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.Not for the drink.He never drank any of it.Forthe warmth. Old, he said, grudgingly. Nobody really knows how old he is, yes? But definitely more than one human life span.He s ancient,Pasha reminded him excitedly. Eternal, like us.And he only works at night! Or  nyight, as Pashapronounced it, having never entirely lost his Russian  y. He s not real , Pasha! Neither are we supposed to be.That stopped Serge for a moment, even caused his handsome brow to crease.They were both exceptionally good-looking vamps, having been turned in the prime of their royal Russiantwenties.Pasha had been blond as a Hollywood mink long before there was a Hollywood.Serge still hadhair as thick, dark, and curly as a Russian black bear s fur.Cousins then, they were related by morekinds of blood than family now.In the course of Pasha s many  thyeories, over three centuries, there always came a moment that gaveSerge pause until he could think his way around it.This time, he thought he had a perfect rebuttal:  But hegets into houses ! Yeah, because he s invyited. Invited? Vampires had to be invited into homes; they couldn t just barge in like unwelcome dinnerguests. They re all asleep when he arrives.It s not like they wait by the chimney and holler up,  Comeon in, Santa! Pasha smiled.He loved his theory.He always loved his theories. It s the cyookies, he said, with an air of triumph. The cookies ? Serge smiled at the unlikely word, then laughed out loud, which revealed his teeth.In the booth behind Pasha, a little boy climbed up and turned around to look at them.He saw the pointedincisors, longer than they ought to be, and stared with big eyes.Serge growled deep in his throat, loudenough for the boy to hear, low enough to keep anybody else from hearing.The child turned around again fast, and disappeared below the top of the booth. The cookies and the milk! Pasha exclaimed, caught up in his enthusiasm for his own brilliance. Allthose glasses of myilk, all those sugar cookies with sprinkles and icing, what are they but invitations? Hiseyes narrowed as he whispered in a dark and meaningful tone,   The stockings all hung by the chimneywith care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon will be there.  Pasha slapped the tabletop triumphantlyPage 124Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlwith the palms of his hands.Silverware jumped.Human customers stared, then looked quickly away as ifunnerved by something they couldn t put their finger on. They re for him , Serge! He knows it.Theyknow it. He brings gifts , Pasha. So? When s the last time you gave a human anything but a real bad hickey? Yeah, but what about all those people who die right after Christmas is over? What are you talking about? Psychologists think it s because people put off dying until after big events like their birthdays, orChristmas.But that s not it.They re dying after Christmas, because he comes back. Back? Of course! That s the genius of it! Christmas Eve, he accepts the invitation into their homes, and createsthe illusion that benevolent Santa Claus was there.That s the reason for the gifts.Duh.Then he s in.They ve invited him.He can come back anytime he wants to, as often as he likes! I think what he does,see, is he feasts right after the holidays, which accounts for all those obituaries, but he doesn t kill all ofthem, of course  Of course, Serge said, dryly.  because that would be  Self-defeating?  dangerous.And nobody could eat that much in one night anyway.So he saves most of them forreturn visits.I mean, why do you think he keeps a list?Serge leaned forward and said with quiet clarity: He.Goes.Down.Chimneys.Pasha.Vampires could die in flames. They re not lit! You think people leave a lighted fire for Santa Claus to come down? Even if he wasn t avampire, they wouldn t do that! They don t want to burn him, they want those gifts.Serge feigned disappointment. But gee, all those pictures of Santa.He s in the living room, by theChristmas tree, and there s always a lighted fireplace. He sighed as if a cherished illusion had beenshattered, but then he perked up. He leaves coal for the bad boys and girls.What s that all about? Code. Coal. Code.Like a sign to other vamps. Bad blood here.  What the hell is bad blood anyway? You know.Old, sour, too salty, whatever. I don t know.Seems a little thoughtful to me.When s the last time a vampire did us a favor? AndPasha, answer me this.If he got into everybody s homes the first time, then why does he keep doing itevery year ? And how does he get around to the whole world in one night? We may be supernaturalbeings, but we re not supermen who can circle the globe a hundred times in a minute. I haven t figured that out yet, Pasha admitted, looking not at all abashed. But I m sure there s areason.Serge sighed and dipped a finger in his coffee. I was afraid there would be.This time he was the one who snapped his translucent fingers, which made coffee fly off his wet finger.When he got the waitress s attention, he pointed down toward his cup, commanding, refill.His fingerswere freezing.Even in south Florida.It was what he hated most about being undead the chill, theeverlasting chill of the damned grave, like eternal Siberia.It was what he missed the most aboutblood his own blood, surging, coursing, pumping, pulsing hot corpuscles that had kept his appendagesas warm as a human woman s breast, right before she died in his arms. We should go, Pasha urged him.Pasha didn t have the same problem with being cold all the time, which didn t seem fair to Serge since, ofthe two of them, he thought that Pasha had by far the colder heart. You slurped kids years before I did, Serge said, in an aggrieved tone.Page 125Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html What the hell does that have to do with going? Where? The North Pole. Are you nuts? It s cold at the North Pole. Oh, come on, admit it, you miss the furs we used to wear [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]