Blood and Guitars (4 page)

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked
casually.

“My weekly report to the Emissary. Care to
tag along? I wouldn’t mind the company.” Mark’s eyes widened with
anticipation, although he already knew what my answer would be.

“Gee … it’s tempting,” I humored him with my
best sarcasm. I was sure there were worse things in the world than
having to visit with a representative of the Synod, but at the
moment I couldn’t think of any.

“Oh come on,” he pleaded halfheartedly,
knowing it was a losing battle. “It’s only Damir. He’s not
technically Synod.”

“He’s as good as,” I replied. “And he’ll have
his little posse of Emissary along with him. That’s a little more
testosterone than I care to deal with tonight,” I said. “I’ve had
as much Damir as I can stand for one week.”

Mark smiled and shrugged, acknowledging
defeat. “If you’re sure.”

“Thanks for the refill,” I said as he walked
toward the front door.

He paused and looked at me. “You’re welcome.”
Then the door opened and closed and he was gone. The gust of fresh
air that blew into the room with the closing of the door awakened
my senses and I suddenly wanted to be out in the night. I got to my
feet and carried our empty glasses into the kitchen where I washed
them and put them away. I pulled on my black jacket when I was
finished and ran my fingers through my long dark hair. It fell over
my shoulders and down my back, giving me a mysterious look I was
quite proud of. I didn’t know where the night would take me, but I
wanted to be prepared for any situation. I slipped some cash into
my jacket pocket, along with my keys. I wouldn’t be driving, but it
was careless to leave my place unlocked.

The first breath of cool night air filled my
lungs and my senses all at once. My vision adjusted immediately to
the dark and I glanced around me as I made my way north up the
street. It had been too long since I’d just spent a night out on
the town observing. This is what I needed. I covered a block in ten
seconds, which was only just tapping into the speed I was capable
of when I wanted to be. Had I chosen the physical magic that gives
a vamp incredible strength and speed, I would have flashed past any
onlookers like a cool wind. In my dark clothing I moved invisibly
across town.

I found myself standing in front of The
Waking Moon, gazing through the large glass display windows at the
front of the studio. My exceptional eyesight allowed me to see
details inside that no human would ever see. I studied the layout
of my paintings, trying to judge the scene before me with an
unbiased eye. My studio was perfect in a lot of aspects. It was
organized well, it was neat, and it was appealing to the passersby
on the street who were the majority of my buyers. It was something
I had worked hard for and I was proud of it, but despite all the
nights I spent painting and restocking the walls with pieces of
art, there was still a sense of something missing in my life.

Was this really it? Would I spend the rest of
eternity trying to sell paintings about the night and all its glory
to mortals?

It’s true that there was a time not so long
ago that I thought this kind of life would be a fulfilling one.
Owning my own art studio is something I had always aspired to do.
My mother used to tell me that I could paint whatever world I
wanted to live in, and if I paid enough attention in life and made
the right decisions, I could make it magically exist. I’m fairly
certain that she didn’t imagine her daughter living as a creature
of the night when she’d told me those things as a child, but now I
knew more than ever that she was right. I had known what I’d wanted
and I had put in the time to make it happen. So why, then, did I
feel myself yearning for more? What more could there possibly be
for someone like me? I was destined to live in the shadows. And
with all of the wonderful abilities and opportunities that came
with it, I couldn’t help feeling trapped. In so many ways, I was
limited. Not limited in the sense that mortals are, but limited by
the fact that I was no longer one.

There really wasn’t anything special about
the flyer Mark had found taped to my door last night, but for some
reason I hadn’t thrown it away. It still sat on my coffee table in
all its tacky neon-orange brilliance. I picked it up and read it
over again. It seemed pretty harmless; just a small crowd and a few
struggling musicians trying to break into the business. It might be
a good place to clear my mind, or if nothing else, scout out my
next meal. It had been six days since I’d last fed, and having just
realized that, my mouth began to water. No wonder I was in a
mood.

I’d been working a lot lately and it was
starting to wear on me. Mark probably would have jumped at the
chance to go out tonight, but I was in a strange mood. I wanted to
be alone with my thoughts, but not alone.

My mind made up, I carried the flyer with me
into the bedroom where I rummaged through my closet for ten minutes
before finding something suitable to wear. I settled on a pair of
distressed jeans, a grey top, and a pair of black heels. I stuck my
cell phone in my pocket, hesitating for only a moment to assure
myself that I wanted to go solo, and then went out into the night
air. I took my time walking to the music lounge, rather than walk
at the full speed I was capable of. It gave me time to wind down
and clear my head before I arrived. I reminded myself that I just
needed blood. Once I fed, everything would come into perspective
and I would feel like myself again.

As I got closer, I realized I’d seen the
lounge before in passing, but never considered going inside until
tonight. I made my way toward the front doors and a tall, burly
bouncer smiled at me and stepped aside to let me in without a
second’s hesitation. I decided I might just like this place after
all.

Not only was the place bigger inside than I
had expected, but the crowd was bigger to match it. There were
round tables that seated six set up along the front half of the
room in a semi-circle to follow the crescent of the stage. Behind
those tables were two rows of smaller ones, and the bar was
positioned in the far back. I glanced around, scoping out the best
view of the entire place, and spotted an empty table for two on the
other side of the room, furthest from the entrance. I stopped at
the bar to grab a bottle of water, and, ignoring the strange look
the bartender gave me, made my way to the table. From my seat, I
could glimpse the entire crowd. I opened my water and took a drink,
not surprised when it did nothing to quench my thirst.

That was when I noticed the guy on stage. I
mean, really noticed. I’d seen him as I walked inside, but it
wasn’t until I was settled in my seat that I became aware of how
the crowd was reacting to him. The majority of the people were
intently watching him, hanging on his every note. They listened
with admiration, as he sang an unfamiliar song. I might have
believed I was the only one who didn’t recognize the tune, but no
one was singing along, and yet something about him had grabbed the
attention of everyone in the room and wasn’t letting go.

He was alone, strumming somber notes on an
electric guitar, and singing into the microphone on the stand in
front of him. He had a unique voice with an almost sandpaper-like
quality to it, and his ease in front of the crowd led me to believe
he’d done this a few times, but all that aside, there didn’t appear
to be anything special about him. This only fueled my curiosity.
Was he a vampire? I didn’t think so, although it would explain the
strange power he held over the crowd. Instinctively, I started to
reach out with my mind before I realized the moon hadn’t yet made
her appearance over the city. I was powerless.

When the song ended, the crowd applauded, and
a few women toward the back whistled, earning a wave and a chuckle
from Guitar Guy.

“Thanks for your patience with me,” he said
with a half-smile. “You guys are a great crowd. I’ve found there’s
nothing better to combat writer’s block than a night at Carlie’s.
If you don’t mind, I’ll just try one more out on you and then I’ll
let the real talent take over.” He gestured to a small group of
waiting musicians with various instruments who appeared to grow
more nervous at his mention of them than they had previously
been.

Without another word, Guitar Guy began to
strum and sing another song. After the first few opening notes, my
phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket to see a text from
Mark.

Got paged 2 hospital.

I smiled. It seemed I could stop feeling
guilty for not inviting him along. I quickly typed my reply.
That sucks.

Where u at?
He responded

I considered the question for a moment before
I answered.
A buffet. Jealous?

His answer came immediately.
I fed last
night…
.
Then he quickly added,
Should I be?

I glanced around at the crowd of people
before me, my nerves becoming more on edge as my thirst grew
stronger. I’d been so entertained with analyzing the mysterious
Guitar Guy on stage that I hadn’t even been paying attention to all
of the potential donors in the room.

I texted Mark back quickly, distracted now by
my thirst.
Probably.

I closed my phone and slipped it back into my
pocket in time to pay attention to the last of the song. It ended
with a great reception just as the previous one had. Guitar Guy
thanked the crowd again and was joined on stage by a man who I
could only assume owned the place. He took the microphone and said,
“Thanks Trey, for that impromptu performance. You know we love your
surprise visits.” Trey, as was apparently his name, shook hands
with the owner and waved again before leaving stage with his
guitar. He disappeared into a crowd of waiting women and I lost
sight of him as the owner on the stage started to speak again.

“He’s complaining of writer’s block and still
manages to knock out songs like that,” the man said with a
disbelieving shake of his head. The audience laughed as he asked
the next act up on stage. The band of nervous musicians clumsily
made their way up onto the stage and began setting up their
instruments.

I drank from my bottle of water, tasteless
and unfulfilling, and focused on the small clumps of people
surrounding me. A table in front of me to my left consisted of
three male twenty-something’s that seemed like possible frequenters
to the club, at least judging by the way they seemed to know the
girl clearing the tables and refreshing their drinks.

Any of them could be an easy target,
especially if the alcohol at their table kept flowing, but then
there was a good possibility they had arrived in the same vehicle.
Upon further consideration, I decided I didn’t want to hang around
until closing time to wait for one of them to wander off alone.

I scanned another table not far away, and
considered a guy in his early thirties with blond hair. From what I
could tell, his girlfriend had left him alone to join some other
girls at a table across the room. He was peeling the label on his
drink and casting longing glances at the all-girl table. I checked
my watch and saw that it wouldn’t be long before my other senses
would be functional. I wasn’t in an especially patient mood, but
waiting just a while longer would make the selection process that
much easier.

I heard a slight commotion behind me, but
didn’t bother turning around until I recognized the sandpaper voice
amid a bunch of shrilly female tones. I looked over my shoulder to
see Guitar Guy backing away from a small group of women, hands in
the air in a helpless gesture. The smile on his face didn’t
completely cover up the panicked expression he wore beneath it.

“Really, I’d love to but-” he bumped into the
back of my chair in his retreat and turned to look at me
regretfully. Whether or not he meant it, the expression on his face
was more desperate than apologetic. The entire scene was a little
pathetic, which is probably why I didn’t resist when he decided to
use me as an escape. “Whoa, there you are,” he said, turning to
face me. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I couldn’t help the amused smile I wore as I
gazed up at him, his blue eyes pleading with me to play along. The
small clique of women behind him eyed me doubtfully, and just to
spite them I gestured to the empty chair in front of me and said,
“Who knew I could blend in so well?”

His eyes locked with mine for half a second
before he forced himself to turn to the women and shrug. “It sounds
like a great party. Maybe next time.” He settled himself into the
chair in front of me and after only a few seconds of deliberation,
the women reluctantly turned on their three-inch heels and walked
away, glaring at me as they went.

“Thanks.” He sighed. “I’m Trey Decker.” He
offered his hand across the small round table and I accepted
it.

“Aurora Evins,” I replied.

He gave me a lazy smile and leaned back in
his chair casually. “I’m really sorry about that. Can I buy you a
drink or something?”

I raised my bottled water a few inches off
the table. “Thanks, I’m all set. But I am curious to know what you
did to attract the mob over there.” I gestured with a nod to the
pack of women who were still eyeing us from the other side of the
club.

He chuckled before looking up at me with
interest. I realized that my earlier impression of him didn’t do
him justice. He was about six feet tall, with a lean athletic build
(demonstrated by the fit of his t-shirt), and dark messy hair that
made his clear blue eyes all the more noticeable. He was hot, and
that wasn’t the only thing I was certain of: he was one hundred
percent human.

“I guess they just liked my set tonight. I
blame the guitar. It’s great for picking up girls but it will
probably be my downfall in the end.” He half-smiled at me and waved
at the girl who was cleaning the now empty table in front of us,
calling her by name and asking her for some water. She responded
with a flirtatious wink and a promise to be right back with his
water. I watched the exchange with curiosity.