by CD Brown
“You wouldn’t have. Neither would they. We tried to do something like this, but when you stop killing, you still need fresh blood.” Sophia looked to the front room. “Can I get on the computer?”
After hitting Google for a few minutes, Sophia walked back into the conference room. “We’re going on a field trip. Who’s got a car?” All five raised their hands. “Right, L.A. Come on, let’s go.”
Piled into two cars, the six of them drove south down Silver Lake Boulevard to where it meets Virgil and Temple. Sophia held up her phone, but even with GPS these new streets confused her. She handed the phone to Jeremiah, the thistle-haired kid, who directed Sandy, the driver, to head south on Virgil.
“Are we going to the chicken place?” Jeremiah’s giggle was goofy and dressed in a farm boy’s flannel. “I’ve been wanting to go there.”
“How did you know?” But as they made the left, Sophia could see the giant plastic chicken on top of the squat brick building. “At least they made it easy for us.”
No parking was open in front of the store, but two spots were free just across the street. But a rolling gate, covered in green mesh to keep whatever was behind it hidden, was locked, closing time long passed. Sophia looked around, seeing only an obese homeless man and his trash castle taking up a front door alcove forty feet away.
“Give me a boost, Jeremiah.” He seemed the only one in this crowd with enough strength to help her over the fence. He joined his hands and bent over. Sophia stepped up and, with some extra oomph from the kid, sprang over the fence. She could see shadowy faces pressing against the mesh. “I’m okay. Believe me, in a few minutes you’ll all want to do the same thing.”
The entrance to the store was toward the back. The gate closed off a parking lot, but one that could only hold one vehicle at a time. She tested the door. Locked.
She was completely hidden from the street, so she took a few steps back then kicked just to the right of the knob. The metal plate bent, but the door didn’t give. One more kick popped the lock.
The chicken smell stabbed her nostrils as she went inside. It didn’t look like the birds were wallowing in their own filth, but Sophia found it hard to weather the stench, especially since her senses were honed finer than a normal human. She put her hand over her nose and mouth, then walked over to the stacked cages. The birds clucked, some screaming a gobble at her approach, but they all looked healthy. She pulled the metal pin from a chest-high cage then eased the bird out. The chicken’s head bobbing but not fighting, Sophia held the bird in her arms as if she’d been doing this her whole life, even though it had been over 100 years since the last time. Guess farm skills never go away.
Getting back over the fence proved a tougher task than her initial jump. Holding the chicken at her side, she slid and stacked discarded milk crates next to the gate. After building a boost three crates high, she stepped up and dangled the bird over the gate.
“Somebody take this.” She soon realized that all but Jeremiah were repulsed by the bird, but the kid stepped up and grabbed it without the chicken trying to get away. In one quick motion, she leaped over the fence, back to her charges.
“What exactly are we doing here?” Sandy who looked sharp in a pencil-thin black dress that stretched to mid-thigh and six-inch cow-skin heels stood sidelong to Sophia as if she was ready to run away.
“If you’re going to do this, I mean really do this, you have to have fresh blood. Look at all of you. This isn’t what you want, is it?” The defeated shrugs answered her question. “The Boss knew we had to give up killing, but I’m the one who added the feasting component. This will be good. A learning experience.”
She stroked the chicken’s head while Jeremiah held it. In her left hand, she softly pinched the beak, while she slowly worked her right hand down the neck. In a flash that even the chicken didn’t expect, she pulled the bird from the kid’s grip and whipped it. After an audible crack, it fell limp. The well-dressed of the group gasped, but Jeremiah nodded in admiration.
“Good form.”
“Thanks. We have to move quickly.” Her fingernails elongating into spikes, she slit the chicken’s throat. She kept the spray from gushing out, but then realized how well-dressed everyone was. Drinking directly from the neck would ruin their clothes. “Anybody got a cup?”
“I think I have a Starbucks travel mug in the car.” Sandy clacked to the other side of the street, returning with a silver container.
Sophia filled the cup, doing her best not to get any of the blood on herself. A couple of spots dripped onto the cuffs of her boot-cut jeans, but she’d be able to wash that out.
“Everyone, drink.” When the group didn’t look enthusiastic, she let her temper flow over. “It’s for your own damn good. Just do it.”
Sandy went first. She pinched her nose as she sipped, but the color rose in her face fast. She licked her lips as she passed the mug along. Sophia nodded at her.
“Quickly, what do you taste?”
Sandy smacked her lips. “There’s some grassy taste. Lots of corn.” She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “Um, damn. I just feel too good to think right now.”
“For sure.” Sophia refilled the mug and the vampires drained four cups before the chicken was finally dry. Sophia saw Jeremiah didn’t take a drink. “You didn’t get any?”
“Naw, I’m good.”
Sophia threw the drained carcass over the fence, mostly to keep away wild dogs or other strays. They might bring the cops. Her group looked energized, all of the pallor gone, replaced with energetic enthusiasm. She drew them into a circle. Again, Jeremiah didn’t join in. His distance bugged her, but she didn’t want to dictate anyone’s life.
“Now that we’re brimming, we can do the convergence.” Sophia stopped to make eye contact with each of them. “Join hands. Feel the sound within your body, then let it flow out. As it joins the others’ flow, use your energy to push it all together. When the feeling is right, our minds will be as one.”
Sophia hummed, encouraging the others to match her note. When they found the shared frequency, Sophia raised the volume, the rest of the group keeping in synch with her. Soon, their bodies vibrated and, as the sound crescendoed, a wave of energy flowed out of the circle until the note hit its peak. The sound echoed throughout the street as the vampires’ clothes twitched with the waves of noise.
“What the fuck was that?” The homeless guy turned his red-rimmed eyes toward them, but the laughter and release from the convergence overpowered their senses.
Sophia had to wipe tears from her eyes, as she hadn’t done one since Chip was destroyed. She knew she would have to move on, but moments like these made her miss him the most, the connection thrumming through their bones the best a vamp could do for emotional intimacy, a catharsis missing from life without a heartbeat. But she knew they couldn’t linger out here in the open.
“Let’s get back to the center,” she said, and they all got back in the cars.
Chapter Two
When they got back to the office, it was only midnight, but most of the group wanted to get going. Sandy had to drive all the way back to Irvine in Orange County, while the others wanted to meet up with other vamps, so they could try and get them to come to meetings.
Steve, who dressed in the fanciest white oxford shirt and jeans that Sophia had ever seen, grabbed her elbow as the vamps scattered. “I’m so glad you came. I’m not sure I could’ve kept going.”
“One day at a time, man.”
“I know, right?” He shot finger guns at her, then slipped into his Prius, gunning its motor away from the center.
“He’s a douche, but you get used to him.” Jeremiah stood a few feet behind Sophia, leaning against the wall. She turned to face him.
“I thought you’d be in a hurry to get away from here.”
“I think we might be in the middle of a misunderstanding. Take a walk?”
“Sure.”
They went half a block down to Hyperion Public, a b
ar/restaurant with wooden tables out on the sidewalk.
“Sit,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll explain everything.”
As he ordered a beer, Sophia realized she hadn’t been paying close attention. “You’re not…like me.” She hesitated to say the v-word with so many mundanes around.
“Nope.” When the waitress dropped a pint in front of him and he ordered food, Jeremiah couldn’t look straight into Sophia’s eyes. She recognized this as attraction, the shy boy uncertain how to talk to her. She knew she would shut him down soon, but not just yet.
“Give me your hand.” He held it out and she felt his fingers and wrists. The kid giggled.
“That tickles.”
“You’re very warm. I think I know this pulse pattern.” She put a hand next to her mouth so those inside the bar wouldn’t see her lips. She whispered “werewolf,” but he shook his head.
“Close, but you ain’t never gonna believe this. It’s actually opossum.” A were-possum? She must have looked shocked because Jeremiah rolled out his dorky chuckle. “Yeah, I ain’t ever heard of it either. Not until the deal went down.”
He told her he was from Coquille, Oregon, a tiny town in the southern part of the state, closer to the Pacific. The place was woods and farms, and he spent his life playing in and working on the two respectively. But two years ago, when camping solo, he got attacked.
“At first, I thought it was a bear, but it was hanging in a tree from its tail. Soon as it saw me, it jumped. Damn near took my head off.” He pulled his white t-shirt down to reveal a chunky pale scar stretching between his shoulders. “When I woke the next morning, the dude was looking out for me. When he…regained himself, you know, he saw I was alive. So, he saved me.”
The waitress brought a ramekin filled with a cheesy dip and large potato chips still hot from the fryer. Sophia could see chicken meat swimming in the bowl.
“Guess you get some chicken after all.”
“Guess so.” He laughed again, Sophia now finding it endearing. “After a while, I couldn’t take lying to my folks, so I headed down here. I’m like crazy bendy now, so I’m getting started working as a stunt man. Just can’t take any gig during the full moon.”
“That’s cool. I’m glad you found us. I have to be honest, the last time I met any…of your kind, they were bad doggies. Most of my work is pitched to people like me. But I’ll do my best to fit you in.”
“Carmen’s been cool. The others also weren’t too keen on having me around, but they’ve warmed up. Even Stevie Douche.”
“I’m sure that’s not his last name.” Sophia found herself chuckling in the same key as her companion. She would have to pull the ripcord before he got any ideas. “Thanks for sharing, Jeremiah. I really hope to become great friends and I look forward to learning more about your…kind.”
Jeremiah nodded, digging into his dip while Sophia walked back to the center. She told herself to focus on her mission and not on the tight body hidden in flannel and denim as she settled into her room.
The smell left by the boots’ leather and the remaining feelings from converging with her new group set her mind reeling. She couldn’t help but think back to those early days, not of the farm. Her familial cloister held no melancholy for her; she’d just as soon pretend it never existed, but of the man himself, David, who’d made saving her life his mission.
The brothels in 1887 New Orleans accepted her quickly. She was lean and hard, her sixteen-year-old body primed from working the small field outside of her family’s cabin, but her face with its upturned nose and almond-colored eyes was soft and open. Her hair, black as charcoal, fell in long waves to the middle of her back, no braid to keep her hair and her spirit tamed.
But the rollicking good time found in the parlor of Josie Arlington, the red-haired and outspoken madam who brazenly took out ads for her sporting house, were not always found in the upstairs. Sophia found it to be a literal grind, sitting back and letting the johns gouge her from early afternoon to the morning’s wee hours. But she couldn’t deny the money paid nor the fulfilled dream of leaving the bayou behind.
Then David came into her life: always past midnight, always covering his face with a broad-brimmed hat until entering her room, but never having relations with her. The first night started with such a conversation after quietly leading her up the stairs with only a grasp of the hand.
“Right pretty one, you are.” His voice still grasped to an Irish brogue, but one diluted. Maybe he was second generation, not off the boat.
“No, they ain’t but prettier downstair. I only get what I can.” Her accent was thick then, Spanish moss coating every sentence.
“Naw, gal. You play yourself down. But I ain’t here about contesting, just trying to see who you are is all.” As Sophia began to shimmy out of her lacy drawers, pulling down both of the camisole’s shoulder straps, he held up his hand and laughed. “No need for me to see that tonight, sweet thing. I want to examine that which is between your ears.”
And so, she spent an hour telling him stories of Cajun life, he most interested about the Loup Garou and other haints haunting the tree-lined waterways. Afterwards, he paid full price and left her a dollar tip. He nodded and smiled when he saw her wearing a new dress the next week paid for by his generosity.
And after she remembered that dress—cottony, soft, and easy on her skin—her consciousness slipped into blackness as the sun peaked over the ridge for a new day.
Over the next few weeks, Sophia dispatched Carmen during the days to butchers and groceries. She found out the adjacent neighborhood of Glendale had a large Armenian population which meant halal butchers who had to keep fresh meat. With a couple of artisanal places in Los Feliz as well as a yuppie grocery chain right across the street, stocked well despite its sterile looks, the opportunity for fresh and exotic bloods was ripe.
Sophia herself went out to meet with all of the meat workers as soon as the sun went down. Fall was nearing, but without the time change she had to hustle at twilight to shake hands and explain her needs, even if she fudged the blood’s exact use. Since the ZLVG was a non-profit, the shops could get tax credit for donations. Pretty soon, Sophia had lined up tastings two months in advance with a full delivery schedule.
On a Tuesday evening, as she picked up a bucket of Neiman Ranch Angus blood from Gelson’s, her hackles rose. She knew she was being followed through the store as she grabbed a few things for Carmen. As she paid for her basket, the butcher brought her the plastic container and she dropped it into a canvas bag. She hoped getting outside would clear her tail.
But as she walked the blacktop toward the sidewalk, her senses spiked. As she whipped around, she kept her mouth closed so not to reveal her fangs. The woman behind her jumped back, covering her mouth. Her eyes displayed pure fear. Sophia softened to diffuse the situation. She knew she was in no danger.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “I just wanted to talk.” She wasn’t a vamp, that was sure. Long, frizzy tangles draped down past her long neck, but was pulled back enough to reveal her face: strong jawed, thick-nosed but delicate and attractive. Her dress, a satiny sleeveless shift of pure white, barely covered her underwear, exposing her long, thin legs that ended in suede, zip-up boots. She had a plastic cup filled with green liquid in her left hand and was pulling sunglasses from her face with her right.
Sophia wondered why she didn’t call out, but this was one of the differences between Los Angeles and New Orleans. In her hometown, you said hi to everybody you passed, regardless of if you knew them or not. In this new city, nobody would look you in the eye, much less talk. This woman just didn’t know any better.
“How can I help you?” She had to get her groceries to the fridge, so she hoped the woman would be quick.
“I’m just wondering. Are you the blood lady?”
Sophia was taken aback. She had found herself on somebody’s radar even though she had tried to stay hidden. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh, come on. I saw you in ther
e. I talk to all the butchers around here. I’ve heard about you.”
Sophia felt her anger rising. “You gotta problem, lady?” She heard echoes of Chip’s New Orleans Italian accent creeping into her voice.
“Me? Only that I’m a pushy Jew!” She laughed loudly, bending at the waist. “Seriously, I’m curious. That’s all.”
“I have a few dishes that I make. For events.”
“Really?” The woman reached into her purse. “I have friends who would love to get in on this. What’s your rates?”
“Um…” Was this woman really going to pay her to cater a blood feast? “I’m new in town.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m Cecily, by the way. I do these kinds of events all the time. You could be the next Wolf’s Tongue or Kogi.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
Cecily laughed again, touching Sophia’s wrist. “You. Are. Precious. This is my lucky day! And yours, too, doll!” She slipped her card in Sophia’s canvas bag, returning to her BMW. Sophia knew she needed money. Crazy things happen in Los Angeles, but this was the weirdest one yet.
After crossing the street, and with enough distance between her and Cecily, Sophia had to laugh. She’d heard Angelinos had gone food crazy, but never thought her own needs would appeal to someone who could live on solids. She had no idea how much to charge. Five hundred dollars? Fifty? A thousand?
These thoughts brought up an unpleasant subject: she was broke. Carmen gave her plenty of room and had even applied for grants to help pay for rehab, but without vampire money behind her Sophia was staring at a deep financial abyss.
Her life had changed so much. She was used to New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, where she and Chip could roam around, get the free entertainment of people watching, maybe paying a few bucks for music. But here, in her isolation, she lived like a cloistered nun.
Carmen went home before midnight, as she needed the sleep. Sophia had no car and, if she had, nowhere to go. There were a few movie theaters she could walk to, but like television, she’d grown up without films so never acquired the habit. She’d stocked up on books and spent her lonely hours reading, looking forward to the next meeting when she could spend some social time because wallowing in others’ pain was preferable to drowning in her own.
