Free The Girls With Games of Blood by Alex Bledsoe

been all this time?”
    “All over. Europe until it got too rough, Asia until the culture got on my nerves, the West Coast until I got bored with the decadence. I decided this was a perfect time to come home.”
    She closed the hood, then sat back against the fender. “And what about you?”
    “My history is private.”
    “I answered
your
questions.”
    “There was no quid pro quo.”
    “Oooh,” she said with gentle mockery, “the handsome man is mysterious as well.”
    Despite himself, Zginski found himself smiling again. “I suppose I do sound rather pompous.”
    “A lot of it’s the accent.”
    “I am working to minimize that.”
    “You could start by using more contractions. Saying, ‘
I’m
working to minimize that,’ for example.”
    “So noted.”
    The scalding summer wind blew her long hair from her face, and she fingered the line of buttons down his shirtfront. “And you should pay more attention to the weather. If it’s hot, you dress for it. This just makes you look strange.”
    He was more conscious of the contact than he expected to be. “You are filled with insights.”
    She laughed. “I’m full of something, that’s for sure.” She looked up into his eyes, and he felt the tentative touch of her powers, trying to arouse his interest. “Will you come to see my first show?”
    He could have obliterated her with his own abilities, but before he could she withdrew her energy. He realized it had again been inadvertent, and that she wanted his interest to be genuine. It was similar to the way Zginski felt about Fauvette, in those rare moments when he was honest with himself.
    “I will be there,” he said with a courtly nod.
    “Front row?”
    “Probably not. I prefer to lurk in the shadows. But it does not affect my perceptions.”
    “I’m sure it doesn’t.” She bit her lip thoughtfully, the tips of her fangs plain against the red surface. “I like Fauvette. I’ll be working with her, too. I don’t want to create any awkwardness.”
    “In what way?”
    She gazed steadily at him. “If you don’t know, you’re not as sharp as I thought.”
    “Fauvette and I have no exclusive arrangements. We are not, I believe the term is, ‘going together.’ ”
    She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her giggles. “I could listen to you all day,” she said. “Except that I have to go shopping with Fauvette to get my dressing room ready. But remember, you promised to be there Friday night.”
    “And I shall.”
    “I think,” she said with a wink, “you’ll find it a real eye-opener.” Then she walked back around the building, deliberately swaying her hips.
    Zginski stood in the shade beside his car and stared after her for a long time.

 
     

CHAPTER 7
     
    F AUVETTE TURNED ON the light. The little room was filled with boxes of napkins and toilet paper, and the sink in the corner looked as if it hadn’t seen water in a decade. “This is where Gerry wants to put you. I’ll make sure it’s fixed up and presentable. I hope it’s okay.”
    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Patience said. The erstwhile dressing room opened onto the hall that went along the back of the building from the kitchen, past the exit to the Dumpster, to the door that would become the stage entrance. “Where have you put the other acts?”
    Fauvette scooted a heavy box aside with her foot. “There haven’t been any since I started here. Gerry’s been pretty content to just have people eat and drink.” She paused before asking, “So . . . do you think you’ll be staying long?”
    “I don’t know,” Patience said as she sat atop one stack of boxes. “I have a lot of history in this area. I’ll have to see how much it weighs on me.” She looked at Fauvette seriously. “Do you
mind
it if I stay?”
    “No,” Fauvette replied. “In fact . . .”
    “What?” Patience gently prompted.
    Fauvette looked up at the ceiling. “Well, while you’rehere, do you think you could, maybe, I dunno . . .