“I’m going to drive her,” I step forward and shake the woman's hand in greeting. She gives me the once over, but doesn't seem all too taken with me, as human females normally are. A small smile touches her red lips as she turns back to say a final farewell to Tegan. Clearly she has come to certain predictable conclusions about the two of us, conclusions I will be all too happy to make a reality once I get this beauty home.
“Oh. Okay, well, have fun.” Her smirk is unmistakeable, but Tegan doesn't seem pleased.
“We will,” I answer, and before she can make any further statements to her friend I lead her away and out of the club to the car park.
Tegan doesn't say anything, but I notice her take in my vehicle in a slightly wary manner. It's a new Cadillac that I've had for about six months. The windows are tinted. This is necessary since I often find myself the target of slayers. Yes, slayers. The very same beings who ended the life of my father. This city is infested with them, they work for a worldwide organisation known as the DOH, or the Defenders of Humanity. So, the tinted windows allow me to evade them to a certain extent.
“Well at least your car windows are reassuring,” Tegan draws my attention back to the present with her acerbic statement.
We're inside the car now, and I feel the need to reassure her that I'm not a danger. To her anyway.
“No harm will come to you when you’re with me.” I state firmly.
“Okay,” she says in a low voice, her eyes impossibly wide. They seem to get bigger and bigger the more I look at them.
“So, where to?” I ask.
“Singe Street, Riverdale Apartments.”
I immediately recognise the location, which is notorious for criminal activity and the presence of drug addicts. “That’s not a very good area,” I tell her, frowning.
“Well I’m a student, it’s all I can afford.”
This piques my interest, I want to know everything about her that I possibly can. Perhaps it will lead me to finding out what she is. “What do you study?”
“Art History,” she answers, letting out a small sigh of dejection. I momentarily wonder at this.
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Yes, I mean I did, but I haven’t been to my lectures for the past while.” I suppose that explains the dejection.
“Why not?”
“Long story.”
“Enlighten me.”
“No chance.”
It seems she's going to be an even harder nut to crack than I had originally anticipated. But as I said, I am surprisingly enjoying the challenge she represents. Monotony is often a curse for those of us with long lives. It means that we will latch onto anything, no matter how small, that might create a distraction.
“You said that this is the first time you’ve been outside in some time, why is that?”
“As I said, it’s a long story,” she insists on providing me with as little information as possible.
“I’d like it if you told me.” I try for tenderness, maybe it will soften her hard shell. It doesn't get the response I had hoped for.
Instead she turns to me, a ball of anxiety and frustration. “Seriously, what is your deal? I don’t get any of this, why is it so important that you find out where I live? I’ve been through a difficult time lately so I just want to be left alone. I didn’t even want to go out tonight, but my friend convinced me it would be good for me. And now I’ve got three strangely intense people just dying to find out where I live, and it’s all just too much right now, so please, just drive me home and stop asking questions.”
“You finished?” I ask humorously, I don't intend to rile her up further, but I can't help how much I like it when she's angry at me.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“You’re cute when you’re all frustrated. I could help you with that you know.”
A heavy sigh escapes her lips and she falls silent. A moment later we reach her building of residence, a structure that is perhaps only twenty years old, but has already fallen into disrepair. They truly don't create buildings the way they used to, even the simple, practical ones such as this.
Tegan quickly begins fumbling with her seat belt. I place my hand on hers to stop her, and in a seductive tone, I say, “Allow me.”
“Sure,” she replies, her hands absent-mindedly falling to her sides as I open the belt for her.
I decide to get straight to the point, when I ask, “Are you going to invite me in?”
She hesitates and then whispers, “Are you trying to make a fool of me?” For a bare moment it makes my centuries old heart thump a little bit harder.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because I can’t understand why a hot shot night club owner would want to spend time with a girl who looks like she hasn’t slept in a year, is wearing her best friend’s clothes that don’t even fit her properly and lives in a shitty area, when there are so many beautiful women in the VIP section of your club who would probably sell their granny for a night with you.”
God, she really doesn't know how beautiful she is. How beautiful she smells. Granted, she does have the look of a sleep deprived emotional train wreck at the moment. It doesn't make her any less stunning, perhaps even adds to it in a strange way.
“I find you interesting,” I allow my gaze to wander over her body appreciatively. “And your clothes fit perfect as far as I can see.”
“Did I say how weird I think you are?” There is a slight blush to her cheeks now. It's lovely.
“Not in so many words.” I chuckle.
“Ah God, you can come in if you want, but I’ll warn you it’s tiny and cramped and messy in my place, so you won’t be very comfortable.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
I lead her out of the car and to the entrance of the building, where it takes her a moment to find her key card. Once inside, she walks ahead of me up the stairs, which I find slightly odd since I can still smell that I unnerve her. Why would a person as anxious as Tegan allow me the upper hand like this? She is leaving herself completely open to attack. As I follow her I continue scenting her out, trying to understand the reason for her unusual actions. It doesn't take long for me to come to a stark realisation, the realisation that she is hurting so much she no longer cares for her own well being. I could be a serial killer herding her to her death, but subconsciously she doesn't really care. I don't like this at all.
She opens the door to a small, cramped apartment space. It's a little untidy with various vintage and antique odds and ends scattered about, indicating her love of collecting things. Her scent is everywhere, and even though this is not exactly a desirable place to live, I could happily stay here for hours just relishing in her smell. In the living room there is a small corduroy sofa with a worn, patchwork throw strewn haphazardly over the back of it. On the wall in the centre of the room hangs a bizarre, modern looking painting of a large eye with hundreds of smaller eyes surrounding it. I have to give it to her, she certainly has unique tastes.
I glance over at her book shelf by the window and peruse the titles. You can tell a lot about a person from the books they own. Some of them are art history related, so I assume they're for her college work. There are several by the likes of Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. I take it I have something of a cynic on my hands. Or perhaps she's simply searching for answers, I think, as I spot a dog eared copy of the Tao Te Ching. Humans are always so questioning of the world when they reach young adulthood. There isn't much fiction, except for copies of The Talented Mr Ripley by Patricia Highsmith, Carrie by Stephen King and The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. From this I detect a person caught up in the dark side of her own mind, perhaps.
Tegan interrupts my inspection of her book shelf when she says, “I’m going to make tea, do you want some?”
“Yes, thank you,” I reply, turning to give her a dazzling smile, hoping it will further loosen her up. She merely turns and steps into her small, open plan kitchen, putting water into the electric k
ettle. As I step near to the closed door of the bathroom I halt immediately, because my brain is humming with the feeling and smell of death.
Good God, somebody died in there not too long ago. I turn around to gaze at Tegan, who is going about making the tea with her back to me. Her long messy hair trails down her blue dress. She looks delicate and harmless, not at all like a human capable of murder. Then again, appearances are generally deceptive. My sister Delilah has the look of an angelic beauty, yet she kills with a swift brutality not often expected of her sex. Although saying that, Delilah is not human, and killing is not such an immoral act to us as it is to the weaker species.
Could this be the reason for Tegan's shattered emotions? That she killed someone and is now suffering guilt for that act? I have ended many lives in my time, but I have never particularly mourned for them. I have killed in battles, in fights, in self-defence. I would not judge this woman for causing death, for perhaps it was out of necessity.
However, I could be completely wrong. She might not be living here long, and the death might have taken place before she took up residence. As a vampire, I can sense the spilling of blood for many years after the fact.
I notice that she's just finished making the tea, so I go to sit down on her small sofa. She puts the cups on the low table in front of me and sits down too, her leg absently touching off mine.
She turns to me and begins to speak. “Do you mind my saying that you look very young to own your own night club?”
I take the opportunity to study her as she talks. No, this creature can't be a killer, it just doesn't make sense. I have encountered human murderers in my time, and there is always something missing from their eyes. If anything, Tegan's eyes contain too much. Too much feeling. Too much pain. Finally I answer her, “I’m not as young as I look.”
“Oh really, what are you twenty-seven, twenty-eight maybe?” She takes a sip of her tea, and looks back up at me. She is the slightest bit more relaxed now that she's home. There's something about this tiny apartment filled with death and her possessions that soothes her.
“Not exactly, how old are you Tegan?” I'm clearly deflecting here, but she doesn't call me on it.
“Twenty-one. Do you enjoy the night club business? I’ve always thought all night club owners were men in suits in their forties and fifties, mostly like mob bosses, that kind of thing. You look like you should be in a grunge band.” She tells me all of this in a very matter of fact voice, it makes me like her even more.
“You shouldn’t stereotype darling, besides, I’m one of a kind.” I grin.
“I’m sure you are.”
“Would you like me to show you how unique I am?” I ask, leading her on.
“Is that a come on?” She shoots right back at me, my grin widens.
“What do you think?”
She laughs and it's a wonderful sound, low and tinkling. I join her. When the laughing dies down I say, “You’re cute, you know that?”
“Yeah, that’s me all right, cute as a button.”
“And vulnerable.”
“Sure.”
“And in a way, very sexy.”
“You must get off on vulnerability then.”
Oh, you have no idea my dear. “Actually I do.” I settle myself closer to her, breathing all of her in. “You want me, don’t you?”
“What I want is for you to get off me,” she tries to push me away, but I resist.
“No you don’t.” I tell her, and thoughtlessly lower my face to her neck, where I kiss her, hard but tender. Her pulse goes wild at the contact, fear and desire intermingle in her scent. I run my hand up her leg, all the way to her outer thigh before trailing inwards. Her skin is wonderfully soft.
“Stop,” she says, her breaths coming out laboured.
“You sure about that?” I question her, and make a bold move by slipping my hand beneath her dress and toying with the smooth material of her underwear. God, I love teasing her.
“Yes,” she replies finally. I don't want to push her, and I can tell that she's reached her limit tonight. There will be time for more another night. So much more.
“All right then.” I remove my hand, leaning close to her ear one last time and whispering, “But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, Tegan, because I know that you did.”
“Wow, modest aren’t we.” It thrills me when she rolls her eyes.
I have to run my hands through my hair in order to keep from touching her again. “I enjoyed it too, honey,” I say. She blushes. “So shy,” I whisper, ghosting my lips over her ear lobe.
She darts up off the sofa and demands, “I think you should go now.”
“If that’s what you want,” I reply with amusement, standing up with her.
“Yes, it is.”
“Will you drop by the club some time? I’d like it if you did.” My entire body is vibrating with the thoughts of getting to know more of her. Intimately.
“Oh, yeah maybe,” she answers, but she's not really listening, she just wants me to leave. She's confused by the effect I have on her. I'd tell her she has just as much of an effect on me, but I know that with her current low self-esteem, she wouldn't believe me anyway.
“Please do, I’ll see myself out.”
I leave quickly before she can say anything else. I had really wanted to kiss her, but I think she might have had a coronary if I did that. Baby steps, I tell myself. She's healing from something, that's very clear from her emotional grid. I must allow her the time to do that.
As I step out of the building and make my way toward my car, I stop and look back up at her window on the first floor. I see her shadow move about for a few minutes before she finally goes into her bedroom and turns out the lights.
Part Two
A World Torn in Half
Upon returning to the club I immediately seek out Tegan's blond friend so that I can ask for her phone number. I had forgotten to request it while I'd been in her apartment, so distracted by her as I was. I have the distinct feeling that although she is attracted to me, Tegan is going to do her level best to avoid seeing me again. With her phone number I will be able to make direct contact with her, and convince her of my more desirable qualities, perhaps.
I find her friend in a dark corner of the club, getting quite intimate with a brunette woman. Ah, so this explains her lack of attraction when she'd first seen me, she prefers the company of ladies. Not that my ego was in any danger of shrinking, of course, I had simply been curious as I have yet to encounter a female thus far who did not find me desirable on some level.
Her eyes are closed and her tongue lodged firmly down the brunette's throat. I venture closer and tap her on the shoulder. Drunkenly she pulls away from her lady friend and turns to glance up at me. Her brow furrows in confusion before remembrance follows.
She looks around blearily. “Where's Tegan?” she asks.
“She is at home safe and sound,” I reply. “I was wondering if you would happen to have her phone number, as I would like to call on her some time?”
She quirks an eyebrow at my turn of phrase and then grins at the brunette. She appears as though she's getting ready to refuse me, so I focus my eyes on her with a dab of compulsion. She blinks, as humans often do when put under our thrall.
“Sure,” she says after a moment, her voice slurring slightly from alcohol consumption. She rummages in her purse, pulls out a crumpled receipt and a ball point pen and proceeds to scribble down the digits. It takes her longer than average as she makes several mistakes before finally getting them down right. She thrusts the paper at me triumphantly and I take it from her, smiling in thanks. She immediately returns to kissing and groping the brunette. If Lucas were here he would have thoroughly enjoyed their display.
I fold the paper neatly and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. On my journey to my office I pass by Nicu, who is making his way out of the club. The women he had been with earlier are still by his side. I notice he has added a red head to the group, perhaps to ach
ieve the full set. He shakes my hand and we say our fond farewells. I watch him leave, with no small amount of envy. It is not often that vampires will reach such an old age as Nicu and still retain their sanity.
Though it has never been proven, it is thought that my kind evolved from humans. It is quite plausible, that stronger beings would come to be created based on the design of the weaker ones. Yet it seems that there was one slight glitch in the evolution. This being that our minds age and decline, while our bodies remain young. Sometimes we go mad, other times we simply lose the morals that mankind seem to hold in such high regard. Older vampires no longer care about killing or causing destruction for the power it can bring us. Basically, we can become degenerate, tyrannical, ego-maniacs if we are not careful.
With each year that passes I find myself straddling this line ever more precariously. This is perhaps why the mystery Tegan presents has completely consumed me at so quick a rate. She is something new, and at my age you must cherish new things for they are few and far between.
These thoughts of the threat of insanity bring the memory of a dear deceased friend upon me, a three hundred year old vampire named Jonathan. We spent almost a decade as close companions in Paris in the 19th century, living among the artists, writers and courtesans of the demi-monde. Slowly, I began to see the signs of madness in Jonathan, he would soliloquise extensively on mortality, on the idea of death. He could fashion such beautiful words about dying, and in a way it had become his obsession.
At the time one of the most illustrious courtesans in the city, Esther Lachmann, now known in the history books as la Païva, was also a powerful witch. She practised dark magic at her home, the Hôtel de la Païva, a building which was notorious among superstitious humans as being deathly cold in temperature, no matter the season. Of course, the cold can be attributed to the nature of the magic she possessed.
A suicidal Jonathan, having become so set on ending his existence, went to la Païva and paid her handsomely to cast a spell upon him that would cause him to age and die within the space of a few hours. The wicked woman was only too happy to oblige him, as although she was unfathomably rich, she had risen from very lowly beginnings, and those who start their lives poor will seek more and more wealth so as to never return to the poverty they once escaped.