Scott and Zoran had fed—and well. Afterward, Scott wanted to walk into the Quarter from the park where they’d found what Scott had once called their victims.
“Not victims,” Zoran had told him, soon after turning Scott. “Don’t think of them as that. They’re humans who fulfill a purpose for us, and they aren’t harmed in the process. Remember that.”
“I used to hang out in the Quarter,” Scott said as they strolled down St. Peter toward Bourbon Street. “Hell, I worked around here, at a souvenir shop. I wonder if anyone I worked with remembers me.” He sighed. “Not that I remember them.”
He does remember living here, but then I was afraid he would, my wishes to the contrary.
“It’s for the best,” Zoran said. “I’ve told you as much. I suggest we avoid the souvenir shop, for your own good.” He k
