“You…are…painfully…gorgeous.”

He steps closer—my body follows as if pulled. Hand slides over my neck. His eyes close, pulling mine shut with them. His lips press against mine. Like no other touch. Tingles shiver through my body.

His other hand finds my waist and pulls me to him. I feel his heartbeat pulsing into my chest.

The rush spreads through me, tingling everywhere, igniting feeling through my body that has been lying dormant for so long. Every second between last night and now was a terrible waste of time. The euphoria of my lips on his is just as strong as it was last night.

His tongue melts me completely. The emotion so hot—boiling through me.

He pulls back shaking his head, his eyes clenched shut.

Having trouble finding the breath to speak, I struggle to ask, “What? What is it?”

“I…I’m sorry I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have…”

The retreating of his affections and the fear on his face make me feel like my lips are the nastiest he’s ever tasted. My emotions are beyond stretched tonight.

Simon’s mouth starts to move again, “I—I—”

My voice cracks as I try to speak. I raise my hand in front of my face and say, “Save it.”

Turn and walk away from him. No tears—beyond crying this time. Anger. Hurt. Bushes and underbrush scrape at my ankles, unprotected by short socks.

“Ruby, wait.”

I walk slower, but keep walking away.

“I meant what I said,” he calls after me again.

I stop walking, but I don’t turn around, “Actions speak louder than words, Simon.”

“That’s what I’m trying to show you.”

I turn to face him, my arms flinging through the air before I speak, “Then, show me, Simon, but so help me I can’t take this up and down crap anymore. Tell me how it is, and stick to it.”

Walking toward me, he says, “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry…I don’t know how to tell you how I feel around you—it’s like there’s this energy. Never felt anything like being around you. Your skin, your eyes, your lips. Once I saw you, there was no one else at the bar for me. No one else anywhere. When I was kissing you, I felt new again. This body’s seen decades come and go. Several generations rise and fall. Felt so old—so numb for so long. Never thought I’d feel fresh again. Free of burden. Until you. You wiped it all away—made me feel again where I’ve been long dead. Even when I was young, never felt anything like you, and I barely know you. All I wanted was to know you more. To keep that feeling going. It gets stronger every second I’m near you.”

I pull him down to me and kiss him softly on his lips. Releasing him I ask, “Then, what’s been going on with you today?”

“I almost died.”

“What’re you talking about? Just now fighting what’s-his-name, oh—Edgar?”

“No, at the school. After you left.”

“What happened?”

“Trading punches with Roderick. One of them stuck a needle in my back. Spun around before he could push the plunger down more than just a tiny bit. Grabbed the syringe from my shoulder blade and threw it as hard as I could. They didn’t just beat me down to a knee. Within a few seconds, I blacked out—it was whatever they shot into me.”

“You blacked out! Oh my God! Why didn’t they kill you then? Why’d they let you go?”

“Probably thought they got enough in me to kill me. I’d guess they ran after you. By the time they knew they lost your trail and came back for me, I was gone.”

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tightly, “Oh my God, what was in it? What’d they put into you?”

“I don’t know. But if it blacked me out, it was some seriously strong sickness.”

Without letting go, I ask, “I’m so sorry to hear that happened—it’s terrible, but what does this have to do with how you’ve been acting?”

“Could’ve killed me today. If I was dead, they’d already have you.”

My arms jerk at the thought.

He softly pushes me off him to look at my face, “You can’t be with me.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll get to you. Eventually, they’ll get to you. You have to go away where they’ll never find you.”

“No,” is all I can muster.

“It happened before. Only cared for one other girl. Decades ago. Her name is—was—Eleni. I cared for her; she loved me too. She’s gone.”

“Doesn’t mean that’ll happen to me.”

“Yes, it does. Especially now. They want Ambrosia. I have no idea what she has that is so special to them, but they’ll never rest till they get it. And on top of that, I’ve embarrassed Roderick. Twice. He won’t let it go unpunished. You can’t be near me when all this happens. Can’t keep you safe forever. We need a plan to get you far away from all of this madness.”

I put my hand to his cheek, “Look, you only get one chance at life. There are no guarantees. I could live in a little bubble and maybe add a few extra years to my life, but I’d be miserable. Trust me, I’ve kept myself away from all of this for so long—staying home, never going out, being painfully shy. It was terrible.”

“But—”

“No, let me finish. It’s a dangerous business leaving your house every day. One person falling asleep at the wheel and crashing into you, and it’s all over for you—no matter how careful you are, no matter how well you plan. All you can do is only take risks for the things that make you happy. I’d rather be dead than lose that.”

“You can—you can take risks like everyone else. Having vampires trying to kill you is not like everyone else. You need a new start. Somewhere safe—a new life.”

“No, I want you, Simon.”

He smiles, but his brow still shows worry.

“If you send me away, I’m coming right back for you as soon as you turn your back on me. That’s where I’d be the most vulnerable—all alone looking for you. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No, I guess I don’t, but you’d be safe somewhere away from here if you’d just stay put.”

“Safe and dead inside—too afraid to risk for the things that would make me happy.”

His face softens, “You know this is what I want. I mean what I want for me—my own desires: I want you here. But more than all that, I want you to be safe and happy.”

“That’s why I won’t leave you now.”

Hand slides over my cheek down to my neck, blue eyes filled with passion, his lips press onto mine—his kiss overtaking me. Time seems to stand as still as the darkness of the woods. Press my body against his, trying to feel everything he’s feeling, trying to make us one.

He slowly takes his kiss away, pulling my breath away with it.

“Damn, you’re good,” slides out my mouth before my nervousness can pull it back in.

“When I let myself,” he says looking at his boots, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, running down his chest and onto his stomach.

“What took you so long?” I ask.

“Trying to save your life.”

“Multitask, my boy. Multitask.”

 

 

 

 

All that I feel makes me want to pounce on him.

Last night passed with him watching over me. Close, devoted to my needs, but oh so far away from where he could’ve been. I respect him all the more for his restraint, but it hasn’t cooled off my desire to slide my tongue over his skin.

I fear what might slip from my lips as I begin to speak.

“What’s it like?”

Looking a bit befuddled and mischievous, he asks, “What’re you talking about?”

“Desire for blood? What does it feel like?”

“Like nothing humans experience. Like your strongest sexual desire times a thousand. You just can’t resist it.”

I fight my own body to hide the pink embarrassment that tries to invade my cheeks, “Wouldn’t know. Resisted mine so far.”

Perplexed face, “You can’t mean you’re a virgin?”

Embarrassed now, no hiding it, look away.

“You’re trying to tell me you’re 19 years old, grew up in New Orleans—home of Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street, and 24-hour bars, and you’ve never had sex? There’s no way.”

My eyes burn, just as hot as my cheeks but for a different reason, “Don’t vilify me because I’ve never had sex. I don’t have any baggage, haven’t had kids with someone I don’t love, and I don’t have any diseases either. I get to choose what’s right for me—not what a lot of lame-brained, pseudo-free, conformity Nazis think is right for me.”

Simon starts to speak but stops when I raise my hand.

“And as far as living in New Orleans and never having sex, sometimes the person who sits closest to the fire is the most aware of how badly it can burn.”

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like it was a bad thing. It’s just so…”

“What?”

“So unusual. Not bad at all. Just difficult to accomplish. Remarkable. You may be the first I’ve met at 19 in decades.”

“Well, what about you?”

Looking very nervous, he says, “No, I’m not—I didn’t do anything for so long, but I’m not a—”

“No, no, no,” I laugh and shake my head, “I knew that as soon as I saw you dancing—knew girls had to have been throwing themselves at you ever since you first started shaking your hips like that.”

Could swear a little color flashes across his pale face, and he asks, “Then, what about me?”

“How did you resist the urge for blood? You said last night that you didn’t give in for a long time.”

“It’s hard. Don’t know how I did it…guess I didn’t care how I felt. When the urge came over me, didn’t care to make myself feel better. Didn’t feel like I had the right to be happy…not after what happened.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like starving with the scent of simmering deliciousness rising to your nose; lusting for someone—badly—with them beautiful, naked, and running their fingers up your arms but knowing you can’t have them; itching spreading from the inside out—growing stronger with every passing second; dying of thirst beside a stream that you’re forbidden to drink from; and a terrible need for affection—like you were locked away alone in a lightless dungeon for years.”

“Affection?”

“Yeah, in some sick way it is connecting with someone for just a moment.”

I shudder.

“I know it sounds strange. Guess it is strange. But that’s the way it is. We try to seek out people we find intriguing to feed on because there is a bond there.”

“Why? Doesn’t seem like it’d matter—can get blood from anyone. I drink milk, but I don’t need to think the cow has sexy hooves before I can have a glass.”

“It’s not any different than kissing in a way—you can kiss anyone—as long as they have lips they can meet your need to kiss—but people seek out people they like because there’s something more to it. There’s something beyond logic that makes us search for a special connection, but we all do it. There’s a connection that can happen that meets a deeper need. Sparks.”

“Yeah,” the word runs out my mouth in a sigh.

He smiles, “Yeah. It’s a little nicer than milk, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I respond puzzled.

His face looks wounded, “My kiss is that forgettable, Bright Eyes?”

“No!” I shout a little too loudly, “No, I was talking about blood—didn’t know you meant kissing.”

Sneer-smile slides onto his face, touching me from several feet away, as he says, “Well, we could revisit it again and see if it sparks as well in the daylight as the moonlight.”

He’s before me in a flash, our lips moving to embrace each other, his nose slowly passes over mine, heat wave pulls my lids shut—his lips feel like plush love.

My eyes crease open the tiniest bit—strange fangs are outstretched and threatening over his neck.

A voice slides past the dark red lips and imposing teeth, “What fantasy keeps the most alert of vampires with his guard completely down?”

Releasing his lips from mine, Simon says, “Not fantasy, but overload.”

“Overload of what, dear boy?” sliding her blood-red fingertips along the line of his jaw—she’s just as beautiful and horrible as I remember her from ‘80s Night, and just as focused on Simon.

“Exhaustion. Paranoia. The incessant buzzing of the insects—take your pick. I’ve had my share of all of them,” he answers, pushing her back a step.

Pressing her lips together in a pout as if she were kissing him through the air between them, “And not love, delicious boy? Have you not had your fill of that too?”

She turns from him and walks away.

“When has a vampire ever had a surplus of love?” he replies.

“Then, care to split that pie one more way?” coos her voice over her shoulder.

I’m sure she only walked away from him to make him watch her backside.

As the bile rises to my throat while I struggle to suppress my sharp thoughts, Simon says, “Told you before, Maxine: not good at fractions.”

Smiling pointedly and swaying her body like she is the breeze itself, she says, “Well, I’m excellent with division. Let me know if you need some assistance,” each word spilling smoothly past her dark red lips into the air, sending her enchantment spreading around us. So smooth, so sure it would mesmerize any man, it sends panic through my hand that squeezes Simon’s forearm.

He looks to me, absorbing my emotion, his face becoming full of how I feel.

Looking to Maxine, God, even her name is intimidating, Simon says, “Maxi, we’re gonna need a minute alone.”

She raises an opened palm with the grace of a ballerina but talks with the smooth bite of a Bourbon Street Madame, “The forest is made for wandering, darlin’.”

“We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Grabbing my hand, he leads me into the wild. After a few paces, he turns back to her, and I’m surprised at how much my entire being hates his eyes looking on her again.

“Keep alert—make sure no one followed you in here.”

Smiling, always smiling with a different smile for every emotion, “Don’t insult a lady’s finesse, darlin’. No one can tail me unless I want’em to,” her eyes flickering at the end.

We walk another twenty yards into the woods—a hundred yards wouldn’t feel far enough from her.

He turns to me, and the words spring from my distress, “What the hell, Simon? Her? What’s she doing here?”

“Told you—I have to get some information from Edgar tonight.”

“And what’s she got to do with it—she’s going to take us to him?”

“No, too dangerous for you to go back to the city. You have to stay here.”

“So, she’s bringing you to Edgar?”

He sighs, “No, Bright Eyes, she’s here to protect you while I’m gone.”

“Wha—why her? She’s who you brought out here to watch over me? Why don’t you bring me straight to Roderick, or just kill me now? She hates me, Simon.”

“Couldn’t trust a male vamp around you.”

“Imagine that.”

“Can barely trust myself around you.”

“Uh huh,” I grumble, so angry I’m having trouble focusing on what he’s saying.

“But female vamps are no picnic either. They’re addicts too. Wild emotions—mood swings—especially jealous of human girls hooking up with vamp men.”

“Good thing we haven’t hooked up then, huh?”

I wish I could take those words back. Flew out so fast. Choking on fear and anger, they slipped away in a hot breath that didn’t come from my heart.

Simon swallows heavily and says, “Yeah.”

Hesitate, panic runs cold through my body, deep breath, “I didn’t mean—”

“No time now. I’ve gotta get to Edgar before his cravings become too strong, and then he’ll end up spilling his guts to Roderick to get his next hit.”

He turns and walks faster than I can possibly keep up—at least fifteen feet away already.

“Simon, wait—”

He stops, looks over his shoulder, “I know, Ruby. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“But—”

“I have to go. To keep you safe I have to get to Edgar.”

“She’ll kill me, Simon. You know it.”

“The only thing she’s more passionate about than sex is her hatred of Roderick. Trust me—she’ll help us tonight.”

“Then, why didn’t she help you at the bar? Why was she going to let Roderick and his two goons fight you all by yourself?”

“I’m sure by then she was on her way home with some guy she thought would be tasty.”

“You mean feeding?”

“No. Well, yes—feeding and other things.”

She appears out of the brush behind him, fangs glance over his neck.

Seductive voice spouts, “Not talking about little ol’ me, I hope.”

Neither of us says a word, and she continues, “Crept up on you twice in one day, Simon. Better get your head clear before you lose it.”

She looks at me and then to him, but his eyes are on me, paying her no attention.

Maxine says, “You already got my ears burning talking about me like that—wanna try for another body part?”

“Watch her, Maxine. Might be a long night.”

“Whatever you wish, darlin’.”

“Wait!” I call after him.

Pained, “There’s no time. You two have to let me leave.”

Laughing in a tone that sounds like singing, Maxine says, “Oh, I think there’s time. Aren’t you forgetting something, sweet Simon?”

“Now?”

“Of course, now. Maxine doesn’t keep promises until she gets hers first.”

My voice cracks, “What are you getting from him?”

“Relax, princess,” she says, “Nothing physical—just a little taste. That’s all.”

“Ruby, I’m sorry. There’s no other way—there’s no one else.”

“What? What’s going on?” I shout.

She slides her body around him, grabbing his neck, and pulling it down before her. Before I can shout, her lips slide back, unsheathing her hideous fangs, and she dives them into his neck.

His eyes stare at me sadly. No question he hates this, but his gaze stays focused on me, not on what she’s doing to him. He raises an arm out in my direction, still at least fifteen feet from me.

I run toward them, fighting the bushes and branches that separate us. His arm drops down—eyes roll back.

Her left hand slides over his chest.

“That’s enough! That’s enough—let him go!” I scream out.

She pulls her fangs out, like a shark releasing its prey. Simon stumbles, trying to hold his head in my direction. Eyes barely open now.

Her right hand runs through his hair, grasping him at the back of his head.

“Let him go, you witch!” I shout, so close, just out of reach.

She looks to me, smiles in a flash, and moves her head close to his, her tongue rising up to touch his lips.

I reach out and grab her free arm, yanking her away from him. Her wretched tongue pulls away from just in front of his lips—never quite reaching them, and she spins to face me. Easily five inches taller than me, she towers over me, her sharp fingernails out of his hair, outstretched and aimed at my face.

She sends her hand flying at my eyes. Too fast for me to move. A blur smacks her hand at her wrist.

Simon holds her wrist tightly, still struggling to keep his balance—head swaying and pointed down, not even looking at us. Her fingers keep reaching for me over and over.

He pulls his head upright, his voice as sharp as a blade, “Stop this. Now.”

Her face turns from crazed to just angry. Stepping in front of me, Simon looks her in the eyes.

“That was too long, Maxi. You know that.”

“Hard to restrain myself, sweet Simon. You know that,” she strains to smile, but rage lingers in her brow.

“You gave me your word.”

“And I will keep it,” still straining.

“Maxine. I mean it,” he says with a heavy tone, “Look at me—say it.”

“I will look after her.”

“No more like what just happened?”

“She jumped at me in the middle of feeding, Simon. That’s all that was. You know what that feels like.”

“Break your word, and I’ll find you, Maxi. I promise you.”

Wrinkling her nose and pushing her lips together, “Don’t you worry, sexy. I’ll take care of your boring, suburban princess.”

“Hey!” I say finally jumping in their conversation.

He turns to me, “Ruby, don’t bait her.”

Flooded. Hurt. Angry. Sad. Don’t know what to say. Don’t want him to leave.

He turns away from me.

Maxine looks at me, grinning at his icy exit. Hope flees from the cold gushing inside me. Look to the top of the trees, can’t even see the moon through the overgrowth of branches and coiling kudzu vine. Just two sad, faded stars.

Rustle rushes up to me—a sound path of leaves and branches being crushed leading right to my feet. Before my eyes come down from the branches, his kiss is on me, shoving the fear away, and melting the freeze out of my body.

Not ready when he pulls away. Nothing could replace the feeling he’s just taken from my lips.

His eyes struggle under the demands of time, looking just like he did before he let the last word drop at ‘80s Night, right before he turned to face the fire so I could escape. Right before I thought I’d lost him forever.

He turns away without a word, not even a single word like last time. The silence is far worse. I can still feel the memory of his kiss on my lips as my heart begins to tear.

Handsome and warm blue eyes and a smile appear over his shoulder. His body stops.

“I’ll come back for you.”

He disappears slowly, the branches and brush hiding more of him with every step he takes away from me.

Female eyes burn at me, the treetops hide all but two dim stars in the dark sky, and wicked creatures are out there, somewhere, hunting for me, but I have his kiss still tingling on my lips and his promise fresh on my ears. If I die tonight, at least I’ll die feeling alive.

 

 

 

 

Seven.

That’s all that it took.

Seven little numbers.

Time to see if the information they bought was worth the long trip into town.

Things move ahead of me. Senses are dulled. Maxi’s long drink, healing wounds, the fighting, no sleep or feeding for days—I’m drained. An easy target. This trip might’ve been a bad idea. Got to know what Roderick’s up to—gotta know what we’re up against.

Cats move through the yard. Black one darting here. Gray one darting there. Peering behind this and that. One peeks out from under the wooden porch, eyes glowing, reflecting the street light.

Walk under a large oak tree on the way up to the house. Cat brushes past my ankles. Look down at it. Gray with black swirls.Suddenly something dives out the tree, smacking my back—angry hissing, nails pushing at my throat, threatening to rip into it.

Forgot to look up. Didn’t check out the tree. Senses are fried.

That kind of mistake gets you dead. Fast.

Shouldn’t have come.

I talk softly to not push the sharp nails at my throat, slicing into my skin, “Katrianna, it’s Simon. Here—talk about Roderick.”

“What do you care for what Roderick’s doing now? Been up to bad things for centuries—what’s the sudden interest? Where were y’all when he was giving me hell?”

“I wasn’t born yet. Trying to save girl’s life,” still speaking as few words as possible, trying to protect my throat.

Her grip loosens. Could break away, but I won’t.

“Love this girl?”

“Just met her.”

“Care enough to fight this war for her?”

“Absolutely.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.”

She releases me and, without a glance or a word, walks to the house ahead of me.

I follow close behind. A cat jumps into her arms and climbs up to look over her shoulder at me—it’s the gray and black one that distracted me just before Katrianna lunged down on me.

Her black gown skims across the worn dirt ground below her feet, following her usual path from the house to the tree where grass dares not grow.

Climbing the wooden porch steps, her voice sounds like something between a smoker’s rasp and a rusty hinge squeaking, “You go against Roderick—you face him alone. Don’t trust anyone to stand with you. No matter what they say, you will be alone in the end.”

Cats scurry around her as she opens the door. Some run past her feet to follow her into the house, and others rush out into the night.

“Don’t know if I need to face him. Not yet. Hoping you can help me with figuring that out.”

Disappearing into the darkness of the unlit house, “Now what makes you think an old woman knows anything about Roderick? Especially a crazy cat lady.”

“Edgar said you might know some things.”

“Oh, that one said so. Pathetic thing that he is. He’s the one told you where I live?”

“Yeah.”

“Should’ve never taken that ingrate in here. This’s how he repays me.”

“You took care of him?”

“Let that beast hide here and feed on my furry ones while he got over something bad he picked up from his needles. Was too weak to hunt. Couldn’t overpower anyone to feed on them—too delirious to trick someone into feeding on them. Knew he’d die without help. Thought that sickness might kill him. Don’t know how he tracked me down—that boy’d be awfully dangerous if he could keep a needle out his arm. Wandered all the way out here from Frenchmen. Can you believe that? No one’s found me in over a decade. That junkie found me when he couldn’t even say his own name.”

“Didn’t tell me that. Just told me where I could find you.”

“Edgar never does anything without getting something for himself. What’d that info cost you?”

“Seven.”

“Seven what?” she asks stepping deeper and deeper into the darkness of her house.

Furry things pass at my legs. Swear they’re trying to trip me. Can’t see them—just catch a hint of gray and black running in the dark.

I answer, “Seven digits—just numbers.”

“And what young woman did you think so little of to give her number to Edgar?”

“A girl who was so wild that she’d beg me to feed on her. Obsessed that she found a real vampire. Thought she’d become one somehow if I fed on her enough. When I wouldn’t do it anymore, she begged me to give her to another vampire. Until now, I wouldn’t do it.”

“Simon! You still gave her number to Edgar? You turned her over to him?”

Can’t see Katrianna anymore. No outline to her body. Just a little movement in the dark and an occasional flash of cat’s eyes over her shoulder.

“She overdosed two weeks ago. Didn’t tell Edgar that—just told him the last time I saw her was a month ago, which is true—didn’t lie to him. And it’s her real number.”

She chuckles for a moment, then adds, “Sad about the girl. As silly as she sounds, it’s a terrible thing. So many of the young ones now—so many just giving it all away.”

The flicker of a match lighting.

“Now, what can you tell me about Roderick?” I ask.

The match’s flame wavers as it lights a candle. Slowly the candle moves up her body to her face.

Her lips speak in the candlelight, her face still shrouded in darkness, “Roderick’s the one that should overdose. Make the world a better place for everyone.”

She’s over three centuries old. Second oldest vampire known alive next to Roderick—except of course for the unfounded rumors of ancient bloodsuckers living in the French Alps, the Orient, or even Siberia, depending on the preference of who is telling the tale.

She looks no older than a teen playing goth dress-up, with gray streaks in her long, braided, black hair. Her black dress reaches to the floor, is dirty and matted with cat hair of varying shades of gray and black, and was a gown designed five decades ago for an older lady with bland taste.

Her lips are as crimson as if she has just finished feeding. Been an outcast among the vampires as long as I’ve been alive. Living with her cats. At least two dozen of them. They say she feeds on them in cycles, never taking too much to harm them, and never feeding on one again until she’s been through all the rest.

The only evidence of the long centuries she’s suffered through is the grit in her voice.

Her real name is Karianna, although I’ve never heard anyone call her by anything other than Katrianna since I was a child. The legends of her feeding on her vast feline friends are popular gossip among the vampires. They deem her to be dirty, not much more than a human romantically entangled with a pet. After she became Katrianna for so long in perverse tales told in private, people couldn’t resist it in public, even right to her face, as often happens when someone is spoken more about than to.

Without a single blow, they killed Karianna, leaving a reclusive lady called Katrianna who is known only from their tales.

Been years since I saw her face last—she hasn’t had much use for visiting other vampires and hearing their gossip about her. I was a young one last time she came around, and only remember her leaving with deep gashes in her face from an argument with Roderick.

The legends have sworn she’s aged into a toothless bag of wrinkles, and has descended into lunacy from her lonely life in isolation. From what she’s showing me in the candlelight, the rumors of her appearance are nothing more than harsh lies. She looks as young as a high school senior—a girl dressed in an old woman’s clothes.

As to the sanity of a self-described crazy cat lady who drinks the blood of her only companions, I’ll have to brave the dark that shields most of her body to find out.

She speaks, “Roderick has always been fascinated with all kinds of decadence. Women—wine—violence—power, and of course feeding. He’s as happy with head games as he is with drinking the blood of a forbidden young thing.

“After a century of diving into all of it, he began to get bored—the joy of his conquests getting smaller and smaller. Every girl’s blood less sweet than the one before. Every touch a little more dull than the last. Each drink having less effect on his body. I think that’s when he began to crack. He was always a mean one, but at some point he became something much worse.

“He was gone for awhile—before any of us came over to this side of the world—he was wandering somewhere in Southern Europe. I heard the older ones saying he must have finally been caught and killed. Then he returned. Unmarked and unharmed, but with a cruelty that he didn’t have before. My mother used to say the bitter root was twisted a little deeper in him when he returned.

“Truth be told, I used to think he was handsome when I was a young girl. The first crush I ever had. Don’t know if I’ve had another like it. Who knows—old eyes can’t see things as they were. Hearts change the memory a little more every time it comes to mind, eventually being no more than our dream of what was.”

I try to get her back to the story, “What happened when he came back?”

She clears her throat with a huff, “Older ones who said bad things about his new attitude slowly disappeared. My mother was one of the last. The last words I remember her saying were that Roderick is wiping out all the wisdom left in our kind—killing anyone with knowledge and experience to prove him wrong.”

“What was he doing that made them criticize him?”

“When the old fixes no longer satisfied him, he sought out the extreme. The forbidden. Things that are said to leave you cursed for doing.”

“What kind of things?”

“Mixing—mixing the desires, perverting them. Not just orgies, but massacre orgies. Not just alcohol, but alcohol and opium. Not just beatings—not just murders, but dungeons where he’d torture poor souls until they were screaming for death.

“And the psychological—he’s been a student of the mind for centuries. Not happy with just having followers, but needing to pit them against each other whenever he pleases. The power to undo them all—to make them loyal to no one but him. It pleases his sick need for the ultimate power over them, but it also prevents any rebellion. If servants are always fighting each other as much as enemies, they’ll never unite to overthrow their master.”

I ask, “What do you think he’s doing now that’s different? Something’s just started that’s new—something that he’s obsessed with—something that has to do with this blue-haired girl.”

“They say nothing under the sun is new, young Simon.”

So odd to hear someone, who knows what I am and that I’ve lived through decades, call me young. Guess I am young in her eyes.

“Has to be something new—something huge—Roderick was exposing himself to hundreds of people in a bar trying to get it.”

“What?” she asks, her voice changing tone for the first time since we began talking.

“It was at an ‘80s Night. He was—”

“‘80s Night? What’s that?”

“1980s Music. It’s a night where they only play ‘80s music—some people dress up—lots of drinking—lots of dancing.”

“You young ones and your invented reasons to celebrate. But, okay—I get it. What was he exposing?”

“It was all about one girl. A girl named Ambrosia. She was trying to get away from Roderick, and he dug his fingernails into her arm in front of all these people—blood was running down her forearm. Didn’t care if police came—was going to fight me with his two goons, Carvelli and Quint, right in front of all the normals.”

“All over one girl?”

“Yes.”

“Must have wanted her pretty bad.”

“Pretty sure he had already had her.”

“Hmmm…all that trouble over a girl he’s already tasted. She must’ve had something he wanted.”

“Right, but what?”

“Edgar was talking out of his mind for two days when he first came here. Most of it made no sense. Some of it words—some of it sounds—almost none of it went together. But he kept trying to talk about what made him so sick. They were drinking some kind of new blood—some new breed is what he kept calling it. Edgar mixed it with some junk Roderick gave him and shot it in his arm. Something happened, and he thought he’d die.”

“He was alone?”

“No. He was with Roderick and the others. They were all drinking this new breed stuff, when he decided he needed to shoot it in his veins with his smack, but Roderick gave him something poisonous instead of his usual stuff. Said he cried out for them to help him, but Roderick just watched. Stood over him and watched him inch closer to death—studying him like a science experiment. Roderick said he had to see what it’d do to Edgar.”

“How’d he get away?”

“Said Roderick had some girl there—thought he was hallucinating—she had big yellow eyes and giant blue ponytails.”

“That’s her! That’s the girl—Ambrosia!”

“What? Someone really looks like that?”

“That’s her to a tee. Couldn’t be anyone else.”

“Wow, he thought he was seeing things—I did too. Who’d’ve guessed she’d be real, looking like that? Sounds like a cartoon character. Oh, well, guess that makes sense then. Edgar said Roderick was so fixed on her—for hours, that he slipped away without Roderick noticing. By the time Edgar found me, he was speaking gibberish and drooling down his chin.”

“That jerk never mentioned any of this—just told me to talk to you. He knew I was looking for info on why Roderick’s after the girl.”

“‘Course he did. Now he can say he never told you anything. All he told you was where I am—they don’t care about me anymore. No matter how loaded he gets, he’ll never slip up and admit he told you anything, because he didn’t. He got me to tell you. Sneaky junkie.”

“Well, what’d’you think all this has to do with Ambrosia? Why’d Roderick go so crazy—act so careless in public?”

“Whatever she’s got—has to be related to this new breed they’re hooked on. Maybe she makes it for them.”

“Ambrosia doesn’t seem like a dealer, Katrianna—more of a party girl.”

“Maybe she just brings them what they need to make it—maybe just one thing—one ingredient.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe her blood’s the sweetest thing they’ve ever tasted.”

“Doubt it. She’s pretty full of toxins from what I’ve been told. Smoking, alcohol, junk food.”

Katrianna shudders and continues, “Whatever it is—it’s the key to all of this. If what Roderick mixed with that new breed almost killed Edgar, it’s brutal. That boy’s body’s been full of every bad thing known to man. If it did that to him, it’s something powerful. Something never seen before.”

I nod.

“And if Roderick’s so interested in it that he was going to let Edgar die—losing one of his chief henchmen—just to watch what it would do to him, it could be the end of us all.”

 

 

 

 

“If you think his kiss is delicious, you should taste his blood.”

Her poisoned words pass through smiling lips.

“Rather taste what drives his blood, Maxine.”

“His heart?” she looks at me with a mocking expression.

I return the stare, but not the ironic smile.

She bursts with laughter and a word, “Please!”

I look away, fidgeting roughly with my fingernails.

She continues, “Honey, he’s a vampire, and more than that, he’s a male—no more reliable than a male of your own kind, following any skirt that flickers in his sight when it passes him.”

“You’re wrong—he can love.”

“Sure, he can,” she says and my enraged pulse slows slightly. “He can love—all of us—just not any one of us.”

The last few hours have been hell with her. Her pleasant voice sneaking in ugly comments. Her teeth and nails flaring out when she doesn’t like what I have to say. Been so trying on my nerves that I begin to lose fear of enraging her.

I say, “Just because you jump from lap to lap before love can ever heat up underneath you—it doesn’t mean everyone else does it too. Not everyone’s so afraid of being scorched by love that they snuff it out before it can begin—ensuring they’ll be lonely but never burned, not realizing the loneliness is drying them up inside worse than the heat ever could.”

Tears summon to her eyes—her expression looks cracked. So bizarre. Changed so fast. Turned from a weapon to a wound.

“Oh, my God,” I say.

She shakes her head, staring at her lap. Stray tears drop onto her thighs.

I continue, “You do love—Simon—you love Simon!”

Fire burns in her eyes beneath a sheet of liquid, “Shut your pretty mouth, princess, before I make it ugly.”

I go to speak, but I see her nails in her right hand outstretched and ready. Her breaths come deep and heavy, raising her entire frame with them. I bite my tongue in hopes that I may keep it.

Still sitting, she raises her legs in front of her, bent at the knees, heels on the ground, and she drops her arms atop her kneecaps, her hands barely touching in the center. Her stare shoots at me just over the top of her hands.

I sit about twelve feet away from her with a small branch that Simon sharpened yesterday grasped in my fist behind my back, squeezing it so tightly the bark falls off—tiny pieces covering my hand.

Her voice jolts my hysteria, “What’s so shocking, pristine princess? Is love only for boring little angels like you? Am I so filthy, so stained, that I can’t love?”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what did you mean? You can see I love him.”

“I see it now. Is that why you act like you do?”

She digs into her own hand with her nails, eyes narrow, “Act like what?”

“Looking for sex—all the time.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I’ve seen—it’s all you’ve shown me.”

“Maybe I should gouge your eyes out if that’s all you see with them.”

Her nails dig deeper into her palm.

“What about Simon’s eyes?” I ask.

She grunts and exhales like the air in her has suddenly turned pungent, “Curse you.”

“Do you think he sees anything in you that I don’t?”

“Watch it, prissy. Ain’t nothing here but the trees, and they won’t save you. Nothing will.”

“Save me from what?”

“From me.”

Long stare.

“Thought you promised Simon you wouldn’t hurt me,” my voice stumbles under her fiery gaze—she seems to especially hate it when I say his name, “He’ll never forgive you.”

“We’re immortal, weak one. Sure, he’ll be furious. A year. A decade. Might even want to kill me. It’ll pass. Eventually, I’ll still be here—your memory won’t. In fact, the sooner you’re gone—the shorter your memory’s gonna stick around in his head.”

Fight the tremble in my voice, “Then what?”

“Then what—what?”

“If you’re not always looking for sex, and what I see in you is so wrong—then what are you doing all the time? Why do you act like that?”

“Not about the sex. Distraction—it’s a distraction.”

“A distraction from what?”

She shakes her head and looks down to her legs again.

A voice tells me to shut up. It begs me to stop. It’s the voice that controlled me for so long. Was miserable for so long. It’s grown quieter since I met Simon.

“What is it? What are you hiding from?”

Her voice is no louder than a whisper, but it cracks like a scream, “Simon.”

“What does he have to do with you hooking up all the time?”

“Whenever I think of him, my arms hurt because he’s not in them, so I grab someone to make me think I have someone to hold—to tell myself my embrace isn’t empty anymore. My body becomes alive at the thought of him, pulsing and restless—can’t sleep, so I find someone, sometimes anyone, just so I can scratch the itch, close my eyes, and pretend I’m happy for a moment. Sometimes pretend I’m with Simon—sometimes pretend I’m happy to be with whoever’s there with me. Never lasts long. Never gets rid of the itch, just a quick scratch—always comes back.”

“Ever think that doing all this is why he’s not interested in you?”

She springs to her feet—fluidly—unreal velocity. Her fingers arch, outstretching her nails as she speeds at me in a blur.

Her legs move so fast—her feet tear into the ground—lunging her body forward. Looks like moving light. Blurry lightning-fire coming to burn through me.

So fast, can’t move.

Cocks her hand back and flings it at my head. Nails coming at my nose—raising to my forehead—skimming through my hair—shredding a chunk out of the tree trunk behind me—splinters and dust falling onto me and all over the ground.

My fist still grasps the small spear behind me. I spin around and aim its pointed end in front of me. Branches sway, and leaves float to the ground, but there is no sign of her—just the wake she left behind.

I’ve wanted nothing more than for her to leave me alone since Simon left me with her. For hours, she wore my patience down—saying anything to rile me up, any hateful thing to upset me.

Now that she’s run off into the darkness, I’m going after her, and I’m not entirely happy about it.

 

 

 

 

Wanna know how to spot a local out of the tourists in The French Quarter?

The local looks both ways before crossing a one-way street—the tourist trusts people will still obey silly traffic laws in the middle of their wild night.

I seek the ones who still trust the imaginary laws to protect them. I like them when they’re all sweaty and stumbling. They like me better when they’re sweaty and stumbling too.

Have to get my fill now. Roderick’s got Quint and Carvelli out here to bring me in. Saw those two on Bourbon. Luckily they were too distracted by something they saw gyrating through an opened doorway to notice me before I slipped away. Roderick must be having some colorful fits waiting to find out what I’ve learned—boiling in his own hatred over why I haven’t come back to him. Time’s running out.

Would’ve already been back there if Simon hadn’t promised me a girl with an acute feeding fetish. Girls are drawn to Simon like plants stretching, straining to get closer to the sunlight. Swear one would stretch her head in front of a speeding bus to catch another glimpse of him, and die smiling as the metal behemoth crashed into her. So easy for him, and he wasted his power for so many years over that girl he lost. Regardless of all that—any girl that made an impression on him is something to hunt down and experience—that’s why I defied Roderick, left him waiting while I tried to meet up with this girl Simon told me to call. Didn’t mention she was dead. Her brother explained it to me over the phone. Simon’ll pay for this. Whether Roderick needs it or not, Simon’ll pay.

Also would’ve been back in town sooner if he hadn’t torn my stomach to shreds. Simon would’ve never got me like that if Roderick woulda just let me feed before sending me out. By the time I found them in the woods, the withdrawal dizziness had already clouded my mind. Can’t fight like that. All Roderick’s fault. Impatient, hard-headed…

Something soft and fluffy takes my thoughts away from Roderick as it bounces down the one step from the bar onto the sidewalk. Her jiggle is almost a singularity. An unmistakable body in the universe sucking in the attention of all others around her. By design, she pulls others into herself, trying to fill the void inside her with whatever she can take from them.

Three friends of hers walk out after her. Leaving her behind, they move down the street and pass where I sit on their way to a less crowded bar on Toulouse, migrating away from the masses on Bourbon. Bouncy-fluffy stays near the opened French doors she has just gyrated out of, taunting the bouncer with the parts of her that sparkle.

Sometimes I think I’ll leave New Orleans—there are other cities with a large supply of what I like. Lot of cities are much bigger—more pretties to choose from, so many more flavors to sample. There’d be no Roderick. No one else to put up with. I’d be free to do whatever I wanted—I’d own the night—all by myself.

But it’s easy here. Roderick brings me smack when I can’t get it myself. He lures women to me when I can’t speak. And then there’s the new breed…

I’ve tried every fix under the sun, and nothing’s sent me flying like this new breed Roderick’s created. Still won’t tell me where it comes from. As long as he has more to give, I don’t care where—just how much I can get in me.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh—eyes roll and jaw drops open just at the thought of it. Better find some quick feed fast. Get to Roderick. Get the good stuff.

Now, where is that bouncy, fluffy thing?

She still talks to the bouncer who leans a meaty shoulder on the opened French doors to the bar, trying not to show her how interested he is in her. He’s worked here for years—I’ve seen him before. He knows the best method for a bouncer on this street is to ignore her, which’ll only make her want his attention more. He may fool her, but I can see the pulse of his blood through his body—speeding up faster and faster.

The girls that come down to this tourist attraction are easily fascinated with bouncers, thinking them the alpha males of the debauchery—the ones in charge of the chaos.

While they do go for the bouncers, you should see how easily they follow a man in black who claims to be a vampire. The fantasy melts them—they don’t care if he’s crazy—they never dream he’s telling the truth. They just enjoy the bad boy, and live the dream—the dark fantasy she’s created in her mind that he’s bringing to life for her.

Funny—the silly things they think about vampires. They think we’re all straight out of a Victorian romance.

Let me tell you, the affinity with antiquities and Victorian fanciness is all bullshit. Vampires have always been gluttons, addicts to desire. There is no room in a vampire’s being for pomp and circumstance. It’s hard to worry about staining a designer shirt when the lust for hot, spurting blood places my fangs inches from tender flesh. The desire is the glory, not some trinket or frivolity of fancy society. We have as little care for antiques as a lion on the prowl. It’s the bloodlust we crave. Had you ever experienced it, you’d see that nothing else ever comes close to it, and you’d never waste your time pursuing anything else. The only appetite that remains in me for things from centuries past is an affinity for women in poofy skirts, or perhaps it’s just the thrill in lifting them up that lingers.

As for attire, a vampire is more likely to approach you in torn clothing that he cares little about than dressed as a silly poet professing love up to a balcony. Your blood tastes the same no matter what he’s wearing.

Speaking of balconies, it’s not the decrepit, rundown buildings, tall pointed cathedrals, or even the legendary river itself that brings my kind to New Orleans. It’s the howling from liquor-soaked mouths, feet stumbling down beer-stained streets, and even the stink of it all. It knells like a chiming dinner bell, summoning us to its decadent streets. It’s a playground. A playground for things daylight would rather not touch.

It’s not just the drunkenness either. It’s the tourists who come here like Anti-Pilgrims, unfamiliar with the customs and the bizarre, crooked streets that follow the curves of the river—refusing to be restricted to any manmade grid. They travel here from all over the world, having left a substantial part of their sound judgment in their homes hundreds of miles away, looking to fill their own twisted desires. After all, it’s why most pay to come here—the anonymous romp in a decadent city where no one knows their names. It’s intriguing to watch.

Besides all that, this city grooms belles with attitude and a love for the macabre. This city worships things of the dark and breeds young women with a lust for that which is not common. Delving my teeth into any dainty flesh stirs my senses, but diving into one that poses even a hint of a challenge tastes all the better. One with dark lipstick, playful eyebrows, and intoxicated breath is what drives me.

Speaking of which, the painted piece of fluff kisses the bouncer on the cheek and walks down Toulouse toward the bar her friends have recently entered. Enticing.

I jump down from the top of the dumpster I’ve been sitting on. The bouncer signals to someone inside the bar. A man of similar size appears in the opened French doors beside him, and the bouncer heads after the girl. Bad news for him.

In a few short seconds, I’ll be tasting the sweetness of the pretty thing he’s after, and he’ll be tasting nothing but the after.

 

 

 

 

The place buzzes like it had two nights before. Libations, celebrations, and gyrations—it echoes, full of the sounds that appease the flesh.

The mass of people bounce as if they are all one body, flinging their hands in the air, surrendering to whatever temptation taunts them the loudest.

I don’t deny any of them their taste of the wild—surely I’ve had my fill here in days past. Although the rhythm is the same now as it was then, I’ve lost my taste for all of this. I long for a sweet treasure left in the woods—left with a she-vamp to look over her. But, if I’m to find a way to get those that hunt her to leave her be, this place is the only chance I have. Slim as it may be.

No longer ‘80s Night, but The Saturday Night Goth/Industrial Ball. Type O Negative’s “Blood & Fire” grooves through the speakers, blanketing the crowd with a dark, sexy vibe. Still an energetic and enthusiastic group of people, but the colors have changed from bright blues and pinks to edges of crimson mated to clothing ranging from black to blacker. Tank tops traded for corsets—short skirts and leg-warmers swapped out for leather and boots. Bright blue eyeliner has turned deep maroon. Red lips painted over like night. Dark and lacy. The more the outfit looks like it could line a coffin, the better.

Truth be told, I loved this night as much as the ‘80s soiree that always came two nights before. They were two different berries from the same wilderness. Both nights for us weirdos, just a separate event for each kind. Somehow I prowled them both. Two tastes to satisfy the same hunger.

Weave between people—edging my way to the dance floor. With every pulse of the bass from the speakers, I can see the blood flashing and shooting through the bodies around me. The bass makes my thoughts waver and flicker to black, on the verge of passing out, and the blood it reveals makes my fangs feel all the longer in my mouth—aching all the more to feed and stop this marathon torture I’ve been inflicting on my body.

Couldn’t feed. Was no time to leave Ruby and find someone to feed on. If I had left, they could’ve found her, helpless while I would’ve been gone. Not safe.

Had I gone to feed when Edgar attacked, she’d be gone now too—or at least in the hands of Roderick. Can’t let that happen.

Silly as it seems, don’t know if I could’ve fed anyway—even if a small town were only yards away from us in the woods. Only her neck seems right to feed from, but her eyes seem wrong to prey upon. Don’t want to dry up, don’t want to press my lips to another’s neck, and can’t look into her eyes and dive into her flesh.

This problem is becoming more important with every second. With every swaying of my mind from my purpose—the one I’m searching for—the reason I’m here, and with every fading of my vision from the drinking and dancing that surrounds me to nothing but black, I know I’ll have to compromise something or die. But for the moment, as Ruby waits under the trees for me, it’ll have to wait. Flesh’ll have to find a way to rise and reach my spirit.

Something grabs my wrist.

Tugging at my arm is a tiny redhead dressed in a deep-red, skintight shirt, black leather skirt, and spiked, black heels. A smile and glossy eyes project an energy much larger than her little body.

Could feast on her neck, regain my strength, stop this wretched aching inside. A week ago, she’d already be wrapped in my arms. Now that I’ve met Ruby, this redhead may as well be as hard as stone, as dry as marble, and as hollow as a cave.

Muster a faint smile and keep walking.

Bass pounds. Vision’s gone. Torso sways.

Feel small hand on my back.

Step forward—vision still not back.

Heavy hand on my shoulder.

Squint eyes hard. Blurry, but can see outlines. Hazy black and white.

Turn around slowly—heavy hand guiding me.

“Well, Simon, seems we keep running into each other.”

The familiar voice stings. The face is still bleary, but the memory is sharp. Colors return, although faded.

“Was looking for you, Roderick,” I say to the blur.

“Were you now?”

Something hazy and red moves to the side of us.

I continue, “Want to put an end to this. Seems we both have things the other wants. Silly to fight.”

“Indeed. So silly to fight when we can take whatever we want.”

His blurry face turns toward the red movement. Squint my eyes again—things become a little clearer. Repeat. Can see again.

Roderick’s forearm slowly pushes against the little redhead’s upper chest as he says, “He’s busy, fire crotch. Find another guy to grind on.”

A thin, well-manicured middle finger extends in his direction as she kisses it and flings it at him.

“No need to be rude, Roderick.”

“She’s not that hot, Simon. And speaking of which, where is the little sweet thing that’s caused all this trouble between us old friends.”

I look to the redhead to apologize on his behalf, but she’s already turned around and has her arms wrapped around another guy with long hair.

“See, she’s fine,” he says putting his hand back at my shoulder, “You worry too much for these temporary beings—they’re pretty resilient for the brief moment that they’re here.”

“Guess you’d know about that better than me.”

“To my office then?”

“Yeah.”

Roderick steps onto the far end of the stage and waves his hand up at Mark in the DJ booth at the end of the balcony. Mark nods his head and flips a switch. Roderick pushes open an emergency exit door beside the stage, and no alarm sounds.

I look to Mark before I follow Roderick, and he raises his opened hands to me. Apparently Roderick hasn’t held a grudge for the pyrotechnics Mark unleashed the other night. Guess Mark’s a useful friend to have in a place so prime for hunting.

At least Mark’s not in danger. At least not for the moment. Roderick has bigger problems to decapitate. I step through the exit, feeling like I’m sticking my head into a guillotine.

Through the emergency exit is a narrow brick alleyway that separates this club from the bar next door. It’s closed in at the front, creating the illusion that the buildings are connected. It’s open out the back, leading to a service driveway and a loading zone, of which only a small portion can be seen from where I stand now.

In that opening I see Carvelli and Quint, standing and watching us. Carvelli grinds his fist in his hand, fangs exposed, and vengeance screaming across his snarling face. Can’t blame him—he’s taken a hell of a beating from me the past few days. The stool was a cheap shot too, but the only way I could get Ruby away from them.

Roderick talks, facing them, holding up a hand to keep me behind him, “Calm down, Carvelli. Simon and I have some things to discuss.”

Carvelli growls, taking a step into the alleyway toward us.

“Restrain yourself,” utters Roderick struggling to keep himself from growling, rasp taking over his tone at the end of self, “Or I’ll have to restrain you.”

Carvelli closes his enraged mouth.

“Now wait in the loading zone, but stay near. I’ll call if I need you.”

Carvelli punches the bricks with a deep thud, brick dust floating to the ground. He turns and walks to the loading zone. Blood drips from his knuckles.

My eyes focus on the blood. Sight grows unfocused again.

When I look to Roderick, even through blurry eyes, I see he’s been watching me.

“So hungry that you focus on such unappealing blood as his? A bit dry, Simon?”

Shaking my head to balance my blurry sight, “No, I’m fine.”

“So, the suburban queen that you’ve found already has you starving yourself for her? We’re never anything but beasts to them once they get to know us—something to enslave and subordinate. Whipped in two nights? Must be a vamp record. Maybe even a human record too.”

I could punch his smug, laughing face until my knuckles become worn down to nothing, but Ruby’s more important. Besides, don’t know how many of my punches would connect in the condition I’m in.

“Last two times I saw Carvelli and Quint, they’ve been trying to kill me—why shouldn’t I keep an eye on them?” Lying, I continue, “I wasn’t watching his blood—just watching an enemy. But, I think you may be the one who’s a bit dry, Roderick—so obsessed with one little party girl.”

I become focused over Roderick’s shoulder at what looks to be a broken, female fingernail wedged in the gap between two bricks. Definitely an office he’s used before.

“Well, that’s really not important now, is it, Simon? You seem to be weak and fading, so we had better get to it, shall we?”

“The girl—leave her alone.”

“She has something I need. Besides—what do you care for the blue-haired harlot?”

“Not her. Her friend.”

“Doesn’t she have a name, Simon? Are you afraid to mention it in front of me?”

“I know you know her name—know you know where she lives—know you already know too much about her.”

“Well, then, what do you think we should do about it? What can you offer me to forget?”

“You can go after her friend for all I care—but just leave Ruby out of it.”

“There lies the problem, simple Simon. Ambrosia has disappeared. Last I saw her she slipped away with your dear Ruby. Was beginning to think she was dead—‘bout to have Carvelli and Quint check the morgues for her body, but not now that you’ve just assured me she’s still alive—waiting to be found.”

“Damn it,” I grumble, squinting my eyes again, trying to keep them from losing focus.

“Thank you for that, by the way. I’m sure Carvelli and Quint will appreciate it too.”

Shake my head roughly—trying to keep from blacking out. Ministry’s “Just One Fix” can be heard through the wall pumping from the speakers.

“You’re only proving my points, dear boy. You’re dry and weak and fading—can barely keep yourself from passing out. Getting weaker and weaker. Why don’t we strike a bargain before something…un—fortunate happens to you?”

“Why do I suddenly feel like Faust?”

“You praise me.”

“Wasn’t meant as a compliment. Just that a deal with you can’t end well.”

Vision’s not what it should be. Just one bite in the bar could’ve fixed all this. The red one would’ve worked fine—she wouldn’t even remember it tomorrow. Just felt wrong. Now feel gone. Slipping…slipping into black…

Roderick’s face grows angry.

“I need to know where Ambrosia’s hiding. Now.”

“Well, that’s what you need, Roderick. What about what I need?”

“I could care less about that bit of fluff that you’re so smitten with. Although she should pay for the way she spoke to me at the sch—”

I shove him open-palmed into his chest, breaking his speech, “Don’t even think about it. Ever.”

Roderick’s fangs flash in the dim light that the alley affords, “You’re tipping your hand, Simon. I know what you’re waiting for, and I hold all the cards to give it to you.”

“If it’s that easy, then why haven’t you already found Ambrosia and ended this?”

“It’s not over. I’ll find her.”

“Then do it without Ruby—do it without me, and you won’t have me in your way anymore.”

“Asking me to find a treasure without the map—can’t do it.”

“Trying to tell me that you’re too powerless to find one girl who’s fled your city—trying to tell me you know no one who can find her? Certainly you’ve grown weak. With all your power, one blue-haired girl is out of your reach?”

“Carvelli and Quint,” he calls, and two shadows loom at the end of the alleyway.

Glance down at the door—no handle on this side. Wall behind me. Rooftop too high to leap to. Three angry vampires between me and the only way out. Great. Simply spectacular.

I fling my hands in front of me, fingernails sticking out, fangs showing.

Roderick holds up his hand at them, “Just wait there, boys. May not need you, but be ready.”

Speaking to me again, he continues, “I know you, Simon, and you can tell me where the blue-haired mystery is hiding.”

“I don’t know where she is, Roderick. I was still here waiting for you to come out the fire while they were running away. Remember?”

“Look me in the eyes,” he hisses.

I stare at him, trying to hold my vision steady. It bounces between focus and blur—God, I hope he doesn’t see it. His hand grabs my chin and holds my eyes aimed slightly down into his.

His hand smells of blood and alcohol.

“Now,” he says, “Tell me.”

Fierce are his eyes as they study me.

He continues, “Tell me you don’t know where she is, and for the sake of your beloved mistress, be sure you speak the truth. The time for games is through.”

“I don’t know where she is. Just that she’s gone away. I’m the one who told her to leave town and not come back.”

His face looks like an attacking wolf as my last words settle in. The truth of it stings in him. My vision goes blurry. He knows she’d be easy to find if not for me. Knows he’d have what he’s risked so much to find if not for my words. Knows he’d have what he wants so dearly if not for my defiance. He’s now just a smear to my eyes, but I can hear the fury swirling in him as his breathing becomes erratic.

“Why, Simon?”

Can’t answer, his voice echoes in my head, thoughts turning black.

He slaps my face.

“Wake, Simon—no time for sweet dreams—this nightmare’s not over yet.”

Move my mouth, no sound comes out. Slaps me again.

“Come back, Simon. Come back, or I’ll find Ruby. Maybe she’ll tell me what she wouldn’t tell you.”

My hand flings up and finds his throat, squeezing with all the strength I have. My eyes only give me a blurry glimpse of what’s going on.

Hands grab me and slam me into the bricks. Sight bounces with the collision. Wind knocked out of me. Hand at my throat pressing my head against the wall.

Carvelli and Quint both have hands pinning me to the wall. Hand at my throat is Roderick’s. Two bits of wood dig into my back, under my shirt in my pants. God, don’t let them find them. Not now.

“Back now, Simon?” asks Roderick.

Nod my head as much as I can with his hand squeezing my throat. He releases my neck.

“Carvelli and Quint, wait outside the alley again.”

“But, Roderick, he—”

Roderick slaps him across his face, and says, “Don’t question me, Quint. Do what I say or take his place when I’m done with him.”

They obey, leaving just the one monster within my arm’s reach.

“Simon, Simon, Simon. I asked you a simple question, and you nearly went to pieces. What am I to think about you? I think you’re done. Nothing left to offer me. That’s a dangerous place to be, young boy.”

“For the girl. It was for Ruby, not Ambrosia. Helped her escape because of Ruby.”

“All this—for her?”

“Could ask you the same thing, Roderick? All this for Ambrosia?”

“Don’t you worry about Miss Ambrosia. I don’t plan on hurting her at all. Just need something she has. The two of you have made this a much bigger deal than it is.”

“If you just need something she has—why not go to her apartment and take it?”

“It’s a dorm room, and if it were still there, do you think I’d be wasting my time talking to you and sending half the vampires in New Orleans out looking for you and Ruby?”

“She took it with her?”

“Of course.”

“Stupid girl.”

Smiles, “Now, you’re starting to get it, my boy. Help me find Ambrosia, and I could care less about you and your little girlfriend. I have better things to do than chase after you anyway.”

“Why don’t you let me get what you need from Ambrosia, then? No need for you to have her if you just want something she has.”

Growing impatience builds in his tone, “Doesn’t know she even has it. I’ll have to take it from her—she won’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“What if I take it from her?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Right now, I’d do a lot to end this.”

Roderick punches the bricks to the side of my left ear. The collision makes my sight shake again.

He grumbles in my ear, “Less you know about this, the better—you remember that. Now tell me where she is.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not, Simon? Don’t you know what I’ll do when I find her—especially now, after your defiance? I’ll bring a new meaning to the word torture, and you’ll never be free of me after this. Ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You’d endure all that for her?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve heard the stories about my anger—things I’ve done to those who disobey me?”

I nod.

“The thing about those tales is that no one who was there has ever lived. The stories were told by those who only heard the screams from a distance—heard the wretched cries from those who knew first-hand what I can do. Nothing you’ve heard equals what I can bring. And you still defy me?”

“Yes.”

“For a girl?”

“What else?”

“They are vile, miserable meatbags, who in a single turn of our lives crumble to dust. What in any of them can make you be so foolish?”

“You live in your own dark world; you don’t see them in the day. You don’t know what they do—what they’re capable of. You judge them all based on the actions of the wildest of the bunch that you find down here—and you only see the wildest at their worst—their craziest. That’s why people come down here—for the raunchiest time of their lives. You judge people you don’t even know.”

His voice intensifies, growing like an approaching storm, “You don’t think I know what goes on inside of a human? What about the 17 years I spent chained to a brick wall in Spain? Huh? What about that little bit, Simon?”

Pause. No answer.

His voice like stones dragged across rocks continues, “My only relief from the pressing of the brick’s grooves into my back was to be taken away when one of the monks thought of a new torture for me to endure. There was no getting out of one’s chains to relieve oneself; we lived in our own filth. I killed over three dozen guards before I lost count—they didn’t care—always had another expendable soul to handle us.

“Some say only the rich were burned—the landowners. I was no rich man, but I was burned. And burned. And burned again.

“I smelled nothing but rancid surroundings and rotting flesh for 68 seasons. Hours seemed like days—days like years—years like millennia. Had no idea how long I spent in that underground terror chamber until I came out. The year 1800 passed with no notice to me in their hellish stone labyrinth.

“When the smell became too much for their own nostrils—even beneath the hoods covering their faces, they would let fire run wild through our dungeons, letting the flames decide who would be consumed and who would be spared. The fire had a taste for me as if my flesh tickled its burning tongues as they singed me. The smell of my own charred flesh was far worse than the others. It was when they marveled at how my flesh healed that they took particular interest in me.

“They found countless tortures that killed all others but would only keep me in a state of constant hell. Dislocated shoulders—shredded muscles in the rack, hanging from the ceiling by leather straps, the water torture, and little terrors made just for me. And of course the fire. Always the fire...”

His eyes flicker as he says fire, pausing before continuing, “I screamed many things into the darkness of those chambers. I could not renounce their God, but I did renounce their church. Again and again. It was my only pleasure. Screaming it at them with all my strength.

“Only a single friend and myself left at the end. He thought me to be dead when the French Army took possession of Toledo. He himself was pinned with a lowering pendulum descending upon him, rats threatening to eat his writhing body, followed by steaming walls slowly pushing him to the edge of an unholy pit. It was there that he was about to perish when the French army freed him.

“I slew my distracted guard who was trembling from the sounds of the invading army. Slipped out in the midst of the chaos. Grateful for their assistance, but I feared my treatment from the imposing army would be just as fierce if they learned what I was.”

I shudder, trying to shake the nastiness of the tale off my skin. KMFDM’s “Juke Joint Jezebel” vibrates its way through the door into the alley.

“So, young one, I know all too well the imaginings of humans and where their inquisitions will take them. How much do you think you know in your short life with them? How much have you been through to be right where I’m wrong?”

“Can’t condemn them all by what a few did to you—as terrible as it was. Can’t blame the innocent for the guilty. Just like you can’t blame me for your own actions.”

“Just you live with them long enough, young one. They’ll change your mind. Mark my words; humanity makes its own enemies—they don’t need my help.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“Well, I have two options.”

“They are?”

“One: I call Carvelli and Quint, and we tear you apart until you squeal or until you die.”

“And two?”

“I let you think about all this.”

“What?”

“I let you go—let you take in all we discussed. Think about me finding you and your girl. It’s only a matter of time—I will find you—I will find Ruby; you know it. And there will be no talking then.”

“Let me go to think about what? What do you think is gonna change?”

“Think about giving me the information I need. Think about living happily ever after with your green-eyed Ruby. Think about all of us living to see a better day, or…huh…I can show you one hell of a dark evening tonight.”

“I can’t promise you anything.”

Puts his nose an inch from mine. Less than an inch. Less than a centimeter.

His wicked smile takes me by surprise.

“That’s why I’m giving you a chance. It’s your very weakness that is saving your life right now. Your worthless earnestness is why I trust you will think it over. You will come to the conclusion that saving your love’s life—an innocent life at that—is worth turning over one far less innocent, one who won’t even be harmed—just need to take something from her—something she doesn’t even know she has or will ever miss. To me words are but the bait in the trap. The distraction that snares my prey. To you words are some kind of soul contract—a holy promise, to be treated as serious as death itself. Ridiculous. But it’s oh so useful to me now. Not promising me anything is promising me that you will be sincere—your word when it comes will be true. Make no doubt—it will be your undoing someday. But for tonight, it saves you.”

“Does it save me? Or…”

“Or what?”

“Does it save your miserable, cowardly flesh from me?”

“Carvelli and Quint,” he says as he raises his hand in the air.

The two shadows at the end of the alleyway rush toward me. I grip the two small stakes behind my back—one in each hand, pulling them out of my pants. I see the loading zone behind Carvelli and Quint—the only way out—as a heaven that I hope I can reach. Hope for Ruby’s sake that I make it. Know that I may never leave this alley. My fangs scream into the night. Rage is my only hope. That and the sharpened bits of wood in my hands.

 

 

 

 

The noises of the woods form a terrifying symphony. The crickets sound like a thousand wings beating their way out of hell, flapping through the darkness between the trees, beating closer to me with every second.

At least that’s what I envision in my mind.

The cracking of twigs is the premonition of bones snapping, making my body jump, fearfully hoping all of my parts are still unbroken and whole.

Scuttling in the brush of some animal I’ve scared sends images of Maxine pouncing on me, ripping into me with her nails.

Could swear I hear something calling my name—pleading for me to respond.

The sway of a branch in the subtle night breeze sends my imagination flying—the blur of Edgar rushing at me in the night without Simon here to save me. The two goons from the bar and the school, each grabbing at an arm and dragging me away deeper into the dark of the woods. Roderick’s eyes, filled with an evil glow, violating me with their harsh intent.

Simon. God, Simon. Where is he? Has he been gone too long? Have they got ahold of him? Should’ve made him take me. Shouldn’t have let him go alone. A lot of good Maxi is doing out here anyway. Torments me and disappears into the trees. Great protection she turned out to be—almost ripped my head off.

Still searching for her—she’s the reason I’m out here in the wild instead of hiding still and quiet in the clearing where Simon and I were staying. Don’t know why I care so much about her hurt feelings after she’s been so awful to me, but I do.

Don’t really regret any of the things I said to her. Somehow wish I could’ve said them nicer though. Guess I regret some of them. A little.

Maybe I just understand how she feels about Simon and pity that she must hurt deeply to know how wonderful he is and know he doesn’t see her the same way.

She’s probably not even here anymore. Been looking for her for hours. Could be long gone. Could also be right behind me, toying with me—letting me stumble around scared in the dark woods, waiting for the right moment to rip me to pieces.

Snapping and crash. A loud thud. Just ahead of me—maybe 50 feet or so.

Heart goes wild. Terror trembles through my veins.

Eyes strain to see anything in the darkness. Darkness there—nothing more, but something crashed in it.

Maxine—did one of the hunters looking for me grab her? I start walking in the direction of the sound, trying to be quiet and not give myself away. Must be quiet—can’t help her if they kill me before I get there.

Simon—was it Simon coming back to me, and the beasts grabbed him?

I sprint into the pitch, branches scraping at my arms and legs, dragging over my skin like demon claws trying to pull me down into hell.

None of it matters. Not until I know it’s not him. Not until I know he’s not hurt.

How far have I run? Where was the sound? So hard to tell. My breath sounds like thunder. As I look around while running at full speed, I can almost feel the air moving past my straining eyes.

Feet hit something and snag—body keeps moving forward, falling into the brush. Hands fling out to break my fall—they are first to feel the scrape of the prickly bush I’m smashing into. Tuck my head into my forearms, trying to block the harsh scratching of the branches and pointed leaves. Its tear finds my cheeks and slashes my right ear. Burn radiates through me.

Knees hit the ground. Force myself out the thorn-filled brier torture I’ve fallen into.

I spin around to see what I tripped over. I hear its breathing—deep and desperate like the sick.

Boots. Face down against the ground. Simon—my God, it’s Simon!

I crawl up the side of him as fast as I can—shove his shoulder to turn him over.

Fear still swirls in my heart—imagining Simon wounded or worse. An echoing panic hits me that I’ll roll him over not to see his handsome face but one of the nightmares in my head.

Finally lift his large shoulder off the ground and turn him over.

His face—beautiful and faded. His features more pale—eyes shut and sunken. Lips look blue—even in the moonlight.

Try to pick him up by his arm. Straining my skinny muscles. Feet struggle to grip ground. He doesn’t move. Foolish—waste of precious time.

“Help!” I shout into the darkness. “Help! Someone, please, help!”

My eyes leave his face and scan the black. No answer.

My hand holds his tightly. Motionless. Eyes hot with anger, I scream, “You can have me—you hear me, you filthy beasts! You want me—come and take me! You can have me! Just help him. Help him!”

His hand barely squeezes mine. Eyes remain shut—barely breathing.

“Shut your mouth, drama queen,” sharp voice obliterates my hope, “Death isn’t the end.”

“Ha-Wh-o’s th-ere?” comes choppily out my mouth.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?” it mocks me, high–pitched and unnatural—sounding like it comes out the tree branches above.

Glaring at the trees around me—still grasping Simon’s hand, “Help him! Help him now, or so help me—”

Thud lands behind me. The branches in the tree above me rustle as my head spins round to see what is upon me.

A nightmare in pretty makeup—fangs exposed and a smile on her face.

“Maxine! Help him—he’s dying!”

She raises her head to the treetops, laughing heartily, giving me a hideous view of the underside of her fangs.

I scream at her, “Said you loved him—help him! Help him, you sick bi—”

“Settle down, little princess. Don’t go and say nasty things like one of us beasts.”

“You—”

“He’s not dying, love.”

“What?”

“He’s just dry.”

“Dry?”

“Needs blood. Soon.”

“What-d’we-do?”

“You,” she says pointing a sharp nail at the space between my eyes, “Give me your finger.”

I offer her my hand. Grabs it in a snatch. Holds my index finger in front of her face like she’s trying to read some hidden writing on it. In a white blur, she flings her head at my finger, slicing her right fang into it.

Blood runs down my hand toward my wrist from the skinny, shallow laceration she’s made.

My panicked eyes are on her face that stares strangely at my running wound.

“Put it in his mouth.”

I look at my bleeding hand and to his still, emotionless face.

“Do it! Now!” she says, suddenly becoming frightened as she gets a better look at his face.

Drop to my knees before him. Press my lips tightly against his. Cold—sparks have left him.

Slide my clean hand over his lips, pulling them open. Place my crimson finger into his mouth.

Nothing.

Look over my shoulder to Maxine. Her hand on her heart. Face in pain.

Back to Simon. His lips become deep red.

Tears run onto my neck. Didn’t notice them till now.

His face so lifeless. So sad.

My eyes wrench shut. My breaths come choppy and weak—all I can hear. Mind empty. Chest so cold.

Then I feel it. Pressure on my finger. His cheeks taught. Eyes beginning to stir.

Pull my finger out.

His eyes barely open, smile forms, “What’s up, Bright Eyes?”

“Simon!” I squeal.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop! He’ll go out again,” demands Maxine over my shoulder.

Place my finger back in his mouth. His tongue slides over it, sending tingles up my arm and into my chest. Know the feeling is so wrong—so inappropriate, but it lingers.

Color returns to him—the little color that keeps his pale face from looking like death.

Maxine leans over me, her eyes intent on him. Death over my shoulder, life spilling from my finger before me, and I’m caught somewhere in-between.

 

 

Maxine sits off to the side, eyes closed, breeze blowing over her golden hair. I sit next to her. So late. Don’t know what time it is, but the sun must be about to break through the darkness any minute now.

I say, “Scary few minutes there.”

Looking straight ahead as if I’m not even here, she says, “Sorry—had no idea he was so far gone. Never seen anyone so dry. Never heard of a vamp dying of being dry—never even seen anybody try to hold out this long before.”

I look back to Simon, who sleeps soundly after having his fill. His color has returned, and his breathing is strong and steady.

She asks, “He never fed on you? The two nights you were together—he never fed at all?”

“No, he didn’t even try.”

Shaking her head, “Must’ve thought you were too delicate—too pristine to feed on. I wouldn’t have fed on him earlier as payment for keeping an eye on you if I knew he was that dry.”

Pause while her words sting the air around us.

“Why didn’t you let him feed off you? I mean, why give him my finger when you could’ve done it yourself?” I ask the question that’s been on my mind.

“Nothing special about it when he doesn’t want it, princess.”

She stares forward, still only acknowledging I’m here with words, not bringing herself to look at me.

I start, “90 degrees just two days ago—where is this breeze coming from?”

“Winter’s coming early this year…besides, two days ago I loved a vampire who may not have loved me—yet, but he liked me as much as any other girl. Now, he’s in love with a little princess, and I might as well be a guy as far as he’s concerned… a lot can change in two days.”

Silence. At least silence between us—the woods chime with consistent buzzing.

“Thank you for helping him, anyway.”

“Don’t thank me—it wasn’t for you. I want him alive because I still love him. Has nothing to do with you.”

“But you stayed—you didn’t run away and leave me alone out here, even when you were mad at me.”

“Don’t start thinking differently about me now, princess. Don’t know how close I was to slicing you instead of the tree.”

A gasp escapes from me.

She continues, “Besides, it was kinda fun watching you stumble through the woods looking for me,” laughs and continues, “I stayed because I promised him—had nothing to do with you.”

Pause.

“Look—I’m selfish and shallow—I know what I am. Just hard to be anything else. Never had anyone to care for—no family, no children, no real friends. Always just taken what I wanted. No one was around long enough to complain. No one’s been around long enough for me to try to be any better for them, so I’m not. Guess that’s how all of us are who haven’t found their prince charming like you…not to mention those of us who found him and can’t have him.”

“Come on now, Maxi,” I say with her looking as shocked by me calling her Maxi as if I had reached out and goosed her, “There are about three billion men in the world—you couldn’t possibly have tried them all out.”

She tries to look angry, but a smile breaks through.

I continue, “You haven’t, have you? I know you vamps are as old as dirt, but all three billion of them—really? How are you not exhausted?”

“You know for something so easy to kill, you’re awfully sassy.”

“A new thing for me—been bottled up for years.”

Her eyes are moist, “Simon does have that effect on us, doesn’t he? Bringing out things we’d never let anyone see before—making us do things we never would’ve.”

I nod, trying to look away from her sad eyes and give her emotions some privacy.

She adds, “Although, I have no idea what he sees in you—don’t think he’ll be happy with you for very long. I think maybe he’s gone blind or lost his mind or something.”

“Do you ever think anything that you don’t say, Maxi?”

“Oh…” she mutters, finally looking in my direction, “I’m thinking something right now, princess.”

She lets the ominous comment settle into me and then looks away again.

Not knowing if I’m making a tenuous friendship or setting myself up for a brutal attack, I place my hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t knock it away, but she stares straight ahead, still preferring the darkness over the sight of me.

Rustling comes from behind us, and we both jump.

Simon stumbles toward us, something glowing in his hand.

“Ruby, tell me she’s not this stupid!”

“What? What is it?” I shout to him.

He tosses the glowing object to me. Maxine’s hand reaches out and catches it. Quickly, she drops it into my hands.

It’s my phone. Words on a screen are so out of place in the darkness of the woods.

He says again, “Tell me she’s not this stupid, Ruby! I just can’t…I can’t even begin—”

“Yes, she’s this stupid, Simon. God bless her; she’s this stupid.”

The glowing words read, “Can’t take this. 2 bored. Coming back 2 NOLA. Turning off phone. U kno where 2 find me.”