Bite
A short story by
Clair Louise Coult
The Last Bite
Copyright: Clair Louise Coult 2012
Published: April 2012
The right of Clair Louise Coult to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Other titles by Clair Louise Coult:
Being Isobel
The Heaven Knows Trilogy:
Heaven Knows This Time
Another Perfect Angel
Angel's Shadow
For more information please visit the website:
www.clairlouisecoult.com
The Last Bite
Seren snagged her fishnet stocking on the buckles of her New Rock boots. She cursed under her breath as the fabric ripped, but where she was going no-one would notice one hole larger than the rest in her hosiery. She checked herself out in the mirror. She didn't look too bad at all. The eyeliner had gone on okay at the third attempt, more old school gothic than spooky kid. Her face was perfectly pale and her blood red lips were lined with black. Seren's nails were short but she didn't have the money to get them done at the nail bar. She'd painted them black and purposely chipped the varnish to give the impression that she always wore them like that and she simply couldn't be bothered to do them again.
Her dark brown hair was cropped in a kind of grown out pixie cut but she'd managed to tease it into some kind of quiffed style. She dressed in a red brocade corset top and her favourite leather mini skirt. It was a outfit that would pretty much work in any style of club and it made the most of her long, slender legs. She wanted to be noticed by the right person but she didn't want to look stupid or stick out like a sore thumb.
Seren knew how important it was to fit in, that's why she'd spent a rather dull and boring Saturday afternoon sitting on a bench in the precinct, watching black clad teenagers go into the alternative fashion store, Vampiria. Seren had smirked when she saw the name. The place was mostly full of teenage wannabes playing dangerously with the occult in their vain attempt at rebellion, but it did give her an insight into the local scene.
After an hour had passed, Seren had plucked up the courage to enter the shop. It was small, dimly lit and full of the usual garb. Fake Marilyn Manson and Slipknot t-shirts were hung on rickety clothes racks, the shelves were stacked with multicoloured pots of Stargazer hair dye and the glass fronted cabinets displayed smoking paraphernalia and Alchemy Gothic accessories. There was a shop like this in every city. They were easy enough to find, you just had to follow the weird looking kids while they hit their parent's credit cards, purposely buying stuff they knew they would hate.
The girl at the counter tried to allude to the atmosphere of the place by wearing a black velvet cape with the hood pulled down over her eyes. It wasn't exactly your average work uniform and the young girl looked pretty uncomfortable in it. From the briefest glimpse of her face she looked like new blood. Her complexion was pale and the blonde highlights in her fridge were trademark emo. Seren was horrified when she spotted the two red puncture marks on the girl's neck, then she realised one of them was smudged. They were fake, just like everything else in the shop. She'd probably drawn them on with red lip liner to go with the bride of Dracula costume. Perhaps her boss made her do it? Or maybe she was just desperate to fit in.
Seren hovered around the shop as long as she dared, searching for the information she needed. She decided to buy a couple of things to legitimise her visit, picking up a bottle of Sandalwood perfume oil and some black rubber bangles that looked like barbed wire. She had been eyeing up a pair of platform stilettos painted with the faces of zombies. They were kind of cute but not exactly practical. Seren liked to be quick on her feet. You never knew when you'd need to leg it out of somewhere and they were definitely not the kind of shoes to go running in.
"That's £8.98, please," squeaked the girl at the counter. Seren handed over the exact change and the girl wrapped her purchases in a black paper bag. That's when Seren noticed the poster on the wall, half hidden by a display of tie dyed scarves. Printed on purple paper, the black Gothic lettering dripping with blood spelled out the words 'After Midnight'. Seren afforded herself a little smile. It was exactly what she was looking for.
"Excuse me, do you know when the next club night is, please?" Seren said, gesturing at the poster.
"What? After Midnight? Yeah, it's every Thursday, 10 till 2, upstairs at The Ferret. I've got some flyers somewhere..." she said, reaching under the counter and handing over a purple piece of paper.
"Thank you," Seren said and turned to leave, but she stopped in her tracks. "They don't play all that emo shite, do they?" she asked looking back over her shoulder and frowning. The girl shook her head and pushed her hood back slightly, revealing her bright green eyes.
"No, it's proper good. Gabriel plays all the best old school stuff, March Violets, Bauhaus, you know?" she replied. She chewed at her lip piercing and flashed her wide eyes at Seren. She couldn't have been more than seventeen years old. "I hang out there with my boyfriend a lot..." she added.
"I might see you there," Seren said as she put the black paper bag in her backpack and walked out onto the street. Blinking in the bright sunshine she grabbed her shades from the top pocket of her black leather jacket. Perhaps this new job wouldn't be so boring after all.
Gabriel woke up at dusk. He stretched his naked body out between the white cotton sheets and yawned. There was a hunger in his belly but he'd have to grab a bite to eat later, he was DJing at the club tonight and he had to get ready. He'd been through the ritual a thousand times before but it never grew tired of it. The buzz of excitement coined with the hunger made him feel invincible but he was a creature of habit and perhaps a little OCD about the details.
He put on his silk robe and walked barefoot down the stairs from his attic room to find Anna in the kitchen. She already had everything laid out on the kitchen table; towel, soap and hot water. Gabriel slumped into the chair and yawned.
"I hope your hand is steadier than last time," he said as Anna opened the cut throat razor and proceeded to sharpen the blade.
"As if I'd dare slit your throat!" Anna said as she placed a tender kiss on Gabriel's cheek. Gabriel closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He liked to look his best and even though he teased Anna, she'd not once cut him shaving. They'd been partners for what seemed like an eternity and Anna was the only person in the world that he truly trusted. Of course he wasn't to be trusted at all and Anna knew that, but there was a bond between them that was older and stronger than love or marriage.
It broke Anna's heart to see Gabriel flirting with the girls at the club, watching them pressing their warm bodies against him as they requested their favourite records or persuaded him to buy them drinks. It was all part of the job though, necessary for their livelihood and it was the price she had to pay to be with him. Like it or not, she wouldn't have it any other way.
Gabriel patted his face dry with the warm, white towel, wiping away the last traces of soap. He ran his fingers over his jaw line and smiled. "A fine job, Anna," he nodded and he glided back upstairs to complete his preparations.
He always wore the same clothes when he pla
yed at the club. Black leather jeans, a black velvet jacket and a purple silk shirt, worn open almost to the waist exposing his pale skin and dark chest hair. It was his signature look. No-one ever wore the same outfit as him on a club night, except for that young Asian boy last summer. He was so taken with Gabriel's beauty that he naively dared to copy the DJ's style. He turned up in a black jeans, a mauve shirt and a poorly fitting midnight blue velvet jacket. For Gabriel it was not the sincerest form of flattery and he made no secret of his disgust.
There were rumours when the boy was found later that night floating face down in the canal. His bus pass, student union card and the rest of the contents of the his wallet were found strewn along the tow path. The police assumed it was a mugging gone wrong and the boy had simply fallen in the canal during the scuffle. There was nothing on the CCTV and no finger prints at the scene to incriminate anyone. The boy had obviously hit his head and drowned so no-one paid any notice to the two puncture marks on the side of his neck.
No-one seriously suspected that Gabriel had anything to do with it. Why should they? He had better things to do than attack teenage wannabes, and anyway, he was DJing that night. No-one noticed him leave the decks, the canal was half a mile away from the club and the body was found before it closed. There was no way he could have done