.
Eyes the color and warmth of sapphires blinked open, flickered around the room in surprise. I thought I felt it . . . . The eyes took in familiar surroundings. The room was tastefully decorated, in the most sumptuous style possible. Thick burgundy velvet drapes, the color of dried blood, let in not a glimmer of light. The room was lit exclusively with candles. The furniture was old and heavy, worn with use. A crystal vase upon the mahogany desk held a single long stem rose, and refracted the candlelight into rainbows around the room. The candles did little to actually light the room; they were far too few for the room's size. That wasn't their purpose in any case.
He sat up straighter in the large wing back chair behind the desk. I could have sworn . . . I must finally be going senile. But he waited. He was good at waiting. He'd practiced it for many years. More years than he cared to remember. Perhaps even more years than he could.
When one has been a vampire for more than five centuries, one may tend to forget certain unimportant memories. And while Cameron had forgotten many things, he had not forgotten patience. He waited. And, as he knew it must, that mental twitch, that undeniable sign of presence returned, elusive, but there.
Cameron reflected for a moment. While satisfying their hunger, vampires tend to give off a mental signal, because at that moment in time, as when humans are near death, their minds are completely unshielded, their thoughts open to all who may be able to sense them. Very old, very powerful vampires gradually acquire the ability to sense these thoughts, approaching their fourth century of undeath. He had had plenty of time to perfect his control. He was even able to recognize particular vampires by the way their thoughts ran while feeding. Miriah, he considered for a moment, let slip thoughts of triumph, and glory in death. Of course, he knew that wasn't the name she was born with, just as he knew Cameron Sang wasn't his given name. He just couldn't remember his other one at the moment. Mikhail he recognized by the lingering thoughts of remorse and occasionally self-hate.
He ran through the list of the few vampires that he knew were in and around Crixton. None of them even came close to this newcomer to town, except perhaps Mikhail. Cameron sensed the same loathing, as well as the immense hunger. This one has been denied blood for many days, he thought. Mikhail did that from time to time. He was about to dismiss it as Mikhail in a new phase, when he got another impression, one that rocked him to his core for just a moment.
It was a female! And she was only days old as a vampire!
Someone had created progeny without asking him. White hot rage boiled up inside him. There were perhaps 10 vampires in the entire country, himself included. All of them knew to ask the Eldest to create a Childe. This dated back to the time of the beginning, long since lost to memory, as did many vampiric traditions. But this tradition was almost inviolable. Thou shalt never create a Childe unless the Eldest among thee sayeth thou may. The flowing ancient script was engraved upon his brain. Before they were destroyed by a careless fire, he had seen the original Rules, written down by the first vampires, whoever they were, however they came about. He was newly introduced to the world of Night, and was with his creator, who was the Eldest, the most ancient vampire known, at that time.
But that was half a millennium ago, and seemed even longer. Now Cameron was Eldest, and this unauthorized Childe had appeared. Something was going to be done about it. He favored stakes at sunrise for both Childe and Ancestor. Unfortunately, there would be no bodies to display afterward, but eventually, the world of undead would hear of his penalty, and he could expand his power.
There was an intercom on the old desk, looking very much out of place next to the fountain pen and other aged trinkets. He buzzed for the secretary. There should be one in the outer room even at this late hour. He paid them well enough so that no one minded working odd shifts for him. One didn't enter immediately, so he buzzed again, impatience and anger bubbling up within him.
Within instants of the second signal, his secretary entered the room, carrying a steno pad and pencil. Cameron barked at him, "Find McDonell and bring him here!" The cowering secretary backed out of the room. If he listened, Cameron knew he'd be able to hear him running down the hall. This amused him.
Trenton McDonell was Cameron's most trusted associate. He was the only one who knew what Cameron was, and he wasn't a vampire. He had hopes of becoming one some century, but right now, Trenton was just a pawn. A pawn with guns, knives and street sense to back him up, that is.
Before Trenton entered the room, however, Cameron had an attack of morals that he thought he'd gotten rid of a double dozen decades ago. He remembered the new vampire's twitch; the hunger, the hate of this new life, and . . . the fear. She was afraid.
McDonell knocked and entered the room. He saw Cameron as a shadow within a shadow, in a dimness the candles didn't hinder. He wondered why the old man had called for him at this early hour of the morning. His wondering was soon answered, as if the other had known what he was thinking.
"Trenton . . . ." A voice like the ocean depths, dark and cold, spoke from the shadows. "There is a new vampire in Crixton. I would very much appreciate it if you would . . . keep an eye on her." The voice seemed to change as it spoke the last few words, as if that wasn't what he really meant to say.
Trenton bowed, confused, and replied, "Of course. Whatever you say, sir." Hearing no further order, nor a hint where she might be found, he left to begin his search.
That girl is simply stunning, Janis Roberts mused. But she would never even think about it. Look how she's latched onto that guy's arm . . . . Now, that one over there, by the bar, she looks willing, but I don't know . . . would she chicken out if I cruised her? . . . Oh, hell, why do I do this? I'd be better off in a "specialist" bar, she thought angrily.
She downed her whiskey in one gulp, and pushed through the dance floor to the bar again. She ordered another drink, paid and turned around so she could appraise any new arrivals that seemed likely. She sipped it, and watched people over the rim of her glass, half listening to the beat of the music, and half to the beat of the rain outside.
Her thought rang over and over in her head, better off in a specialist bar . . . . So, why don't you find one and go to it? part of her mind asked. I'm sure there are a few in a city this size. And they would probably be in a better section of town than this dive.
But, I don't want anyone to know about my . . . tendencies! And I don't want to lose my job, either. My boss would have a fit if she found out I was a lesbian. She'd think that I was trying to hit on her to get a raise or some other weird thing. I don't even like her! She's just not my type. But I'd lose my job just as quick if I said that, too. People like to think that everyone wants them, even if it's just not true.
Janis sighed, and decided that there were no prospects for her here. Well, I guess it's just back to the old drawing board, and try again tomorrow night. What is the matter with me? Am I just ugly or what?
She knew that wasn't true; the mirror told her so every morning. Her only drawback was a slight scar on her chin from falling on a piece of glass as a child. Her hair was long, black and wavy. Her eyes were a simple brown, but widely set, and framed by long lashes. Her nose was small and a bit pointed, and her lips were red, even without lipstick. Her features blended together into what her last lover had called "classic beauty." She was slim, not extremely tall, with a firm bust most men slobbered over. She wore styles that emphasized her slenderness and bosom. Her mind continued, add to this mixture a sharp, intelligent mind, and a reporting job most women would envy, and somebody tell me why can't I get a girlfriend?
She was just about to call it a night, when the bar door opened again. She looked up, and saw the woman who had just come in. Oh . . . my God. Oh. . . wow. She is . . . beautiful.
Well, maybe not now, another part of her head replied, but she could be when she dries off. Who is she? I've never seen her here before. The woman looked around nervously, and shook out her hair. Water droplets sprayed everywhere in the entryway. She unbuttoned her coat, but didn't take it off, and her eyes flickered around the bar's interior like she was looking for someone.
Janis couldn't take her eyes off the woman. Her hair, drenched from the rain, curled into ringlets around her face, and fell in hanks to just below her shoulders. It looked even darker than it was because of the damp. Her eyes were hidden by distance and fairly long lashes, but as she glanced around, they appeared almost yellow in the dim light. She was tall, very tall, but very slim too, as if she had to force herself to eat. Her skin was pale and somewhat drawn over her high cheekbones. The black she wore only made her appear more ashen. Her lips were the only lively part of her face; they were quite red, as if she had been chewing upon them in worry. Each gesture she made as she crossed to the bar was deliberate, as if she were afraid of moving too much.
Janis watched her openly as she ordered a drink. The bartender looked at the woman for an instant, and opened his mouth as if to request identification. She simply stared at him, her golden eyes impassive. The bartender grunted and pivoted on his heel to fetch her drink. She dug out a bill and paid for it, then turned, and saw Janis staring straight at her.
At that moment, Janis wished she could melt into the floor, her embarrassment was so great. She glanced away, then back again quickly. The amber eyes were now staring at her. Then they flickered away, and the woman moved to an empty table against the far wall.
Janis followed her with her eyes. Oh, what the hell, she thought. You haven't got much to lose. And she must at least suspect you're a Lesbo. You were only not quite drooling over her. She shrugged, and, picking up her drink, followed the woman.
Xanna felt very self conscious. She fiddled with her drink, but something told her not to take a sip. She was lost in her thoughts, but looked like she was watching the bar. I can't believe the guy didn't ask for my driver's license, she thought. I don't look much over 18, even though I am . . . was . . . almost 20. All I had to do was look at him, and he didn't. I wonder if part of it was that I was thinking, You don't want to ask for my ID. I'm over 21. Well, it worked for Ben Kenobi in Star Wars. I guess it worked for me too.
Why was that woman staring at me? Do I look that much like a vampire? I wonder, does she suspect? Oh, no, she must, she's coming over here!
Janis stood next to the woman for a moment, then asked in a husky voice, "Do you mind if I join you?" She hoped the woman wouldn't refuse, because there were several empty tables nearby. Her heart was pounding with excitement and dread in her breast.
Xanna felt a sharp thrill of fear, thinking, Oh, no, she's going to kill me dead. Then she realized that the woman was smiling, and didn't look very threatening. Xanna couldn't see any overt implements of destruction, and the woman wouldn't have been able to hide them inside her short dress, because it was hugging her curves firmly. So she shrugged, and said, "Sure, if you want to."
Relieved, Janis sat down across from her, with her back to the bar. She wasn't quite sure how she wanted to begin, and the woman didn't seem to be in a talkative mood. So there was silence for a few moments, before Janis finally got up the courage to say, "So, is this your first time here?"
Xanna contemplated an instant before making her reply, not knowing the other woman's intent behind the question. It could be just simple curiosity, her mind warned her, but it could also be harmful for you to answer her. "Yes," she said. "This is my first time here. It was raining so hard out, I just needed to find a place to get dry." She stopped, afraid she had said too much.
"What were you doing out in this downpour?" Janis asked. "Were you lost?" She wanted desperately to know more about this woman, and saw surface questions as her only route.
Again, many thoughts ran through Xanna's head before she made her response. "No. It wasn't raining when I started. I was just out walking. It started to sprinkle, but it didn't bother me, so I just kept on. Then, it really started to rain, and I was quite a ways from home. So I decided to find a place to dry out for a while." She looked away, out over the slowly dwindling populace of the bar. Why wouldn't this woman go away, and just leave me alone? Drat you, Ma, for teaching me to be polite! She tilted the drink in her hands, then swirled it around. And I am so hungry . . . . Maybe I should lead this woman on, and . . . drink from her later. I think she's a Lesbian, but I'm not sure. I wonder if that would make a difference? I tried drinking from a woman last week, but couldn't. Maybe it's only opposite sex?
Janis was a little upset that things weren't going better between her and this fascinating and quiet woman. She scrutinized her as she observed the bar. Why won't she ask me any questions? Isn't she interested in me? Depressed, she was about to excuse herself and make a quick getaway, when suddenly, the woman turned and smiled at her. The smile made her features even more beautiful. Janis was completely smitten, and forgot all about leaving.
"I'm sorry. I'm not being very polite, am I? My name is Roxanna." She held out her hand.
"Hi. I'm Janis Roberts." Janis took her hand, and shook it. "I'm a journalist for the Crixton Evening News and do investigative reporting sometimes for the Boston Globe." After she had said it, she winced. God, do I sound pompous! What a stuck up thing to say!
"Wow. That's . . . quite a job," Xanna replied, a little awed. Well, she thought, maybe I shouldn't try to hunt her . . . . Somebody might miss her. Well . . . I don't have to suck her dry . . . God! I hate this life! I wish I could just get rid of that part of me that says I must survive, and just go out into the sunlight some fine morning, and get it over with.
But she hid her thoughts well from her companion, and smiled politely. "I'm afraid I don't have anything like that. I work an odd shift; 9 to 5."
Janis frowned slightly, confused. "9 to 5? But that's what most people work, isn't it?"
Xanna smiled without showing her teeth. "No, no, I mean very odd. 9 in the evening to 5 in the morning."
"You're right, that is odd." Janis replied. "Isn't it strange? I mean, what do you do?"
"Oh, it's not a lot, really. And I don't mind it much. After all, a job is a job. And you've got to have a place to sleep and all . . . ."
Janis smiled. "Right." She rested her hand on the table, fairly close to where Xanna's lay, but not touching.
They talked until almost last call. Rather, Janis talked quite a bit about her job and prospects and how she liked it, and former boyfriends, skirting the fact that she was a lesbian. Xanna said almost nothing, and listened very carefully to what Janis told her about her life in Crixton and elsewhere. Janis was only vaguely aware that Xanna was doing little more than asking questions. Her hand crept closer and closer to Xanna's where they lay on the table, until if she stretched out one finger, she could lightly stroke the back of Xanna's hand. She finally took an internal deep breath, gathered up all her courage and did so. Xanna didn't appear to notice. Janis smiled triumphantly. It worked. It was a first step towards . . . other things.
But then the bartender started bellowing last call, and Xanna stood up to go. Janis rose so quickly she almost overturned her chair. She caught it just in time, and turned to Xanna. She put out her hand toward the woman with the golden eyes, and said, "Will . . . will you be here tomorrow night?" Oh, wonderful, she thought sarcastically, wanting to hit herself in the head . . . hard. Sound as desperate as you are. That's always a winning tactic.
But Xanna appeared thoughtful. "No, I can't. I have to work. But I will come back the next night I have off. It may not be for a while. Then again, it could be the day after tomorrow. I'll show up again soon, though." She smiled shyly at the reporter. "I had a good time talking tonight. I'd like to do it again . . . if you don't mind."
Janis smiled back. "Yes. I'd like that, too." Xanna nodded, pulled on her coat, and headed out into the night.
If I don't mind! Janis thought, smiling so widely it felt like it would break her face. Of course I don't mind. I would love to spend more time with you. I think you're just about the best thing I've seen in a long time! Quickly she put on her coat, and left the bar, surprised to find the rain had stopped during the course of the evening.
" . . . doesn't seem to know much about the ways of vampires, except that she must feed, and stay out of sunlight." Trenton McDonell's voice droned from the tape recorder. Cameron was replaying the reports of his weeks of surveillance on the new vampire. He had played them almost a dozen times so far. She had been a vampire for over a month now, and he knew almost as much about her now as she did herself. Which wasn't very much, he thought, considering her actions. "She drained the first human she fed upon here in Crixton; I found him in an alley near the College, and disposed of the body. She had been denied for some time, as you had guessed . . . .
"Today, I finally discovered her name. She has been searching for a job, as I earlier reported. She was hired today for a shift that runs from 9 at night to 5 in the morning. I was able to get a look at her application by following her in, and sneaking a glance at it after she turned it in . . . Roxanna DeCourt . . . . She had been living in the cellar of the college auditorium, as I told you. This evening, she managed to find an apartment. Very early this morning, I heard the sound of hammering. I see she has boarded up the windows . . . . Since that first night, she has found that . . . animals . . . will provide her with those elements essential to her life for a short time . . . .
". . . . She killed her second human tonight. It has been approximately two weeks since her first. She was both angry and sad. I got the feeling she didn't want to do it, and yet knew she had to in order to survive . . . ." Cameron clicked off the tape, and examined the few pictures that McDonell had managed to procure. The glare of the street lamps made her hair look blond, but the description McDonell gave on tape matched the picture. She was rather pretty, he supposed, in a waif-like kind of way. He picked up another photograph, this one from just the night before, during the downpour. Her hair was wet and bedraggled, hanging in clumps around her face, and she was soaked to the bone. She looks altogether pitiful, Cameron thought, examining the photo. After a moment, he laid it down on his desk.
Well, now, what am I going to do about her? he wondered. She's been here for the entire month she's lived as a vampire. I should have called her up to at least talk to her, if not find out who her Ancestor is and then stake the both of them. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the skin like parchment, and realizing that he himself hadn't fed in quite a while. I must be getting senile and forgetful in my old age. He smiled humorlessly to himself, and unfolded his lean frame from the leather wing back chair behind the desk. My dear Roxanna . . . as charming as you are, I must leave for a bit. I'll return soon enough, don't worry.
He was still smiling as he left the room.
Janis stared across the table at Xanna, completely enthralled by her. She drank in the other woman's features, the pale skin, the exquisite golden eyes, her long, wavy hair, that glinted in the light. This was the second time that Xanna had the evening off and met Janis in the bar by "appointment". The last time they met, Janis asked Xanna for her phone number. "I don't have a phone yet," Xanna replied shyly, looking at her drink, but not sipping. "I haven't been able to find the time to ask the phone company to hook me up."
That hadn't disheartened Janis a bit. "Well, here's my number," she said, scribbling it on a scrap of paper, and handing it to Xanna. "You can call me collect if you need to, I don't mind."
"Thanks." Xanna took the paper and folded it carefully into her jacket pocket. After that, they had talked of many things. And again, Janis noticed, but didn't really care that she, not Xanna had been doing most of the talking.
This time, however, she managed to prod Xanna into talking about herself a bit more. "I'm 23 years old," Xanna said in response to her question, and the open invitation to say more about herself. "I finished college last year, but am having a little problem finding a job in my major."
"Which was?" Janis asked leadingly, when it seemed Xanna was about to stop.
"Biology. Yes, I know, there are a lot of biology and biotechnology companies here about. I just haven't had much luck in applying to them. I've got a pretty good job, and I'm paying off my loans a little at a time, so I can't complain. I could have been like some of my friends, and failed out, and be working at a fast food restaurant somewhere." She laughed, and again, Janis was mesmerized.
"So, now what do you plan to do?"
"Well," she said, looking down into her glass again, "I guess I'll just keep trying. They've got to let me in sooner or later, don't they? And then, after I've got a good job, I'll see about going home again." She set her glass upon the table and stared at her hands.
"Why? What's wrong at home? Are your parents disappointed in you?" Janis reached out her hand to touch Xanna's, but Xanna pulled back.
"No. Well, my mom. Maybe. Probably."
"What about your father?" Sympathy filled her for this girl, for suddenly, she looked very childlike and forlorn.
She snorted, a most unladylike sound. "My dad died of cancer when I was 13. I don't think he's disappointed," and Janis was surprised to hear no sarcasm in her voice, only simple sincerity, "but I wouldn't take bets as to my mom."
"Why not? Does your mother not like you at all? Well, some mothers are like that. They get really jealous of their daughters when they grow up. I know mine did. She was probably a real bitch to you," Janis said, getting carried away, and about to launch into a tirade about evil mothers.
"Don't you speak that way about my mother!" Xanna said instantly, in a harsh voice. She glared at Janis, and clenched her fist on the table almost threateningly. Janis stared at her, shocked at this unexpected anger and defense of her mother. It had seemed to her that Xanna's female parent hadn't been all that nice, but evidently she was wrong.
"I'm sorry, Xanna," she babbled, wanting the evening to resume its pleasantness. "I'm really sorry. I guess my mouth got ahead of my brain again. It happens all the time." She was relieved to hear Xanna say, "It's all right," and see her visibly relax, and her eyes return to their normal stunning color.
Return to normal? She realized what she had just seen, and replayed it in her head with a reporter's excellent memory. Return to their normal stunning color. She rewound her memory a little further, and realized why she had thought that.
For a bare flash of time, she had seen Xanna's eyes glow red.
And she had completely shot the entire night with her single imprudent comment. Shortly thereafter, Xanna stood and gathered up her coat, saying, "I'm sorry, Janis. I have to go now." She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Janis rose so quickly, she bumped her knees on the table and it wobbled crazily before she managed to right it. "I'm sorry, Xanna, I truly am. I didn't mean to say what I said."
"It's not that. But I do have other things I have to do." The tone of her voice, however, told Janis that this was a lie.
"Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?" She realized she was pleading, but didn't care. Yes, she thought, I am desperate. But she's the most beautiful, wonderful thing I've ever come in contact with . . . and I don't want to lose my shot with her . . . .
But Xanna turned back to face her again, and appeared to be contemplating the idea. "All right. But not tonight." Her face was firmly set. There would be no arguing with her, Janis knew.
"Fine. It's probably best that we forget what was said. But . . . would you mind if I walked home with you?" She spoke in a rush, afraid that if she thought about it, she would choke on the words.
Xanna nodded, said nothing, and gratefully, Janis pulled on her coat. She was wearing what she considered the nicest outfit in her closet, in the hopes that it would stir something in Xanna. The summer night was a little chilly for July, and her outfit didn't cover very well. They left the bar, and started towards Xanna's apartment. Neither spoke as they walked along, and it was in silence that they reached the apartment building. Under the porch light, Xanna opened the door, then turned around to face Janis, her eyes round and innocent.
Compelled by those eyes, Janis took the step that separated them, and slowly, slowly, raised her hands so they lightly caressed Xanna's face. Her eyes drifted shut, as Janis reached up the few inches she needed to seal her lips to Xanna's. The kiss was delicate, soft and quick, but it rocked Janis to her soul. Then, before she knew it had happened, Xanna was whispering, "Good night," and fleeing up the stairs, leaving her lost and longing.
And wondering, now that she was gone, Did I really see her eyes glow red?
When Xanna woke at sundown the next day, she was shaking uncontrollably. Well, she thought, despairingly, I guess it's that time again. God, I wish that self-preservation part of me would just go away, and let me just die. It would be so much simpler, for me and for the world. And damn you, Mike, for doing this to me she thought bitterly. I don't think I could hate you any more than I do right now. She sighed. Of course, I said that last time, too. Luckily I have tonight off, too. And Janis, after last night, I guess tonight is your night.
She dressed all in black, as she did every night she was forced to hunt humans. She wished she could do something about her hair, it was far too bright for her taste, but whenever she tried to dye it black, the dye would just not take. It would trickle down onto her clothes, or wash out in the shower almost immediately. A hat, she felt, would be too conspicuous, and besides, she looked absolutely silly in hats of any kind. So she just hoped no one would notice it, and made her way out of the apartment. The boarded windows let in no light, but her eyes were keen in the dark by now.
She did not feel eyes watching her, although she should have, for there were two sets intently staring at her as she left.
Trenton marked down the time that she left. He was still watching her after this month and a week. The old man had not yet seen fit to tell him to stop, and bring the girl to him for "questioning". Well, he thought, shrugging his shoulders, I'm just a peon, I don't think for myself. When he tells me to stop, I'll stop, but not until then. He gathered up his binoculars and other accoutrements, and counting silently to twenty, started to follow her.
The other set of eyes watched until Xanna was well out of sight, and then turned their attention to getting into the apartment building. Janis stepped out of the shadows, and walked up to the front door. Examining the mailboxes on the porch, she discovered which apartment Xanna was renting. She tested the doorknob, just in case. But few indeed were the times that it had been so simple for her to get in, and this was not one of those times. Oh, well, she thought, rummaging in her purse, it's lucky I have these then. She pulled out a set of small thin tools with fine points. After an instant of reflection, Janis selected one, and inserted it in the lock. She jiggled it for a moment, then heard a click, and pushed the door open. She was careful to retrieve her lock pick from the door before it closed behind her.
Now, it was just a quick trip up the stairs and to the left, and there she was, at Xanna's door. Janis giggled to herself at her cleverness. Well, a reporter must have talents besides writing, and lock-picking should be at the top of the list for other required skills. It can be so useful sometimes, she thought, smiling broadly. It had often gotten her where she wanted to go, and even once, gotten her a much needed interview. She rapped politely upon the door to Xanna's rooms, neither expecting or getting a reply. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, whatever shall I do?" Janis asked herself sarcastically. "However shall I get in?" But she was already pulling out her tools again, and within a minute, the apartment door was open.
She entered the apartment, closing the door behind her. It was completely dark. She fumbled around for the light switch. When the lights came up, she was unsurprised to find the windows completely boarded up; she had seen as much from outside. She started poking around the apartment, which was surprisingly clean, as if the owner hadn't the time or the inclination to clutter the place up. The living room was sparsely furnished. There was a chair and a sofa, a coffee table in front of the sofa, and against the back wall, the television. There was a throw rug on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa; otherwise, the floor was bare. The furniture was rather old and shabby looking, as if it had lived through many tenants.
The kitchen was separated from the living room by a counter. There were a few envelopes on the countertop, a few bills, not much else. Janis passed over that, and entered the bedroom. This, this was what she came here to find, and explore. The bedroom of the woman with whom she had quickly become obsessed was her goal. She stood in the doorway for an instant, revelling in a feeling of triumph, before flicking on the bedroom light.
But did I really see her eyes glow red last night? She shoved that thought out of her mind.
The bedroom was tidy, and almost empty. The double bed was neatly made, covered with a cheery pink and white flowered bedspread. The bureau didn't overflow with clothes, but it wasn't void of them either, when she pulled open the drawers. The headboard of the bed was a bookcase, and there were a few books stored there. Janis flipped through them idly, and then luxuriated on the bed for a moment. This was where she slept and dreamed . . . .
She gave only a cursory glance to the small bathroom, and saw the toothpaste and toothbrush on the counter next to the sink. There was a towel slung over the shower bar to dry; it had been recently used.
As she passed out through the kitchen and living room again, hurrying in case Xanna was leaving to meet her at the bar, something compelled her to slow down, and study the countertop again. She scrutinized it for more than a minute, and was about to dismiss the thought, when it hit her.
There were no dishes in the strainer next to the sink, nor were there any piled in the sink waiting to be washed. Well, she thought doubtfully, she could have washed them as soon as she was done with them and put them away. But when she went over to the sink, it was completely dry. She pulled open a cabinet. There were a few very dusty glasses, but no plates. She opened other cupboard doors. Empty. All of the cabinets and drawers were empty, as was the unplugged refrigerator.
She sat down for a moment. This was truly strange. A kid just out of college, as Xanna claimed to be, didn't have the money to eat out every night. There would be some soup, easy to fix meals, bread and cereal, milk in the goddamn fridge, something. But there was nothing. What could this mean?
And those eyes, glowing red in anger . . . .
Janis left very quickly, not remembering to lock the door behind her.
Xanna was a little disappointed that Janis wasn't in the bar. She's usually here waiting for me, she thought. Oh, well. Maybe she had to work late tonight. She looked over the bar once again, and then shrugged and left. Well, I guess you've got a reprieve, Janis. Next time will be your night. And she smiled in the darkness, elongated canine teeth glittering under the street lamp.
She stood out in front of the bar for a minute, deliberating. Then she spied a street walker, dressed in a tattered overcoat, tottering down the avenue. Discretely, she followed, waiting, waiting for him to stumble into a deserted alley. It was still far too early for the streets to be empty, and the weather was too fine. But her Hunger was overpowering her, making her a little reckless.
Finally, as if hearing her thoughts, the bum staggered into a small, dark passage between two apartment buildings with bars on the windows. No lights were on in the rooms overlooking the alley, and Xanna sighed in relief. Her pace quickened as the derelict's blundering became even worse. He was clearly in sad shape, probably not drunk, just tired from hunger. It doesn't matter, that part of her mind whispered. Blood is blood. She was right behind him. She felt strength flow through her as she reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. She always felt this way before drinking human blood; fierce, powerful, dangerous. He struggled violently, but her hands and arms were stronger. She subdued him without trouble. "Don't worry," she murmured into his ear, hearing his thudding heart, smelling his blood. His struggles stopped. "It won't hurt after the first instant . . . ." That's what I have to believe, she thought. I can't think otherwise. She dipped her head to his neck, exposed by the way she tilted his head.
Janis burst into the bar in a flurry of excitement. She looked around wildly, and, not seeing Xanna, sighed in aggravation. Then she remembered that Xanna had left a good half an hour before she had. She could have been here and gone already, even though Janis had raced her car all the way here. She pushed her way to the bar, and shouted over the din, "Hey, Marty! Was Xanna here?" forgetting for the moment that the bartender didn't know Xanna's name.
Marty smiled at the question. "You mean your new little girlfriend?" he countered in a nasty tone. Janis sighed and nodded in exasperation. "Yeah, she was here. She looked around, and just left, 'cause you weren't here, I guess." He returned to polishing glasses behind the bar, and paid her no further attention.
She rushed out of the bar, out under the street lamps. Stopping for a moment to be sure her camera was in her purse, she took a deep breath to quiet her pounding heart. Oh, my God. This is so serious. What have I done? What have I found out? Eyes glowing red in anger . . . .
She started walking back toward her car. Suddenly she stopped. She was in front of a dark, rubbish strewn alley. There was some sort of commotion going on in the alley. She heard a garbage can knocked over, and dismissed it as just a dog fight. Then she realized that she hadn't heard any yelping or howling. It was a remarkably quiet combat.
Unless it weren't a dog fight.
Interest piqued, she started picking her way through the trash. She stopped when she saw the two figures struggling in the shadows, and hunkered down behind a garbage can. If they would only swing into that shaft of moonlight, so I could see them . . . . She readied her camera, just in case she was watching a murder.
They did. The victor, holding both the tattered man's hands, was a woman. Her other arm was crooked about the man's neck, and had it tilted at an odd angle. The woman bent down to whisper something into the man's ear, and Janis saw his eyes roll in terror. Then her head dipped down even further, and she latched onto the man's neck with her mouth.
Blood flowed freely from the man's neck. Janis tried to choke back a scream, but failed. The woman's head snapped up, and the drained body fell from her arms to the ground. She searched the shadows, and stepped further into the moonlight. Janis screamed again, clutching her camera. It popped and flashed.
It was Xanna. Her eyes were glowing red, her mouth dripping with blood, and fangs entirely visible in the moonlight.
"Oh, my God!" Janis shrieked, backing off. "Oh, my God! You're a vampire!" She stumbled over an overturned trash can, whirled, and bolted away towards the street.
Xanna took a step to follow her, then stopped. She looked up into the face of the moon, and howled in despair. She was no longer safe.
She had been found out.
On to Chapter 6.
Back to the Writing Page.
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