All Hallows Night (Night Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the first and second.
    In two days it’d be November. Halloween wasn’t a big deal in this part of the world, but Día de Los Muertos was. Already I’d seen about twenty banners nailed to the sides of businesses proclaiming the holiday and activities and events planned around it.
    One of them was the parade we’d been hosting every year for the past seven. This year Vyxen was in charge of ceremonies. I couldn’t wait to see what she had planned. And yes, I am being sarcastic.
    Shoving my hands into my pockets, I felt oddly hungry.
    My kind really doesn’t need to eat, at least not food, to survive. We’re each inhabited by one of the seven deadly sins. Some of us, like myself, carry around extra demons, but in order to survive, we have to frequently feed whatever major demon possesses us. In my case, Lust. Which means my form of “food” is usually sex. Without it, I grow weaker than a mortal and easy prey for any of my hundreds of enemies out there.
    So it was strange that my stomach was grumbling. I’ve gone days at a stretch without actual food before and usually only eat because I’m craving something, as opposed to feeling I might die of starvation. I’m not quite there yet, but I felt strangely compelled to get something.
    Stomach rumbling, I followed the heady scent trail of roasted meat to the nearest outdoor food vendor. A large group of guys and one girl were laughing and hanging out by the bar area, shoveling homemade tacos into their mouths. The griddle snapped with steak grease. The cook was an elderly woman flipping tortillas with one hand while stirring her meat-and-veggie concoction with the other. Her movements were brisk and efficient and she was clearly ambidextrous.
    My mouth was literally watering, which felt good.
    I smiled because I hadn’t felt this sort of anticipation for anything in the past but sex. The novelty intrigued me.
    Holding up two fingers to the young girl standing in front of a tray of fresh lettuce, radishes, crema, and cheese, I placed my order. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, fifteen tops. Her cheeks were flushed a bright red from the heat emanating off the griddle and her liquid black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and nodded at me, and her eyes instantly caught my attention.
    One was brown and the other green. It’s both rare and beautiful. And for a second I was so tempted to pretend I really am normal and can just enjoy tacos for dinner and not worry about freaking zombies, or prophecies, or Hell, or even that damn Billy.
    I was entranced by her speedy movements, how she shoveled a perfect scoop of meat, then slapped on my garnishes, and in probably less than a minute was sliding my plate to me. It was a Monday night—in the States she’d be at home, finishing up homework, getting ready for school the next day, or more than likely talking to her BFF on the phone and gossiping about boys.
    But things move differently here—it’s a juxtaposition I’ve always enjoyed.
    I wasn’t looking to find a “date” tonight, so I made sure to go to the farthest end of the makeshift countertop before I took a seat. The first bite was an explosion of crunchy brown steak, caramelized onions, and pungent garlic. Somewhere in there I even tasted a faint hint of chili pepper, a staple in this part of the world.
    The cook’s brow was total concentration as she flipped and stirred; her lined brown skin and arthritis-crippled fingers didn’t seem to slow her down one bit. She had the reflexes of a woman half her age, and somewhere in the middle of my maudlin thoughts I got shoved into from behind, causing the delicious meat cocooned in my tortilla wrapper to spill down the front of my white shirt.
    Snarling, an explosion of fury consumed me. I didn’t think or reason; I was a creature of “feel.” I grabbed the wrist of the culprit and felt Pestilence slink excitedly through me, felt the frosty shock of the demon