"ss - A Taste of Blood and Altars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brite Poppy Z)

and the fireworks dazzled his eyes. They left the sleazy lights of Bourbon
Street behind, swayed left onto dark Conti and right onto Chartres. Soon enough
they found a tiny bar with stained glass windows and a friendly light inside,
and the sign above the door said CHRISTIAN'S and had a tiny moon and star
painted on it, so they went in. - They sat on three bar stools and drank another
bottle of Chartreuse and whispered to each other, looking at Christian,
laughing, shrugging. His forehead was very high and pale and his nails were as
long and pointed as Zillah's. «Maybe – « said Molochai, and Twig said, «Test
him.» They paid no attention to Jessy, although she stared at them ceaselessly,
her eyes bright, her lips moist and slightly parted. But when Christian gave
them their tab, Molochai dug deep in his pocket and produced a coin. He did not
put the coin in Christian's hand, put held it up to the light so that Christian
might look well at it. It was a silver doubloon, of the sort that are thrown
from Mardi Gras parade floats, along with the treasure trove of other trinkets –
the beads, the bright toys, the sweet sugar candy. But this doubloon was
heavier, and far, far older. Christian could not make out the year; the silver
was scarred, tarnished, smudged with Molochai's sticky fingerprints. But he
picture was still clear: a man, a beautiful man with enormous sensuous lips.
Lips that would be red as blood, were they not carved in cold heavy silver; lips
pricked by long, sharp teeth. Below the man's face, in ornate letters, the word
BACCHUS curved. «How – how do you come?» Christian stammered. Molochai smiled
his chocolaty smile. «In peace,» he said. And he did not take his eyes from
Christian's as he picked up the empty Chartreuse bottle and broke it against the
bar and drew a razor edge of the glass across the soft skin of his right wrist.
A shallow crimson mouth opened there, nearly obscene in its brightness. And
Molochai, still smiling, offered his wrist to Christian. And Christian pressed
his lips to the gash and closed his eyes and sucked like a baby, tasting the
Garden of Eden in the drops of Chartreuse that mingled with Molochai's blood.
Twig watched for a few moments, his eyes dark, his face lost, bewildered. Then
he picked up Molochai's left arm and bit at the skin of the wrist until the
blood flowed there too, and his hand clutched Molochai's as if Twig were
drowning, and the tears that beaded Twig's eyelashes were tears of comfort, of
joy, of blissful safety. Jessy watched with eyes wide and disbelieving. She saw
the mouth of dignified Christian smeared with blood, trembling with passion. She
saw Twig's teeth at Molochai's wrist, saw the flesh part and the blood flow. And
her stomach clenched and her mouth watered and a secret message traveled from
the softest fold between her legs to the deepest whorl of her brain – the
vampires! the VAMPIRES! And she stood up very quietly, and then the bloodlust
she wanted so badly was on her, and she leapt and tore Molochai's arm away from
Twig and tried to fasten her lips on the gash – but Molochai turned furiously on
her and batted her away, hard across the face, and she felt the pain in her lip
before she tasted the blood there, her own dull blood in her mouth. And Molochai
and Twig and even kind Christian stood staring at her, bloodied and wild-eyed,
like dogs interrupted at a kill, like interrupted lovers. And as she backed away
from them, a pair of warm arms went around her from behind and a pair of large,
strong hands caressed her through the silk dress and a voice whispered, «His
blood is sticky-sweet anyway, my dear – I can give you something better.» She
never knew Zillah's name, nor how she ended up with him on a blanket in the back
room of Christian's bar. She only knew that her blood was smeared across his
face, an that his fingers and his tongue explored her body more thoroughly than