squandered in a loss of control.
Her wound would heal, and she’d be anointed in the ritual of serving others.
Seeing her plight would surely inspire the rest of his minions to greater understanding.
She tasted even better than Georgie had, but Fabian no longer fed from hunger. No, Georgie had taken care of that.
He fed now to show his superiority.
He fed from sheer pleasure.
He fed as a show of dominance.
And then, like any good master, he stepped aside and let the others take a turn.
He didn’t mind sharing. And besides, he had to leave for work soon. Today, he would arrive at the shop more fulfilled than he’d been in ages.
Maybe, with the added drug of fresh blood, he’d be able to surmise how he knew the skinny woman he’d seen with the cops. He’d been too far away to see her clearly. All he’d noted with certainty was her weakness, her vulnerability. Yet when he’d looked at her, despite her pathetic flaws, he’d felt a strong familiarity.
Somehow they were acquainted. But how?
He would figure it out, Fabian decided as he stood back and watched the others descend on the woman.
She made a most delectable meal.
But somehow he knew, if he captured that skinny woman and tasted her, she would be the most sublime.
Anticipation gnawed on his serenity; he could hardly wait.
Chapter 4
Gaby dressed without hurry, distracted by the mayhem of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure where to look for the girl, but staying in Luther’s home wouldn’t elucidate things. She needed to be doing . . . something.
Hanging around, waiting for Luther to return, made her feel doubly dependent and pathetic.
She couldn’t abide either.
She locked away her manuscript for safekeeping, hoping that by the time she needed to finish it, the child would have an ending that ensured safety and security.
Because she wasn’t certain where the bus route might be in Luther’s neighborhood, she bundled up in a dark hooded sweatshirt. She might be walking for a while, not that she minded. Strolling around the area would help her familiarize herself with the new surroundings. She needed to find a good place nearby to stow her beat-up car. She needed to learn the various routes and where they led.
After clipping a digital audio player to her waistband and putting headphones in her ears, Gaby ventured out. Luther had bought her the music player, and she enjoyed it more than she’d thought possible. Even the music he’d initially chosen for her, edgy and loud with a hard thumping beat that she felt inside herself, was perfect for her.
In some ways, he knew her well.
In other ways, he didn’t know her at all.
The gray sky and brisk wind added a nasty chill to the air, but Gaby paid no heed as she concentrated on the side streets and main intersections, learning the area and committing it to memory.
After several miles of walking, she found a bus stop and joined others huddling under a lighted metal enclosure that would protect them from the rain.
Recognizing the difference between the squalor of the areas she usually frequented and Luther’s middle-class comfort, Gaby stuffed her knotted hands into her sweatshirt pockets.
Truth be told, she felt more comfortable near the dregs of society, in the projects and government housing units. There, surrounded by crime and immorality, around people driven by indifference and desperation, she felt at home.
Mort, her old landlord and now a friend, had kept his building clean and semi-secure, especially since the comic book store he owned was attached to the living quarters. But at night, she could hear the drunken arguments, the domestic abuse, the drive-by shootings and gang disruptions.
And it . . . comforted her.
There had been a bus stop not two blocks from Mort’s front door, but not even a bench remained at the designated location. Miscreants of the serious and not-so-serious kind had repeatedly demolished it, as much out of boredom as a display of street cred. No one had bothered to replace the seat or the shelter.
Though she hated to be fanciful, Gaby missed the old place. At least while staying there, she’d understood her life and her purpose.
Then she’d met Luther, and he’d turned her whole existence upside down. Running from him had seemed the safest bet. For a time, she’d stayed with hookers and put up with Jimbo, their pimp.
She’d changed her look, changed her location, changed almost everything about herself except her duty—and still Luther had found her.
Bliss claimed they were destined to be together.
So dumb. How could that possibly be?
Gaby hunched her shoulders, driven inward by her thoughts.
She did believe in Bliss’s intuition, but Bliss was little more than a child, as much an outcast as Gaby herself. Until Gaby stepped in, she’d been a hooker.
Now she was a friend.
Damn, how many freakin’ friends did she need, anyway? She was starting to collect them the same way a mangy dog collected fleas. She’d gotten by for a long time all on her own. Other than Father Mullond, the priest who’d helped her understand her calling, she’d had no one.
And she’d been fine and dandy all alone. It was better. For her, for everyone else.
But things had changed irrevocably.
An older woman gave Gaby a sympathetic smile, and she realized how darkly she scowled.
Shit. She turned away from the granny and turned up her music until it made her eardrums vibrate.
Disgruntled by the rapid changes taking place in her life, Gaby kept her distance from the warmly clothed men and stylishly dressed women at the stop. Leaning on a brick structure, she surveyed the traffic, both human and automotive.
People laughed or talked, some with umbrellas open, some with collars up. A few had devices in their ears and appeared to be in deep conversation with . . . no one.
Even those waiting for the bus were in a hurry to get somewhere, likely nowhere important. That mind-set, the on-the-go lifestyle, made no sense to Gaby.
These people acted safe, as if anyone ever truly could be. They had no awareness of the ugly societal deformities that loomed around them. Homicidal psychopaths lurked everywhere, disguised as neighbors, family, friends, or lovers. Fiends of every disorder existed hand in hand with innocents.
Yet none of these people had a clue.
And Gaby could never forget. Not for a second. God, she was out of place here, and sooner or later Luther would realize it.
The bus finally came and Gaby waited until everyone else had boarded before taking a seat toward the back. No one sat by her, but several people stared.
Was she that transparent? Did even strangers recognize her deviant presence among them?
Their auras filled the bus with a churning hue of expectation, urgency, boredom, and complacency. Not one of them understood the day-to-day peril they faced.
Choosing to ignore them, she turned to stare out the foggy window. Like veins on emaciated flesh, raindrops traveled haphazardly over the dirty glass, occasionally crisscrossing and blending, only to branch out again.
Gaby contented herself by watching as tidy buildings gave way to shops with crumbling bricks and peeling paint. One by one, the social scale of the bus’s occupants changed. The “nice” people got off, and a new element
