by Ava Benton
It would only be a matter of time.
And not much time, either.
She must have wanted an early night, leaving the apartment at only ten o’clock. Either that, or she was planning to visit more than one location. What could she possibly get out of it?
These questions and so many more ran through my head as she walked down the stairs from the porch, brushing past me just gently enough to stir my hair, but nothing else.
I watched her walk away—head down, hands deep in the pockets of a black, sleeveless dress which hung on her like a curtain.
She didn’t want to wear anything form-fitting, the way so many girls had as they’d walked past on the street.
I’d wondered time and again why they bothered wearing anything at all. Nothing was left to the imagination.
Not with Janna.
The dress was short, but she wore stockings underneath and a pair of heavy boots which came up to her knees. Her long hair hung in a thick braid between her shoulder blades, and when she turned her head to the side to check for cars as she crossed the street, I caught sight of thick-rimmed glasses. She wore no jewelry, nothing to set her apart except for a leather satchel slung across her body. It was high-quality, unlike everything else she wore.
A gift from her adoptive parents, I guessed as I followed her at a distance.
She dashed down the stairs to the subway as easily as if she had done it a thousand times. It wasn’t always so. She’d grown up with drivers and nannies and tutors. Yes, her adoptive family was quite wealthy. Father involved in banking, mother who sat on the board of a dozen charities.
Wealthy wives did much the same in the present time as they had during my last assignment. Some things hadn’t changed.
She rode the train with her head down, not even looking from side to side. There were plugs in her ears, and I could hear music coming from them even where I sat halfway down the car.
Something loud, driving, not much like the music I remembered. It sounded angry. Was she an angry girl?
It would be just my luck to guard an angry girl with a grudge against the world. That fit in with the image the Council had given me. A lost, angry girl who only wanted something to fit into. A group, a crowd of friends, a lifestyle to identify with.
From what I saw all around me, she wasn’t the only one. Every nature and style of dress was on display, not to mention face paint of all kinds and multicolored hair.
I remembered the days when a woman didn’t show her ankles, and when pinching her cheeks to give them color was considered loose.
Janna didn’t wear that sort of paint on her face—only a thick, dark line around her eyes which served to make them look even closer to violet than Isobel’s.
That, and a deep crimson on her lips. Like she had just fed.
No, no, of course she hadn’t.
Wishful thinking, maybe, or the thirst that still ticked in the back of my mind like a clock which would never wind down. No matter whether I wound it, it went on just the same. I only had to ignore it as best I could.
It was a long trip into the city, which gave me time to observe the way she moved in the world.
I didn’t blame her for keeping to herself. I wouldn’t have drawn attention to myself if I were her, either, a pretty young woman in a sea of wolves. Which was what they were.
Did she know the things they thought about her? The way their eyes traveled over her body? The ones who watched a bit too closely as she crossed her legs, the ones who took a look at her ass as we waited for another train? Did she know about the tall, thin man who licked his lips when she bent to pick up a dropped coin?
I saw myself pulling him behind a pillar on the subway platform, breaking his neck with a single, deft move and leaving him there on the floor, leaning against it with his eyes closed.
No one would question whether he was dead or alive, as so few humans seemed to see anything which didn’t fit into what they wanted to see. They would immediately categorize him as a homeless character and look away, if they even saw him at all.
No. That fantasy wasn’t nearly satisfying. What if I pushed him in front of an oncoming train? A moment of sheer terror, of knowing his days of using women and imagining them in filthy, degrading situations were over?
No to that, as well. The innocent people on the train didn’t deserve their trip ruined, nor did the people on the platform who’d witness the fall.
I wanted to hold his heart in front of his face so he could watch it beat its last. I wanted to bathe myself in his blood and stare into his eyes as the life drained out of them. I wanted to torture him, bleed him slowly, make him beg for the pain to stop. I wanted him to know why his useless, degenerate life was coming to an end.
None of that was possible on a crowded platform.
And I could hardly end the lives of every human that ever did something or thought something animalistic, evil, dark. I would have to destroy most of the human race, unless human nature had changed considerably while I was in The Fold—which I doubted very much, based on what I was watching just while riding the subway.
The city was even more vibrant at night than it had been during the day, something which I wouldn’t have believed unless I saw it for myself.
The sidewalks were jammed, shoulder-to-shoulder in some places. Saturday night and everyone wanted a good time. The scent of a dozen types of cuisine, maybe two times that many, clogged my nostrils and made me sick to my stomach.
I wondered if humans also smelled rat feces and cockroaches the way I did. No, of course not, or there would be no restaurants at all.
I kept my eyes away from them and on her back as I followed her through the crowd. It wasn’t difficult—people seemed to make room for me without my trying. Perhaps they sensed something about me.
She didn’t.
She went on about her business as though no one was following. Was she that oblivious? Or that hell-bent on destruction?
The club was close.
So close.
I could smell those of my kind. I could feel them. And they would be able to feel me—but then, there were enough of them that my presence would fade into the larger whole. I’d keep my distance, just the same.
She walked straight into the club without hesitation.
It looked like any other business on the street—unmarked, no special signs or lights or anything which would denote its presence.
Smart. One wouldn’t want to stand out.
The human world hadn’t accepted vampires as part of its reality, and while many standards had loosened, I doubted the acceptance of our species was one of them. They still had no choice but to live and hunt at night.
When they saw her, what did they think? Fresh meat. Fresh, special meat.
They might not have known who she was for certain, since she didn’t present any powers, but they had to feel something was different.
I would’ve bet she was very popular among them. it probably went to her head. All the more reason for her to go back again and again—there were thirsts just as potent as my thirst for blood.
Like the thirst for attention. For feeling special. It was dangerous and could prove deadly.
Especially with vampires involved.
I would have to announce my presence when she left the nightclub. The time for observation was over.
4
Janna
“What’ll you have?” The bartender looked me up and down with one eyebrow cocked.
The many silver rings threaded through his brow caught the light.
I wondered if it ever hurt to have that many piercings there. I’d probably roll on my face in the middle of the night and permanently embed metal in my face.
“Vodka tonic,” I ordered with a smile. But not too bright a smile. That would make me stand out.
The general mood was one of darkness. Extreme darkness. Dark, thudding music, heavy on percussion and bass. The floors, walls, ceiling, and all furnishings were black. Lack of imagination? Possibly.
<
br /> I leaned more on the side of theming. Whoever decorated the club didn’t believe in subtlety, that was for sure. I guessed blood red would’ve been a little too obvious, even cartoonish.
It was busy, even for relatively early in the night.
I scanned the dance floor as I sipped my drink.
The usual mix of people in the usual clothing—black, tight, short, shiny in most cases. Leather, vinyl, latex. People who got off on pretending they were outside the norm. I wondered what had to happen to a person for them to develop that particular kink—acting like a vampire.
But God, the material.
There was so much beauty, cat-like grace. Men and women moving together, flowing like water as they reacted to the music. They didn’t say a word. Their bodies did the talking.
I wished I had my sketchpad with me. There was only so much my memory could recall after the fact. Besides, I’d never be good enough to recreate what I was looking at. Something would always be missing, some vital thing I couldn’t quite touch with my pencil or charcoal. I couldn’t even name it.
It was like that all over the place, people moving around each other, eyeing each other up. They reminded me of panthers in the jungle. Only where was the prey? Was that how they saw each other?
Or how they saw me?
No, that couldn’t be it. None of them even approached me. I was fine with that, since vampirism wasn’t my kink, and I wasn’t into black latex.
One-night stands might be fun, but I didn’t trust any of these people to not pass along some weird disease. The least I would get was a bite on the neck, and I didn’t love that idea, either. It was better to go alone, stay alone and go home alone. I wasn’t there to socialize.
Sometimes—not always, but sometimes—I asked myself what my mother would think if she knew what I did with my nights. I would save that revelation for the perfect moment. Sometime when it would really blow her mind. When she was being a Super Bitch, busting my balls for being an artist or for living in Brooklyn. Or for quitting a job where I felt threatened.
I’d wait until she was into her third or fourth martini and drop it on her. She’d fall over and crush one of those stupid, useless dogs of hers.
I smiled to myself and tossed back the rest of my drink before signaling for another.
It wasn’t lost on me that my drinks would come out of the money Mom had transferred to my bank account.
The vodka seemed to sour on my tongue. There I was, thinking about how much I’d like to give her a heart attack, but she was still taking care of me.
Oh, just one or two big sales, just one major commission… I could cut ties once and for all, forget the bullshit that was my life as her daughter, as Dad’s daughter, as Jimmy’s sister. And I could disappear. Somewhere they’d never find me, if they even bothered to look.
A single tear spilled over onto my cheek, and I reached up to wipe it away without thinking about the thick eyeliner I had put on before leaving the apartment.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself when the side of my hand came back smeared with black. Just like when I was working. Would my hands ever be clean?
I took my drink to the ladies’ room with me.
It was just as dark in there as it was out at the bar, on the dance floor.
I wondered how anybody was supposed to see a thing in there—I could smell that wonderful mix of piss, shit, and menstrual blood and wanted to stay away from it. No, probably not menstrual blood. After all, I was in a club with vampires.
I rolled my eyes at my reflection as I wiped under my eye with a wad of damp paper towels.
Soft moaning came from the end stall. Otherwise, I was the only person in the room. I averted my eyes to keep from looking over there in the mirror, but it was almost impossible to fight off my curiosity.
What was going on?
The sliding of hands on cloth, on skin. Heavy breathing. Sighing.
I was starting to feel a little jealous.
A single hand curled over the top of the closed door, fingers spreading and clutching at the wood. Then, a second hand which looked nothing like the first.
Both female.
Then, a third hand.
Male.
And a forth.
Female.
Jesus Christ.
I tiptoed out of the room just as the moaning reached its peak.
How the hell were so many of them in there together?
My heart was racing as I walked down the narrow hall which led to the dance floor, and if my dress had a collar, I’d be hot under it.
I hadn’t gotten any in way too long if all it took was the suggestion of sex to get me worked up.
Unless it wasn’t sex. Unless they were…
Nah. That sort of thing didn’t really happen, the whole “feeding” rumor. Just something the club’s owners had spread around to keep things dangerous and sexy for people who were into that sort of thing.
As long as they thought activities like that went on, it was enough to keep the patrons interested.
Wasn’t it?
There weren’t any seats left at the bar. The dance floor was more crowded by the second, with white and purple lights swirling around from the ceiling. A fog machine spread mist over the space and added to the dreamy feeling.
I could feel the bass vibrating through the heels of my boots, all the way up my legs.
Writhing bodies disappeared in the mist, then reappearing. Arms moving, draping over bodies, wrapping around shoulders and necks and waists. It was spellbinding.
I couldn’t take my eyes off them, even though I wanted to. I did want to. Watching them felt dirty, like I was a Peeping Tom breaking into their intimacy. Even though they were in public, all around me, rubbing their bodies together for all to see.
But it was impossible to look away. Something about the pure, raw intensity in front of me glued my eyes and set my heart racing faster than ever.
One of the men, whose bare back was to me, took his partner by her hips and pulled her close until they were grinding together. The girl, whose hair was a shade of purple that obviously came from a bottle, threw her head back and laced her fingers behind his neck. He buried his face between her breasts as their hips swayed back and forth, dipping and grinding, and one of his hands gripped her butt tight enough that I was sure it had to hurt. She didn’t seem to mind.
Her eyes opened and locked on mine, like she felt me watching and wanted me to know she did.
A chill ran up my spine.
As her partner groped and ground against her, she stared at me. His lips ran up her throat, but she never broke eye contact.
Her tongue ran across her top lip before she smiled, and her teeth shone brightly. That smile was an invitation.
And a challenge.
I backed away, into the shadows which I hoped covered me. I shouldn’t have watched. What was I thinking? What would happen if she challenged me, freaked out because I was looking at her boyfriend or whoever he was? Or thought I was watching because I was into her?
My eyes darted around the room. I had backed myself into a corner, literally, and I could see the entire dance floor and bar area where I stood. I could also see the metal staircase leading up to a second level which I had never seen.
In the dozen or so times I’d been there, I had only watched a handful of people climb those stairs. Usually, half-naked women led by men in black leather pants.
Did I ever see them come back? I searched my memory as hard as I could for those girls. I had never even seen them on any other night, either. What happened…?
I had to get out of there. What was I thinking? It wasn’t fun anymore.
I elbowed my way through the crowd.
All of a sudden, it was impossible to breathe. All I saw around me was dark eyes, bright eyes, eyes that bore holes into me as I tried to slip through and get outside where the air might have been just plain old Manhattan smog, but was cleaner than what I was struggling to breathe in just then.
&
nbsp; Why wouldn’t they let me through?
My heart was about to burst through my chest and sweat ran down my chest, between my breasts. Blood rushed in my ears and drowned out the pounding, driving music. I would never get out of there. I would die there, crushed in between all those bodies. It was like a nightmare. I would never wake up.
When I burst outside, gasping for air, it was like getting my life back again. That feeling after waking up from the worst nightmare imaginable and knowing it was all just a dream.
I was never so relieved. And, just like that feeling of knowing the fear came from something playing inside the mind and nowhere else, I questioned myself right away.
I must’ve had an anxiety attack. That was all. I had imagined all of it. I was such an idiot, freaking myself out like that.
“Janna.”
I looked up at the tall, muscular man standing in front of me. That was the only way to describe him, at least at the first glance. Somebody who lived at the gym. But not overly bulky, just really muscular.
The surprise of him dissolved when I realized he’d just called me by my first name.
“Do I know you?” My right hand slipped inside my satchel so my fingers could close around the can of mace I kept near the top.
“No. But you will.”
I blinked rapidly. My brain couldn’t make sense of what he’d just say.
“I… what?” I looked around, hoping to find help.
Why the hell did I ever leave home? Was it a full moon? Was that why there was so much insanity everywhere I went?
“I said, you will.” He looked toward the door I had just stumbled through. “What happened to you in there?”
“N—nothing. Nothing happened. What is this?” I was starting to feel more like myself and less like I was on some hidden camera reality show.
I backed away from him as I pulled out the mace—I didn’t hold it up, but kept it at my side. Just in case.
“I can tell you everything, but I need you to come with me.” He held out one impossibly large hand.
I looked down at it and laughed in disbelief.
“You think I’m going to come with you? Yeah. Right.” I turned and ran.
