I got a washed out version of Mom’s curls and a better copy of Dad’s blue eyes, The rest of me, I guess, is up for grabs. Except maybe Gran’s nose, but she could have been trying to make me feel better. I’m no prize. Most girls go through a gawky stage, but I’m beginning to think mine will be a lifelong thing. It doesn’t bother me too much. Better to be strong than pretty and useless. I’ll take a plain girl with her head screwed on right over a cheerleader any day.
Lilith SaintcrowMots clés dru-anderson graves
To my everlasting relief, he’d also stopped with the starch a few years back . The military made him big on spray starch, but I point-blank refused to touch the stuff after a while. He finally gave up doing it himself, and I manfully restrained myself from pointing out that the world didn’t explode when he did. And they say maturity is just for adults.
Lilith SaintcrowHi. I’m Dru Anderson. My father went way-out wack after my mom died and now he travels around hunting things that go bump in the night, killing things you can only find in fairytales and ghost stories. I help him out when I can, but most of the time I’m deadweight, even though I can tell you where anything inhuman in this town is likely to hang out. I’m skipping school because I won’t be here in another three months. None of it goddamn well matters.
Lilith SaintcrowDru Anderson: You should wear some gloves.
Graves: Ruins the image.
Dru Anderson: You’ll goddamn well freeze to death.
Graves: Hey, we’ve got to suffer for beauty. Chicks don’t go for guys in gloves.
Dru Anderson: How would you know?
Graves: I know. You never said if you liked shooting pool.
Dru Anderson: I don’t, but I’ll beat your ass at it, okay?
Graves: Fine. If you can. Dru.
People don’t really want to know anything about you. They just want to put you into their little preordained slots. They decide what you are in the first two seconds, and they only get nervous or upset if you don’t live up to their snap judgements. That’s the only way the normal world’s like the Real – it all depends on who people think you are. Figure that out, play to what they expect, and it’s clear sailing.
Lilith SaintcrowOther dads actually sat at the dinner table. Mine left me a fifty and a reminder to do my goddamn katas.
Lilith SaintcrowGraves: It’s going to snow.
Dru Anderson: Thanks for the warning.
Graves: Hey, no problem. First one’s free.
I’m probably the only sixteen-year-old girl in a three hundred mile radius who knows how to distinguish between a poltergeist from an actual ghost (hint: If you can disrupt it with nitric acid, or if it throws new crap at you every time, it’s a poltergeist), or how to tell if a medium’s real or faking it (poke ‘em with a true iron needle). I know the six signs of a good occult store (Number One is the proprietor bolts the door before talking about Real Business) and the four things you never do when you’re in a bar with other people who know about the darker side of the world (don’t look weak). I know how to access public information and talk my way around clerks in courthouses (a smile and the right clothing will work wonders). I also know how to hack into newspaper files, police reports, and some kinds of government databases (primary rule: Don’t get caught. Duh).
Lilith SaintcrowDru Anderson: Thanks.
Graves: No problem. First one’s free. Look, you really can’t go home? What happened.
Dru Anderson: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
Graves: Try me.
Dru Anderson: I just can’t go home, not until tomorrow.
Graves:Do you need a place to sleep?
Dru Anderson: I’ll find somewhere.
Graves: I know a place.
Dru Anderson: Why is it there’s always a guy who thinks he can get something out of the new girl? Every goddamn town, it’s the same thing. Some guy thinks he’s God’s gift to the displaced.
Graves: I just asked if you wanted a place to sleep, Jesus.
Dru Anderson: Sorry.
Graves: No problem. So, I’ll take you someplace you can sleep tonight. Someplace safe. Okay?
Dru Anderson: How much?
Graves: I keep telling you, first one’s free. You want to play some air hockey? Good way to get your mind off stuff.
Dru Anderson: Sure.
Graves: Cool. You finished?
Dru Anderson: Yeah, I guess. Graves?
Graves: Huh?
Dru Anderson: Thanks. Nice gloves.
Graves: Hey, you know. Chicks dig guys in gloves.
There was a zombie at my back door. Its eyes swung up, and they were blue, the whites already clouding with the egg rot of death. Its jaw a mess of meat and frozen blood; something had eaten half its face. Its fingertips already worn down to bony nubs, scraped against the window. Flesh hung in strips from it’s hand, and my stomach turned over hard. Black mist rose at the corners of my vision, and the funny rushing sound in my head sounded like a jet plane taking off. I’d know that zombie anywhere. Even if he was dead and mangled, his eyes were the same. Blue as winter ice, fringed with pale lashes.
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