Good. He should be anxious walking around with a hunter. Though, disturbingly, Simon didn't think he was the source of Charlie's anxiety. If anything, the vampire drifted closer to him the more anxious he got.
As if he expected Simon to protect him.
A ridiculous notion.
Except, of course, that Simon had already protected this kid's pathetic existence by hiding his whereabouts from his mentor.
Simon shoved the thought aside as they turned onto Maple Street and the dive bar sprawl hit them full force. Five bars in three blocks, each trying to be grungier than the last.Rosie'ssat in the middle like the drunk uncle of the family, unapologetically seedy and proud of it.
"I haven't been back here since..." Charlie stopped walking.
Since he was turned. Simon could see it in the way Charlie's shoulders hunched, the way his hands disappeared completely into the hoodie sleeves.
"You don't have to go in," Simon said, surprising himself. "I can question people myself."
Charlie looked up at him, and even with the hood shadowing his face, Simon caught the glint of determination.
"No. I need to know why he did it. Why me." Charlie squared his shoulders as best he could while drowning in borrowed clothes. "I need to know if I was just random bad luck or if there was a reason."
Simon supposed that was fair.
He'd often asked himself a very similar question.
But now was not the time to ponder his fate. He approached the door to the bar. "You ready?"
Charlie nodded, pushing the hood back slightly. His brown eyes caught the neon from Rosie's sign, making them glow amber for a moment. "Let's go find some vampires."
The casual way he said it, like he wasn't one himself, like they were partners in this…
Simon shook his head.
Would this vampire ever cease to make him wonder?
"What?" Charlie asked, noticing Simon's gaze.
"Nothing." Simon headed into the bar.
Inside, Rosie's was exactly as Simon expected—sticky floors, music too loud, lighting too dim, and a crowd that ranged from college kids slumming it to regulars who'd been drinking here since before Charlie was born. The smell hit overwhelmingly hard: spilled beer, fried food, sweat, and underneath it all, blood. Hundreds of hearts pumping alcohol-thinned blood through vulnerable veins.
Charlie made a small sound beside him.
"You good?"
"There's so many," Charlie whispered, and Simon knew he didn't mean people. He meant heartbeats. Meals. Temptations.
Simon wasn't going to let him feed. "Stay close."
They pushed through the crowd toward the bar. Simon kept Charlie slightly ahead of him, one hand hovering near the vampire's lower back. Not touching, but ready to grab him if he bolted. Or attacked. Though watching Charlie apologize his way through the crowd made the latter seem unlikely.
"Sorry, excuse me, sorry, could I just—sorry!"
At the bar, Simon ordered a beer he wouldn't drink and watched Charlie try to figure out what to do with his hands. He kept pulling the sleeves down, pushing them up, tugging the hood forward, pushing it back. Fidgeting like a teenager at his first house party.
"Relax," Simon said. "You're drawing attention."
"I don't know how to stand. Do I lean? Do I put my hands in the pockets? There's too many people and they all smell like—" Charlie cut himself off, color rising in his cheeks.
Like food. They all smelled like food to him.
