chill out, Gina," Luci said as she tossed Gypsy's hand and threw an arm around Allison's shoulder. "Alley-cat's one of
us
. Understand?"

A low growl, more suitable to a lion than an otter, was the only answer Luci got as Gina stormed past.

"Oh, don't let that old bitch scare you, baby," Luci said, running a finger slowly along the front opening of Allison's robe. "Her bark's a
lot
worse than her bite… unless you're a Breather.

"Now come on, sweet-cakes, it's time to get
dressed
."

Allison pictured a long haired tabby with a fluffy tail and big pink bow — the same picture she'd seen in the Preacher-boy's mind
— and felt the robe lengthen, molding itself to her as the color and texture shifted into soft orange fur.

With bands the color ol
autumn leaves shining in the sun
.

Damn him.

"Very nice, Alley-cat," Luci said, kissing her coppery-pink nose pad. "You'll have those fur lovers pussy-whipped for sure. Do us proud and try to aim your collar at one of the bigger 'verts. Those thin guys aren't worth the trouble."

Allison let herself be turned toward the stage and even patted on the butt just above the tail.

Don't let us down, Alley-cat. I'd just HATE it if Gina was right about you.

Allison didn't fail to hear the threat as she parted the curtain.

But she
did
miss seeing Mica standing in the shadows near the stage door as she stepped into the spotlight.

Watching.