"Oh, I'm great." There was something in the way she said it that denied it. "Which way…?"
He led her to the bathroom. "Stay there," she said, running water into the sink, "talk to me."
"What about?"
"Anything. You, for instance."
He felt odd, suddenly. This was too much an echo of two nights back. "I haven't ever been to a really big party like this."
"Halloween's special," she said above the rush of the faucet. "We all get to play being something else." She leaned into the doorway. A strip of flesh-colored adhesive tape hung off her fingertips, and one of her eyes had lost its tilt. "Big change."
Danny sat still on the edge of the bed. Carmen came out, toweling her face. "Whee, that's better. Just call me Blinky." She sat down on the bed, right next to him. "So I hear it's your birthday."
Oh, God, he thought.
"What's the matter?" she said, "What's the matter?" and her voice was aching so that he looked her in the face, and saw Oh, God.
He said, "Look, you know I-"
"Yeah, I know you. And her. And I know you're not."
He stared.
"No, she didn't tell me. She didn't have to. That's one-well, let's say wistful girlfriend you've got there, kid."
"I'm not… a kid."
"You're twenty by one day. I'm twenty-seven. And you're a virgin, which I sure the hell am not."
"Well, so what?"
She spoke softly. "So you're probably scared- take it easy, Doc. And I'm a horny old lady who can't hold on to a guy with handcuffs."
He flinched.
She didn't seem to notice. "So, how'd you like to lose it to No-Tell Daisy, up here where nobody's gonna notice? It'll make you feel good. It'll sure make me feel good. And in the not-so-long run, it'll make her feel good too."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Sure it does. Watch." She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard on the mouth, shoving her tongue between his lips. He sucked in a breath, pulled away. "See?" she said. "Everything south of your eyeballs knows it makes sense."
He stared at the floor.
"I'm sorry," she said, and the hurt in her voice made him look at her again. "What you do is, you say yes, or you say no. That's all."
"Yes," he said, though he wasn't sure the voice was his.
"Okay."
He stood up, dizzy. "Do you want me to wear a… the…"
"A condom?" she said, very gently.
"Yeah."
"Up to you. I've been tied."
"Wha… at?"
She looked straight at him. "Tubes. You know." She made a knotting gesture. "When I was sixteen, I figured I might not know what I wanted to do with my life, but I sure knew what I wanted to do with my personal equipment."
Danny nodded. He knew, in a book-learned way, what a tubal ligation was. He'd never heard of anyone at home with one, or for that matter a doctor who would admit to doing them. Here, apparently, the patient didn't even have to be twenty-one. He supposed it would be stupid to ask about parental consent…
He thought about some other things he knew only in the abstract. Like how to put a rubber on. Nothing he'd heard had been particularly precise.
He sat down next to her, put a hand on her hands, reached experimentally around her shoulders, feeling softness, the smooth movement of the shoulder blades. There was hardk any fabric between. The lamp flickered highlights in her hair.
She said, "I'm glad you asked, though. Guys don't, usually. Truebloods never do. And afterward they think there's something dirty about halfies."
"I can still get a-"
"Uh-huh. You know how? Don't fib."
"Well, I-"
"Right. Go get it. It'll take five minutes to demonstrate, and make your whole life better." She kissed him, on the mouth. It was just as startling the second time. He pulled her closer. Her tongue wet his lips. His hand slipped to her thigh, through the slit in her dress, closed involuntarily on something hard. It was a garter strap.
"Good place to start," she said in a thick voice.
He tried. It wouldn't give. Her hand closed on his, and she led him to the chair across from the bed. "Sit there, and watch."
Danny felt himself flush.
"No, really. Just watch. It'll be fun." She pressed down on both his wrists. "And you can't get up until I say so, all right?"
"All right."
She slipped off her shoes, tossed them aside. She stretched, then flicked open a garter strap with two fingers, reached around her thigh and did it again, and again. She sat back on the bed and began rolling down her stocking. Slowly.
Was the game that he was supposed to sit still? Soon enough he knew it was, and why it was a game, and that he was losing it fast. What was the elf word?
The Wild Hunt. Right. He tried not to think about that.
Now she was wearing some underthing of gold lace, no shoulder straps, barely over her hips. It had white pearl buttons down the side; it might as well have had printed instructions.
He started to get up, but suddenly she knelt in front of him, leaned on his lap. He gasped.