Стив и Призрак

He thought of the cold message he had seen in Zillah's eyes

This was not the way Zillah had planned it. Through all the stupid risks he took

Then there would be no reason to stay.

He didn't have to be psychic to use the phone book, and Christian's bar was still listed. But how do you know about the bar, the long-ago nights empty even at Mardi Gras? How do you know about the room upstairs where a girl gave birth to her own death? These were questions best asked in dreams. Ghost let his feet lead him along.

But as the Chartreuse blazed down, he had felt as if he were drinking those eyes, Zillah's eyes.

He swore at himself. Stupid, stupid—falling for Zillah's tricks, trying to buy their love.

"No. It's not gonna be that way. You can take me to their lair.

So what if they are? Does that mean they can just roll into town, fuck up my life, then go off and party some more? I was fucking up my life just fine on my own. I didn't need them.

wanting to trust Ghost but not quite able.

His eyes were no longer blank; they shone with the glaze of alcohol and unhealthy resolve.