Everywhere I went, the sound of human hearts pumping blood through fat, blue veins absolutely maddened me.
The Sanguinarius recommended feeding captive vampires raw steak. Whoever wrote it had obviously never seen a 20/20 expose about slaughterhouse contamination and E. coli.
My nights off were almost worse than the nights I had to work. At least at the hospital I had to force myself to concentrate on something other than the hunger. I was struggling through a particularly bad night at home when I finally gave up and went back to Wealthy Avenue. Tears streamed down my face as I shook uncontrollably behind the wheel, like a drug addict in desperate need of a fix.
Nathan hadn’t called me that night, and it hadn’t occurred to me to call him before I showed up at his doorstep. I needed blood. I needed it badly. My hands trembled as I rang the bell to his apartment.
There was no answer. The window of the shop was dark, and no one responded to my frantic knocking.
Young men and women hurried up and down the sidewalk. The pumping of their blood drowned out the words of their conversation. Most of them looked young enough to have a curfew, but some could have been college students.
College students from other states, perhaps, with few acquaintances in their new surroundings. Like me, if they went missing, no one would look for them for days, possibly even weeks…
I was horrified at the thought, but I needed blood. Since I wasn’t up to hijacking a bloodmobile, I would have to find a donor.
I didn’t go back to my car. I needed to walk in the fresh air and open space.
I don’t know how long I searched. I was selective. One bar looked too dank and blue-collar for my tastes. It would be crowded with middle-aged men in flannel shirts watching sports on television. I wanted someone young. Someone beautiful.
I spotted her on the street.
She crossed against the light. Her pale, blond hair flew behind her like a banner in the wind. The way she clutched her coat to her chest accentuated her skinniness.
I had never felt this sort of attraction toward anyone before, let alone a woman. It was not an attraction in a sexual sense. It was an animal instinct, as pure and natural as breathing. I wanted her blood.
The girl in the black coat pushed through a small cluster of young men and women loitering on the sidewalk. As I approached, I read the name of the building she ducked into.
The covered windows of Club Cite were framed by blue neon tubes. The brick building had been painted black, but the paint job had not been kept up, revealing flecks of the original red brick. The place was dirty and run-down.
Once inside, I followed her down the stairs. The walls around us vibrated with a muffled bass line. She pulled open the door at the bottom and the entire corridor flooded with noise. The club was packed with young people, all dressed in black. Some were Dickensian, with top hats and walking sticks. More were swathed in torn fishnets patched with electrical tape. They all looked at me as though my blue jeans and freckled face disgusted them.
I couldn’t have cared less. I’d lost sight of my prey. Finding her tragic figure in this writhing mass of self-pity would be impossible.
“She went into the bathroom,” a voice said close to my ear. “But I wouldn’t go after her if I were you. She doesn’t know what you are.”
My heart could have stopped beating. My chest tightened, and the excitement of the chase vanished. I was caught.
I turned slowly, expecting to face a uniformed officer. Instead, I found myself looking down at the smirking face of a very confident young woman. She wasn’t slender by any means, and she swayed to the music with an innate grace that erased any notion she found her body bulky or unwieldy. The standard Robert Smith make-up of heavy eyeliner and deep red lipstick decorated her pale face, and a thick riot of red curls hung to her shoulders.
“You’re surprised?” she asked, putting her hands on her ample hips. “You were being so obvious.”
“Obvious?” My mouth felt dry.
She looked me over with her head cocked to one side. Her curls bobbed as she laughed. “Yeah, obvious. But don’t worry, most of the kids here wouldn’t know a real vampire if one came up and bit them on the ass. They’re here because their parents just don’t understand.”
The pulsating music, combined with the sound of beating hearts all around me, made me feel as if a speed metal drummers’ convention was getting into full swing in my frontal lobe. I squinted against the swirling light and movement of the room. “How did you know what I am?”
“You must be new to this whole vampire thing, huh?” she asked. She smiled a perfectly mischievous smile, as if she’d practiced it in a mirror for years. “That girl over there, she’ll scream like a banshee before you get two drops out of her, and then where will you be? In a whole heap of trouble, that’s where.”
Before I could protest, she grabbed my arm. Under her hand, my skin felt warm and alive, as though I’d absorbed her energy. Over the din of a hundred human pulses I could hear hers loudest of all, but I didn’t feel compelled to feed from her. She was warm and alive, but she didn’t seem wholly human.
Danger was here. Tension seethed beneath her sweet words. She moved like a dancer despite her round shape, her every movement charged with urgency.
The hunger gnawed at me, so I followed her.
As we walked, she told me her name was Dahlia. She led me from the club and down a few alleys, through an abandoned rail yard adrift with snow.
“There.” She pointed to a squat stone building that had been gutted by fire some time ago. A cement barrier separated the area from the expressway. I heard the cars racing past.
“The cops never come here,” she explained. “And if they did, they wouldn’t come back.”
The interior was large and open, as though the space had once been a warehouse or factory. In the very center, the ceiling had caved in. Someone had been industrious enough to cover it with plastic tarps. It was dark and cold. Ominous shapes huddled in every corner.
I heard heartbeats, coughing and quiet moans. The smell of fear in the room was as thick as the unmistakable odor of hopelessness.
“What is this place?” I whispered.
Dahlia shrugged off her coat and spread it on the ground. “A donor house.”
I must have appeared not to understand her, because she rolled her eyes and sighed as though I were incurably stupid.
“A place for vampires to go and get a quick bite,” she said. “A quick bite, get it?”
I nodded dumbly. “I get it…but who are these people?”
“The donors?” She plopped down cross-legged. “Who knows? Maybe they’re homeless and just need some shelter. Maybe they’re freaks that get off on the thrill of it. Or maybe they’re like me.”
“Like you?” I asked.
A skinny girl with a dirt-smudged face and greasy brown hair pushed past me. One of her bony shoulders slipped from her threadbare jacket as she shoved me aside.
“I need the money,” Dahlia said as she motioned for me to sit down. “The point is, these people are desperate enough to give you what you want. Those Goth freaks at the club don’t know shit. You’re better off trolling under bridges for homeless people than going back to that hole.”
I wanted to leave. The place reeked of sweat and smoke and despair. But I needed blood, so I knelt beside her on the crumbling cement. My heart beat faster and I shuddered in anticipation of sinking my teeth into supple pale flesh.
“Fifty dollars, cash.” She produced a wooden stake from the pocket of her coat. “And you stop when I say, understood?”
The stake quenched the animal fury building inside