--XXIV--

The brass knuckles on Sam's right fist gleamed, reflecting the deep orange blaze from the cigarette in Connor's hand. A megacigarette- the same kind Belinda smoked; the same kind Chaquille sold.

"Did Chaquille really overdose?" I said. "I mean, I heard it from Klein, is all. I haven't seen him."

"Wouldn't know," Sam replied, almost scoffing. "Not like I see him."

There was an intense flash of lightning east of us, for a moment illuminating the dark, broken up asphalt in front of us.

Dirtwater Avenue. Street of Hotel Il Male Nekantral.

"Thing's abandoned," said Connor, blowing smoke in my face. "D'you even need us here?"

I coughed. The chemicals he breathed tasted like salt, but not salt that came from the ocean- like salt composed of substance and dependence and disease, biting at my nose and eyes as it hit my face; it smelled like addiction itself.

For a place in the Lowdown, the hotel wasn't actually that bad- cement, plastic, carbon fiber, and glass; something deserted, an almost forgotten building looming over us. It overshadowed the rusty garbage bins, the piles of broken lumber, discarded ceramic scraps, puddles of human urine and oil and rainwater and malaria and salmonella. Teal arabesque on mauve tapestry and gloom seemed to stare down at us from the windows of stories above us. Sam and I stared back up at them; Connor consumed his poison- just one of his favorites. The peeling olive paint revealed rough, cameo pink silicone. It was the same shade of pink as Sam's highlights- the ones braided in her otherwise blond hair. Like her brother, she sported a black leather vest. But on her bare arms, instead of tattoos, was a vast array of bangles, bracelets, and trinkets. One of them had a fish on it.

"I think I do." I stayed in the shadows surveying Sam's collection of little ornaments. One of them was like a rainbow, but in a rectangle, instead of an upside-down "U" or semicircle. Underneath it was what looked like a small brown fox, with the most adorable fluffy white mane ever. I instantly wanted one as a pet. I wondered if they existed and I could get one. "This is the Overwoods, Connor." Another was a cat with a yellow nose. It wore a pink ribbon on its left ear. "Do you remember last time?"

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I heard Connor spit and then huff. Then puff and huff again. I dropped my gaze to his eyes. They were a similar brown to mine, but darker, with scleras and even parts of his eyelids turned red by the chemicals; his hair was auburn and blue. He seemed to almost have whiskers, wispy little neon blue strands of thinning, twiggy hair that were half invisible; there, but transparent- fully invisible only if he was. He was taller than me, of course, because almost all people were.

The hotel seemed to almost beckon us inside.

"Sure do," he said, before spitting, yet again. He flicked his cigarette with some sort of churlish, crabby look on his face. "Darned hard to forget, I reckon."

Enormous black sewer rats scurried from dumpster to dumpster, to gutter, to derelict bar and back. They made strange chattering noises behind us, on the sidewalk across from the 7-11 sign.

"Right." I stared at the concrete in front of my beat-up black running shoes. I took a breath. "A lot of things are hard to forget." I was hoping that maybe Happy the racoon would make an appearance because I was lonely. Well, maybe not lonely. But the memories were tearing me to pieces again. "Also, I didn't invite you."

A combustifly perched on my left shoulder, and before I could gently brush it away so it wouldn't burn Caleb's jacket, Connor took the little thing by its wings- with his rough, pale fingers- and used it to light himself yet another stick of harmine and toxins. As I stood there I remembered reading about morphine diacetate in a book, and about how some of these sticks contained the harmful compound- it was maybe his fiftieth stick that day.

I almost said something, when Connor threw the combustifly on the ground and stepped on it.

My eyes widened as it zapped and flickered- its last combustion- in a small, stellar fireworks display of bronze and shining magenta sparks; dazzling, brilliant confetti that burst from under Connor's dull cordovan boot.

My body reacted before my mind did and I realized it only when Connor was on the ground in front of me and I registered my own voice echoing on the street.

"KILL ONE MORE," it said, "AND I'LL DO THAT AGAIN WITH IGNITE ON."

My soul came back to me and I spoke again, in a less nasty tone. "Go disappear, Meadows. Now. And please, for me, cut down on the cigs if you can."

After muttering something unintelligible he vanished, and Sam and I stood there to wait. I glanced over at the 7-11 sign- the same one where Kaylee waited earlier.

She would be in position soon.