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Leaving the body, he went back to the head of the stairs, and as he assumed his descent, his left boot made a squeak or two, which was rather annoying. By the time he bottomed out in the front hall, however, things had worn off or dried off, and he walked silently out the building’s entrance. He was aware that along the way, he passed a couple of humans. They didn’t bother with him, keeping their heads lowered and moving on their way quickly.
So he did not bother them.
On the street, he assessed his surroundings as he took out the burner phone he’d taken off one of the new inductees. The text he needed was right on top, and a quick check of the time informed him he had to hustle.
Dematerializing across the Hudson River to Caldwell’s other side, he re-formed in a parking lot that had only a couple of cars slotted close to a white marble-faced block of a building. The glowing cursive sign over the door gave him a moment’s pause of nostalgia.
Saks Fifth Avenue.
Back when he had been with that family he’d thought was his own by birth, he had gotten some of his clothes here. Most of what he’d worn had been made for him specifically, imported from England, Italy, and France. But he had also come to this store, and had always liked the orderliness and subservience of the staff.
He couldn’t go to the appointment he had tonight as he was dressed now.
A quick glance down at himself was intended to confirm that this was not a self-indulgent waste of time—and all he saw were the stains. Cursing, he whisked the dried red and black blood off the hunting clothes and boots—just as a well-tended man in a suit stepped out of the glass doors.
As the guy approached, he gave Lash an up-and-down that suggested disapproval on a moral scale—and wasn’t that something that was going to get dealt with right here and now.
Except as his upper lip peeled off his fangs, Lash caught sight of the name tag.
Edward.
Oh, so that was staff, leaving after they’d finished cleaning up the dressing rooms, and counting pennies, and checking that the bathrooms were clear. This was not a customer, not someone for whom the store had been kept open after hours for an exclusive shopping experience.
No, this was a worker getting into a BMW 2 Series that was no doubt leased, going home to his mommy’s basement, where he hung up his wishful-thinking clothes on a rack by his twin-sized bed.
The judgmental fuck’s life was already ruined. Short of a Powerball win, he was going to spend all his four seasons aspiring to be where the customers he served were, forever jonesing as he acquired almost-theres along the way to a condo and a used Mercedes G-Wagen.
At the end, his grave would be marked with a pretentious quote from some dead English poet that he’d heard about online—as opposed to studied at an Ivy League.
So really, killing him was redundant.
Besides, if Lash was honest, he didn’t have time to truly enjoy the fun. In a half hour, that real estate agent would be waiting for him at a mansion that was in a right and proper neighborhood, ready to show him a property of worth. He was so done with the shitcodes he’d been in, and thus he was going to have to play the Homo sapiens’ game to get what he needed.
Fresh start. New home.
And anyway, if he got sidetracked every time some human was a fucking asshole, it was going to be decades before he could look at real estate.
Continuing onward, he approached the locked doors. The store had closed at eight, and he would have come earlier, but it was the strangest thing. In this current incarnation of himself, he could not tolerate sunlight. He’d tried it again first thing this morning. The stinging wasn’t exactly a mortal threat, but he hadn’t liked the way he’d become instantly weaker.
That was dangerous.
At the entrance, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass and took a moment to pull his jacket down and run his hands over his hair. Although why he bothered, he didn’t know. The interior was dimmed, and it appeared that judgy fucker Edward was the last to leave. Who cared what he looked like anyway?
Dematerializing into the store, he looked around and felt right at ease. There had been a redesign since he’d been here last, everything now white and airy, with linear black accents, like it was a museum or a gallery. Handbags and accessories took up most of the space around an atrium, the bigger name brands anchoring their own freestanding boutiques located farther in.
Walking forth, he approved of the spit-and-polish clean of the glass cases and the marble floor, and every time he breathed in, he got more of the multi-layered perfume bouquet that was drifting over from the acre-sized cosmetics department. The fact that only security lights were on gave the place a campfire-like glow, and he reveled in the privacy of the moment, especially given the company he had currently been keeping.
