Dead Roses for a Blue Lady (5 page)

She wondered where the vampire had overheard—or stolen—that particular drollery. A dead boy of his wattage didn't come up with
ban mots
and witty remarks spontaneously.

When you had to spend a lot of conscious energy remembering to breathe and blink, there was no such thing as top-of-your-head snappy patter. It was all protective coloration, right down to the last double
entendre
and Monty Python impersonation.

It would be another decade or two before the vampire, dressed in black silk and leather with the stainless steel ankh dangling from one ear and a crystal embedded in his left nostril, could divert his energies to something besides the full-time task of insuring his continuance. And, for some reason, she doubted the dead boy had much of a future in the predator business.

She waved down the bartender and ordered a beer. As she waited its arrival, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror backing the bar. To the casual observer she looked to be no more then twenty-five. Tricked out in a battered leather jacket, with a stained Circle Jerks t-shirt, patched jeans, mirrored sunglasses, and dark hair twisted into a tortured cockatoo's crest, she looked like just another gothic college girl checking out the scene.

No one would ever guess she was actually forty years old.

She sucked the cold suds down, participating in her own form of protective coloration.

She could drink a case or three of the stuff with the only effect being she'd piss like a firehose. Beer didn't do it for her anymore. Neither did hard liquor. Or cocaine. Or heroin.

Or crack. She had tried them all, in dosages that would have put the entire US Olympic Team in the morgue; but no luck. There was only one drug that plunked her magic

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) twanger nowadays. Only one thing that could get her off.

And that drug was blood.

Yeah, the dead boy was good enough that he could have fooled another vampire. Could have. But didn't.

She eyed her prey speculatively. She doubted she'd have any trouble taking the sucker down. She rarely did, these days. Least not the lesser evolved undead that still lacked major psionic muscle. Sure, they had enough mesmeric ability to gull the humans in their vicinity, but little else. Compared to her own psychic abilities, the art-fag vampire might as well have been packing a pea-shooter. Still, it wasn't smart to get too cocky. Lord Morgan had dismissed her in such a high-handed manner, and now he was missing half his face.

She shifted her vision from the human to the Pretender spectrum, studying the vampire's true appearance. She wondered if the black-garbed art afficionados clustered about their mandarin, their heads bobbing like puppets, would still consider his pronouncements worthy if they knew his skin was the color and texture of rotton sailcloth, and that his lips were black and shriveled, revealing oversized fangs set in a perpetual death's head grimace. No doubt they'd drop their little plastic cups of cheap blush and back away in horror, their surface glaze of urbanite sophistication and studied ennui replaced by honest, old fashioned monkey-brain terror.

Humans need masks in order to live their day-to-day lives, even amongst their own kind.

Little did they know that their dependence on artifice and pretense provided the perfect hiding place for a raft of predators. Predators like the vampire pretending to be an art-fag.

Predators like herself.

Sonja tightened her grip on the switchblade in her jacket pocket.

"Uh, excuse me?"

She jerked around a little too fast, startling the young man at her elbow. She was so focused on her prey she had been unaware of his approaching her. Sloppy. Really sloppy.

"Yeah, what is it?"

The young man blinked, taken aback by the brusqueness in her voice. "I, uh, was wondering if I might, uh, buy you a drink?"

She automatically scanned him for signs of Pretender taint, but he came up clean. One hundred percent USDA Human. He was taller than her by a couple of inches, his blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. There were three rings in his right ear and one in his left nostril. Despite the metalwork festooning his nose, he was quite handsome.

Sonja was at a loss for words. She was not used to being approached by normal people in public. She tended to generate a low-level psychic energy that most humans found unnerving, if not antagonistic. In layman's terms, she tended to either scare people or piss them off.

"I— I—" She shot her prey a glance out of the corner of her eye.
Shit!
The bastard was starting to make his move, hustling one of the more entranced hangers-on.

"I realize this is going to sound like a really dumb, cheap come-on," he said, giving her an embarassed smile. "But I saw you from across the room—and I just had to meet you.

Please let me buy you a drink."

"I, uh, I—"

The vampire was escorting its prey outside, smiling widely as it continued to discourse on modern art.

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"There's something I have to take care of—I'll be right back! I promise! Don't go away!"

she blurted, and dashed off in pursuit of her target for the night.

She scanned the parking lot, checking for signs of the vampire's passage. She prayed she wasn't too late. Once a vamp isolated and seduced a human from the herd, they tended to move quickly. She knew that from her own experience at the hands of Lord Morgan, the undead bastard responsible for her own transformation.

The vampire and its prey were sitting in the backseat of a silver BMW with heavily tinted windows; their blurred silhouettes moving like shadows reflected in an aquarium. There was no time to waste. She'd have to risk being spotted.

The imitation art-fag looked genuinely suprised when her fist punched through the back window, sending tinted safety glass flying into the car. He hissed a challenge, exposing his fangs, as he whipped about to face her. His victim sat beside him, motionless as a mannequin, his eyes unfocused and fly open. The human's erect penis jutted forward, vibrating like a tuning fork.

Sonja grabbed the vampire by the collar of his black silk shirt and pulled him, kicking and screaming, through the busted back windshield. The human didn't even blink.

"Quit yer bitchin!" Sonja snapped as she hurled the snarling vampire onto the parking lot gravel. "Let's get this over with, dead boy! I got a hot date!"

The vampire launched himself at her, talons hooked and fangs extended. Sonja moved to meet the attack, flicking open her switchblade with a snap of her wrist. The silver blade sank into the vampire's exposed thorax, causing him to shriek in pain. The vampire collapsed, spasming as his system reacted to the silver's toxin.

Sonja knelt and swiftly removed the vampire's head from his shoulders. The body was already starting to putrefy by the time she located the BMW's keys. She unlocked the trunk and tossed the vampire's rapidly decomposing remains inside, making sure the keys were left in his pants pocket.

She looked around, but there were no witnesses to be seen in the darkened lot. She moved around to the passenger side and opened the door, tugging the human out of the car.

He stood propped against the bumper like a drunkard, his eyes swimming and his face slack. His penis dangled from his pants like a deflated party balloon. Sonja took his chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned his head so that his eyes met hers.

"This never happened. You do not remember leaving the bar with anyone. Is that clear?"

"N-nothing h-happened," he stammered.

"Excellent! Now go back in the bar and have a good time. Oh, and stick that thing back in your pants! You don't want to get busted for indecent exposure, do you?"

She was buzzing by the time she re-entered the bar. She liked to think of it as her
apres-

combat
high. The adrenaline from the battle was still sluicing around inside her, juicing her perceptions and making her feel as if she was made of lightning and spun glass. It wasn't as intense as the boost she got from blood, but it was good.

Someone jostled her and Sonja looked down into the face of a drab, mousey woman, her face set into a scowl. She paused, studying the schizophrenia that radiated from the other woman like a martyr's halo. The scowling woman blushed, drew her shoulders in, ducked

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) her chin, and hurried away as if she'd suddenly woken up and discovered herself sleepwalking in the nude. Sonja shrugged and continued scanning the bar for the young man who'd spoken to her earlier.

Give it up, he's forgotten you and found another bimbo for the evening.

Sonja fought to keep from cringing at the sound of the Other's voice inside her head. She managed to go almost all night without having to endure its commentary.

She found him waiting for her at the bar. Sonja made a last minute spot-check for any blood or telltale ichor that might be clinging to her, then moved forward.

"You still interested in buying me that drink?"

The young man's smile was genuinely relieved. "You came back!"

"I said I'd be back, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You did." He smiled again and offered her his hand. "I guess I ought to introduce myself. I'm Judd."

Sonja took his hand and smiled without parting her lips. "Pleased to meet you, Judd. I'm Sonja."

"What the hell's going on here?!"

Judd's smile faltered as his gaze fixed itself on something just over Sonja's right shoulder.

She turned and found herself almost nose-to-nose with a young woman dressed in a skin-tight black sheath, fishnet stockings, and way too much make-up. The woman's psychosis covered her face like a caul found on a newborn infant, pulsing indentations marking her eyes, nose and mouth.

Judd closed his eyes and sighed. " Kitty, look, it's over! Get a life of your own and let go of mine, alright?"

"Oh, is
that
how you see it? Funny, I remember you saying something different! Like how you'd
always
love me! Guess I was stupid to believe that, huh?"

Kitty's rage turned the caul covering her face an interesting shade of magenta. The way it swirled and pulsed reminded Sonja of a lavalamp.

"You're not getting away
that
easy, asshole! And who's this—your new slut?" Kitty slapped the flat of her hand against Sonja's leather-clad shoulder to push her away from Judd.

Sonja grabbed Kitty's wrist, careful not to break it in front of Judd.

C'mon, snap the crazy bitch's arm off,
purred the Other.
She deserves it!

"Don't touch me."

Kitty tried to yank herself free of Sonja's grip. "I'll fucking touch you anytime I want! Just you stay away from my boyfriend, bitch! Now let me go!" She made to rake Sonja's face with her free hand, only to have that one grabbed as well, forcing her to look directly into her rival's face.

Kitty's features grew pale and she stopped struggling. Sonja knew the other woman was seeing her—
truly
seeing her—for what she was. Only three kinds of human could perceive the Real World: psychics, poets, and lunatics. And Kitty definitely qualified for the last category.

Sonja released the girl, who stood massaging her wrists, her gaze still fixed on her. Kitty opened her mouth as if to say something then turned and hurried away, nearly tripping over her own high heels as she fled.

Judd looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. Kitty's a weird girl. We

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) lived together for a few months, but she was incredibly jealous. It got to the point where I couldn't take any more of it, so I moved out. She's been dogging my tracks ever since. She scared off my last two girlfriends." Sonja shrugged. "I don't scare easy."

He wasn't afraid of her. Nor did she detect the self-destructive tendencies that usually attracted men to her kind. Judd was not a tranced moth drawn to her dark flame, nor was he a renfield in search of a master. He was simply a good-natured young man who found her physically attractive. The novelty of his normalcy intrigued her.

He bought her several drinks, all of which she downed without effect. But she
did
feel giddy, almost lightheaded, while in his company. To be mistaken for a desirable human woman was actually quite flattering. Especially since she'd stopped thinking of herself as human some time back.

They ended up dancing, adding their bodies to the surging crowd that filled the mosh pit.

At one point, Sonja was amazed to find herself laughing, genuinely
laughing,
one arm wrapped about Judd's waist. And then Judd leaned in and kissed her.

She barely had time to retract her fangs before his tongue found hers. She slid her other arm around his waist and pulled him into her, grinding herself against him. He responded eagerly, his erection rubbing against her hip like a friendly tomcat. And she found herself wondering how his blood would taste.

She pushed him away so hard he staggered backward a couple of steps, almost falling on his ass. Sonja shook her head as if trying to dislodge something in her ear, a guttural moan rising from her chest.

"Sonja?" There was a confused, hurt look on his face.

She could
see
his blood beckoning her from just beneath the surface of his skin: the veins traced in blue, the arteries pulsing purple. She turned her back on him and ran from the bar, her head lowered. She shouldered her way through a knot of dancers, sending them flying like duckpins. Some of the bar's patrons hurled insults in her direction, a couple even spat at her, but she was deaf to their anger.

She put a couple of blocks between her and the bar before she stopped to catch her breath.

She slumped into a darkened doorway, staring at her shaking hands as if they belonged to someone else.