The Key to the Golden Firebird Read Online Free PDF

speed, complete with “guy bar.”
    She could call her mom on her cell and tell her what Brooks had done, but there was no point. Her mom would be halfway to downtown Philadelphia by now, weaving her way through Saturday night traffic to get to the hospital. She would sigh and swear in Dutch and say something about having to talk to Brooks, but she wouldn’t. Lecturing Brooks was as useful as lecturing a cat.
    So May sipped the Gatorade and looked out at the rain.
    â€œThanks a lot, Brooks,” she said to herself.
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    Brooks had no idea where she was going. She had just gotten in the car when Dave pulled up.
    At the moment there were five of them in his Volkswagen, even though it really only held two people comfortably since the front seats were always pushed back to the maximum. Brooks sat in the back with her face pressed up against the window. The rest of her was pressed deeply into Jamie. Jamie was giving off a powerful orangey-jasmine odor, almost candy sweet. Someone else reeked of patchouli incense, cigarette smoke, and fast food. Brooks considered trying to crack openthe window a bit for some unfragranced air, but she would be guaranteed a wet head if she did so. The rain was practically coming down sideways.
    â€œCome on!” Jamie yelled over the music pounding from the stereo. “It’s pouring. So let’s forget it. I want to go to that tattoo place instead, the one off of South, on Fifth.”
    Dave looked at Jamie in the rearview mirror with a bemused expression.
    â€œFor what?” he asked. “So you can stand there in front of the place for an hour again?”
    â€œI’m going to get it this time,” Jamie said. “And Brooks wants to go. Right?”
    â€œSure,” Brooks said, barely listening.
    Dave smiled at Brooks in the rearview mirror. It was his let’s-humor-her smile. Brooks returned the grin.
    â€œWe’ll go afterward,” he said. “Relax.”
    Small exchanges like this one told Brooks that she was in Dave’s inner circle now—the one whose only consistent members were Jamie and Fred. Jamie was an extremely tiny and pale girl with catlike features and black hair cut into a sharp bob. She always wore tight, clubby clothes and three or four necklaces. She waxed her black eyebrows into high, dramatic arches and wore stark red lipstick that never seemed to wear off. She was so strikingly feminine that Brooks occasionally felt like a lumbering guy sitting next to her. Fred always rode in the front seat since he was about six-foot five. He had white-blond hair cut into a little boy’s page cut and a tattoo of Snoopy on his forearm.
    Along with Jamie and Fred, Dave always had a bunch of guys around him. Different ones every time. Henchmen.Tonight’s random henchman was sitting on the other side of Jamie. He was a weedy guy in a hooded sweatshirt who was interchangeably called “Damage” or “Bob,” but Brooks thought she heard that his actual name was Rick. Damage/Bob/Rick didn’t speak. He spent the entire ride trying to remove a thread from the back of the driver’s seat upholstery.
    Fred passed a plastic soda bottle full of orange liquid into the backseat.
    â€œWho wants it?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll take it,” Brooks said, grabbing the bottle. “Jamie’s wasted.”
    She uncapped the bottle and took a long swig. She shook her head from the force of the strange elixir—it was like gasoline with a little orange added for flavor.
    â€œWhat is it?” Brooks said, trying to place the sweetness and the hard, burning sensation that came with it. “Rum?”
    â€œKing of Pain,” Fred said. “It’s got 151.”
    â€œOne fifty-one…”
    â€œA hundred-and-fifty-one-proof rum. It makes really good fires. You like it?”
    â€œIt hurts.” She groaned as the burning in her throat stopped. “But I like it.” This stuff was fast.