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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

And when the locals would start coming in for their evening drinks, I would kiss Cap on the cheek and slip out the door to go for a walk.

I began to roam the little town each night, think­ing at every corner about returning home to try to sleep, to try to break the routine, sleep a little bit each night to regain a normal schedule, to be awake a little bit each day. But eventually, as the weeks passed and the nights grew longer, the darkness seeped back in through my pores, and I gave up on the idea; became content, instead, to leave the majority of the shops to the daylight personnel, to leave the average, normal life to the nine-­to-­fivers.

I roamed the streets every night, speaking in night language to the other regulars I met.

And the nights turned chill, and Spartacus and her daughters each had a litter, and I no longer turned the lights on at home. I roamed from sundown to sunup, restlessly, relentlessly, searching for some­thing, anything, that would give me peace, that would fill the nameless void that screamed with emptiness, hollowness.

I knew She waited for me, and I desperately sought a diversion, an alternate path, a way to out­wait Her, though I knew Her patience was eternal. I could see it as clearly as I could see the face of the full moon.

In November, the snow began to fly, the visitors flocked back, and the Yacht Club was packed from opening to closing. I avoided it entirely.

I felt brittle, as if my bones had bleached, and my coats and warm clothes were no longer enough to keep the cold out as I wandered through the night and the snow. Even my apartment was cold. The broken window the cats used for a door was always breathing cold air on us.

One evening, I drew my cape from the closet and unfolded it. It felt heavy, heavier than I remembered it. A weird thrill of dreaded anticipation zinged through me as I fingered the material. It had been a long time. I swung it about my shoulders and tied it at the throat.

For warmth, I said, for warmth, and I put my down coat over it and went out into the night, into the winter, and hated the fact that the darkness outside had begun to feel more like home.