Page 43 of Bourbon & Blood

“I’m sorry?” I asked, perking up.

“It means dress for protection, not for something like comfort with the heat,” he replied.

“So, what? Like, jeans and boots?”

“To start,” he affirmed.

“Okay, what else?”

“A tee shirt, or even tank top is fine. A leather jacket would be good, but if you can’t have that, a denim one’ll do. I’ll get you some gear. I either need your sizes or for you to come with me to the store to pick some things out.”

“You don’t have to spend money on me,” I said quickly.

He cocked his head. “Perk of the deal,” he said.

“How so?”

“I have you now,” he told me, and it didn’t sound creepy or overbearing, just a statement of fact. “There’s a certain responsibility in that, cher. I find your friend, I get you in the bargain, sure, but that means I take care of you.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say to that,” I said.

“You don’t say nothin’. Just go with it for now, okay?”

“O-o-okay,” I stammered.

He nodded, and I put a pair of jeans out on the foot of my bed, found a pair of good sturdy boots, and put those out too. I settled on a white tank, a brown belt to match the boots, and a light, lace, rust-colored kimono to go over it.

Some gold hoop earrings, and some gold charms on a long chain made the outfit complete, but I didn’t have the type of coat or jacket he requested.

I chewed my bottom lip and decided I would check Maya’s closet for one when I got out of the shower. I knew she wouldn’t mind. We borrowed each other’s clothes all the time. Thrifting and fashion were personal favorite passions for the both of us.

I took my things into the bathroom with me and shut the door. Once secluded, I felt myself marginally relax.

I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to feel, or what to think, or even what to do… but I would doanythingto have my best friend, who I loved so much, back here with me.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

La Croix…

She shut herself into her bathroom with an armload of clothes and I stared long and hard at the door for a minute.

I turned my head and caught Cypress and Saint both looking at me, both grinning like a couple of fools. I scowled and Cy looked down at Saint and Saint looked up at Cy, both of them giggling like a couple of damn ninnies before Saint leaned back and took back up with her housemate’s computer.

I took the time offered to me to do some reconnaissance, wandering her and her friend’s place, inspecting their bookshelves and finally getting to learn all that she was reading when I’d spy her through her window back when she lived across from the club’s compound.

She had a collection of the classics, from Jane Austen to Mary Shelley, the Brontë sisters, and Dickens. She even had some Lewis Carroll and J.M. Barrie. Some of this shit I had a vague knowledge of, the rest, fucked if I knew. But she liked to read and that was something I could maybe work with.

There were other books, more modern shit. Shit like astrology and numerology. Looked like witch shit, which wasalsosomething I could work with.

One small nook in the place held a small table and an old-ass sewing machine. I couldn’t tell if that was my little Alina’s or if it was her friend, Maya’s.

I went back into my girl’s room, letting my eyes wander her things. She liked candles, and rocks. She had all kinds of crystals and things, mostly small ones, all around her candles and on shelves.

Her desk was neat and orderly, but she didn’t have a computer like her friend. Instead, she had paper and pens. The paper rough and lookin’ handmade. I wondered if she did it herself. There was a basket on the corner of her desk and it held a thick waxed thread, big sewing needles, and some other things I had no name for.

The shower cut off, and I didn’t pay it no mind. Her bed was unmade; just a triangle of covers thrown back, not rumpled with the sheets and blankets twisted together like mine. She made it every day I’d bet, but she hadn’t had the chance today. Me and the boys had gotten here first.

In the corner by a window, back out in the main area of her place, there was an easel and a pad of paper on it. A light sketch of what was down below on the street had been half water colored and I saw the touch of my girl’s delicate hand in the strokes.

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