2.

This anchorwoman’s voice is quite unappealing.  It’s like the squeal of tires mixed with running your nails down a chalkboard.  Thank Cain they don’t have chalkboards anymore.  She says,

“—while the governor of New York is not sure of the implications of this arrangement, the mayor of New York City is confident that the new leader will help solidify relations between humans and vampires.  We have with us Dr. Charles Gordon, a professor at ...”

Charles Gordon.  A lot of humans feel that since vampires once were human, that they can understand us with any amount of accuracy.  And this miserable sack of blood thinks he’s the best at it.  Charles Gordon looks like a very large man hit him with a very flat pan.  His nose is crooked to the left, his eyes are too far apart.  He is a beautiful case study in the disgusting asymmetry that is the human race.  And why, why would any self-respecting human put his face on the television?  It’s like watching a bipedal train wreck.  If I weren’t so drunk off sherry I would be doing something more worthwhile right now.

“... Good evening, Dr. Gordon.”

“Good evening, Melissa.”

“What is your take on the current situation?”

“Well, Melissa, it’s obviously extremely significant.  Not once in recorded history has a human been the head of a vampire cabal, and even if we assumed that a human did become the leader of a cabal, we would never believe it to be the size of the Rohrsach family in New York City.  The implications of such an event are staggering...”

The half-empty glass of sherry flies through the air, smashing against the pock-marked, panfaced Charles Gordon and setting the scene for the rest of my evening.  Nothing like the babbling of the human race to ruin a vampire’s night.  Since when were the Rohrsachs so powerful?  Since when do they get national attention?  And just because they have a new, human leader?  It’s sacrilege (if vampire activities could be sacrilege...), and it’s stupid, and it just goes to show how naïve humans are.

Slowly, I raise myself up from the couch, and head to the kitchen.  I may be drunk, and I may be pissed, but I refuse to have a dirty apartment.  A dishrag and a bottle of glass cleaner will make short work of the mess I made.  In moments the spill is cleaned, and Dr. Gordon’s face is removed from my presence as I switch the TV off.  For a moment I think about settling back on the couch for another drink, but a different thirst takes over, deep in my gut.  I go to the closet, grab my coat, and head out into the chilly evening for someone to drink.

++

The city is freezing, but it doesn’t matter to me.  I feel no cold.  The sensation is much like the tingling sensation humans get when they cut off the blood supply to an appendage, except more on the outside than the inside.  I wear the coat for effect.

My male friends are jealous of how easy it is for a woman vampire to feed.  I hear this more times than I care to think about.  They’re practically livid about it.  All I have to do, they say, is go to a bar, find a man, seduce him, and feed in the comfort of my own bedroom.  And it’s true.  It is quite easy.  But it also makes a girl ... picky.  The challenge now becomes how to find a worthy male, a human that has nice, thick blood, not a man who pops aspirin every other minute, which is more often the case with these Wall Street businessmen.  You would be surprised ... well, perhaps not, at the amount of other things in people’s blood when you feed.  This, I say, is my disadvantage to going to a bar, finding a man, and seducing him.  They always have alcohol or some other drug in their veins.  The worst is heroin.  I make sure my victims don’t have track marks anymore.  Cocaine is bad, too.  I don’t like to be high.  I prefer the natural high that comes from feeding on fresh, untainted blood ... but in today’s society, that’s nearly impossible.

One of the most successful underground vampire newsgroups has thousands of stories of the different things that have been in the blood they fed upon.  We just call them “side effects”; a colloquialism adopted from the human’s increased use of over-the-counter and prescription drugs.  When we feed on those who have taken prescription drugs, we end up getting the side effects.  I, once, fed on a man outside a post office (typical set and seduce) who was a little bit older than I would have liked, and his blood was full of some Phenobarbital, a drug I was unused to before then.  It knocked me out for the rest of the night, leaving me very, very hungry the next night, when I woke up.

If I could ask my victims to take a blood test, I would.  But those take too long.

Around the corner and down a couple of blocks is my usual hangout: Freddy’s Deli, one of those food stands that lines what would otherwise be an abandoned lot.  They make apparently delicious turkey clubs and meatballs and whatever.  Next to them is a Thai stand and a Mexican stand.  The sole proprietor, Freddy, either assumes I’m a professional whore or just a whore, cause all he sees me do is arrive, find a guy, and pretend that I want to fuck him.  Tonight, I assume, will be no different.

I arrive just in time for the drunkards who just got out of the bar.  I’m not worried about biting a drunk guy now, as I am already a little tipsy from the sherry.  Plus it’s a Saturday night; why not get a little drunk, right?

Party like the humans party!

There is a throng of well dressed men and women who reek of beer and onions standing a few feet away.  The women look like they should be freezing in this weather, with what they are wearing.  The men are all in long topcoats or peacoats.  They munch drunkenly on loaded hot dogs and various sandwiches, making small talk, flirting, and generally being douchebags.

Freddy has two young “apprentice” workers with him, Luke and Johnny.  Luke’s about eighteen, Johnny’s sixteen.  They are both vampires, though Freddy doesn’t know this yet.  Luke was at a Teresini meeting the night after his first bite; the wounds were still visible on his neck.  Johnny is Luke’s brother, and just wanted to follow suit, I guess.  Siblings usually become vampires together, for all sorts of different reasons, like bullying, or subversion, or just because they’re in the same room together and one sibling bites the other out of sheer hunger.

Luke and Johnny both give me a knowing nod as I approach.  Generally I don’t pick out one human to be my victim.  Both men and women are equally able to make a poor decision when piss drunk.  Men just want to get laid, and women want to experiment.  Either is fine with me.  I decide to base my decision tonight on the sharpest dressed of the group, which, on this occasion, happens to be a woman.  White overcoat, striking red shimmering spaghetti strap dress underneath, ample cleavage, gorgeous green eyes and tanned, well-kept skin.  Hair pulled back into one of those pompadour ponytails.  Shoes I think I will steal once I have bitten her.  They look horribly painful to wear, but they’re beautiful.

I sidle up next to the group she is in, as though waiting in line for food.  I give her a knowing look.  I don’t look half bad myself; all black, black hair, pale skin – I’ll be honest, I look like the typical modern gothic vampire.  I’ve got the wristbands.  I’ve got the black lipstick.  I chose to become a vampire and fell in love with a vampire who ended up being a total bastard.  Later I found out that all male vampires are bastards, but that’s another story.  Regardless of my gothic look, I’m still shapely and attractive.  Plus, all vampires possess a je ne sais quoi that makes them irresistible to humans.  I think it’s the way we smell.

“Cold night,” this girl says, acknowledging my lack of warm clothes.

“I’m always cold,” I reply.  She smiles, not warmly, but friendly.

“You wouldn’t be if you wore some more clothing,” she says.

“And you wouldn’t be ugly if you wore more makeup,” I say.  “What do you want to eat?”