Listening to her, Tana had to admire the way Midnight was able to turn what happened into a madcap story, into part of The Legend of Midnight. Even the not-so-good stuff was spun on its head to be enviable. Tana could imagine herself watching the video and wishing she was as brave and lucky as the girl in it. But standing in front of Midnight, knowing what actually happened, Tana could see that Midnight wasn’t just telling a story to other people, she was telling a story to herself. She was smoothing over all the frightening parts until she wasn’t scared. But she should be, Tana thought. She should be scared.
“There’s free Wi-Fi throughout the building—I’m just going to plug into the outlet over there.” Midnight pointed toward the food court. Taking the phone out of Tana’s hand, grinning, she aimed the camera part at her. The corner light flashed. “Meet me when you’re done with whatever. You don’t mind, right? You didn’t have to say anything.”
Tana was sure she looked awful, but a bad picture online was the least of her worries. She felt worn out, cold, and brittle. She could smell Midnight’s blood, a metallic scent, and wondered if that meant the infection had finally kicked in. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe she should stop worrying.
“No, I guess I don’t mind.” Tana glanced over at a display of logo shirts. “I’m going to pay to take a shower.”
Winter gave her an almost friendly smile, the first since Aidan had attacked his sister. “That’s a good idea. Who knows how much hot running water we’re going to get inside.”
Tana wanted to say that she was still making up her mind about Coldtown, but she hesitated too long and then felt foolish. She waved an awkward good-bye instead.
The gift store was kitschy, full of shot glasses, bumper stickers, and T-shirts—baby tees with CORPSEBAIT across the front, big black sleep shirts with dripping letters: UP ALL NIGHT AT THE DEAD LAST REST STOP, I BITE ON THE FIRST DATE, DEADEST GENERATION, NOTHING IS THE NEW EVERYTHING, and I’LL TAKE MY COFFEE WITH YOUR BLOOD IN IT. There were mirrors with cartoonish rivulets of blood running from two puncture wounds silk-screened onto them, so that when you looked in the mirror, it seemed as if you’d been bitten. And there were necklaces, spelling out the word “cold” in looping cursive letters.
An elderly lady with short gray hair was paying for a packet of water-purifying pills and tins of food when Tana passed her at the checkout counter. The lady wore a Chanel-esque black suit and carried a gold-tipped cane with mother-of-pearl roses along the length. Her back was bent, making her seem hunched like a vulture.
“What?” the woman accused the clerk, her rheumy blue eyes steady. “You think dying is just for the young?”
Tana left before she could hear the clerk’s reply.
In the next store, the boutique, she thumbed through lacy satin gowns with names like Innocence Shattered and Ruined Blossom and Sliced-Open Apple of Sin. She found a pretty blue dress that she liked and which would have probably fit her, but at a hundred and twelve dollars, it was way too expensive. Tana had the same forty that she’d had at the gas station. She’d left the bag of bills where she’d knocked it, on the ground next to her car. She hoped it was still there. If she was going to hole up someplace and wait out the next forty-eight hours to see if she was infected, she’d need more money, no matter its provenance. And she’d need the money even more if she went to Coldtown with the rest of them.
At least there was a sale rack in the back with marked-down clothes. She managed to find a wrinkled gray slip dress about a size too big for her priced at twenty-five bucks. She got that and the cheapest pair of underwear in the store—crimson with ridiculous black lace trim and a silly bow—for an additional ten.
The bored-looking clerk, a man with huge silver studs through his ears and a tattoo of a snake wrapped around his neck like a noose, rang her up and took her money with clear disdain.
She knew she was going to look kind of overly fancy and also a little bit naked in the slip dress, but she wasn’t willing to face an actual vampire while wearing a hilarious slogan nightshirt. And all she wanted to do with her current clothes was set them on fire.
She took her purchases in their glossy black boutique bag with purple tissue paper wrapped around each garment and went to the showers. There, she was able to pay a dollar for fifteen minutes in an individual stall and three dollars for packets of body wash and shampoo, a tiny toothbrush kit, and a towel only slightly larger than a washcloth that had to be returned.