Page 15

I stand and leave before Valerie can say anything more. In the hallway, I slow down near the classroom and glance inside again. The children whisper over their work, trying not to get caught laughing. I know those smiles. Troublemakers. At the back sits a girl with a black bob, too much eyeliner, and nails styled too long for her age. As if I were looking at Ezra back in the day. I keep going.

They don’t need me in there. My mother was different, gentle and caring. She believed in people. I still don’t know why she chose my father. Maybe she thought she could fix him.

Yeah. The good old fixing complex. And where did it get her? I don’t think he was sober the day she died. Piece of shit.

I get back into the car, and Sava pulls away from the curb. My head pounds harder now. I glance at my gold Cartier watch. Time is running out. I need more dust.

Money was never a problem until it became all of my problems.

The rain keeps pouring, adding a third layer of depression I did not ask for. We drive to the Southside. Everybody avoids the Southside. Necromancers run it, and even vampires and wolves know better to stay away from them. They are mostly Eastern European men with hollow eyes and faces who look like they survived fifteen years in a labor camp. They aren’t built like wolves. They don’t need to be. They bring a different type of fear to a person. One that takes your soul.

They don’t party with the rest of the city. They don’t socialize. They kill, drink in their own places, and play with dead people.

Miloš has been my contact for years.

He’s another useful thing my father left behind. Stardust dealers are rare in Midnight City. Suppliers are even rarer. Only necromancers can make the real thing, and I buy everything Miloš has, or at least everything I can afford.

Sava parks in front of an old factory while rain hammers the roof of the car. A few minutes later, Miloš pulls up in a silver Mercedes. I meet Sava’s eyes in the mirror and nod before stepping out and climbing into the other car.

With Vito’s cash, including the premium asshole tax I added before he shorted me, and the last of my own money, I can afford twenty-five grams. Not enough. But enough to keep moving.

Miloš sits behind the wheel looking like a man with three ex-wives, five kids, two mortgages, and no patience left for the living. He always looks like that.

“Bela devojka,” he says, like I am a child. White girl.

I give him a look while he counts the cash.

“Have you heard about the vampire prince?” I ask.

“The whole city has heard.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“I haven’t heard that yet,” he responds.

“So, there’s a chance he’s alive somewhere?”

“Might be.” Miloš shrugs without looking up from the money. “I mean, he was already dead. But haven’t heard about the body. Someone would have caught word of it pretty quickly.”

“So there’s a chance,” I say, more to myself than to him.

Miloš finally looks at me. “Hey. Don’t get involved in this. Since when do you care about dead leeches?”

“I don’t.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” He finishes one stack and starts another. “We got some new necromancers from out of town lurking around. They didn’t introduce themselves properly. Vuko didn’t like that.”

Vuković. Head of the necromancers. Older man. Death itself in a tailored coat. Nobody in Midnight City wants to get his attention unless they have no other choice. People go to him when they need someone killed, or when they need someone brought back for a few minutes and don’t mind paying for the nightmare.

“Were they hired for Julian?”

“I don’t know. Nobody got to ask much.” Miloš tucks the cash away. “Vuković cut their throats. But I’m telling you,” he continues, handing me the package, “forget the vampire. Go party with girls and gays or whatever it is you like doing. Stay out of serious things.”

He hands me the package and adds two more bags on top.

“From me,” he says. “On the house. But maybe get your shit together. You look awful.”

“Thanks. You really know how to brighten a woman’s day.”