Creatures of the Night

~~August~~

Technicolor lights flash and pulse in accordance to the rumbling bass thumping from the towering speakers across the dark room. Bodies pack the central space upon a raised floor built from illuminating panels like sardines, bumping and grinding against one another like headless chickens. Light scatters through the club, reflecting off of the mirror ball that dangles from the ceiling. The lights become diffused by the faint sheen of smoke that floats through the room, spat out by the machines hidden in the DJ’s booth and the walls like a victim of Poe. The thick taste of sweat and revelry swims through the air, tinged with mixed drinks and bad decisions.

It’s tough for me to discern the men and women from each other here, they both drown themselves in perfumes and makeup and put on masks to hide who they truly are for the night - but gender is such an outdated concept now so I don’t really seem to care. They all taste the same, in the end.

I’m leaning against the railing overlooking the dance floor from the VIP booths, observing all those beneath me, carefully eyeing and deliberating on where my sights shall fall tonight. She’s had too much to drink. He reeks of Axe Body Spray. They’re too insecure. My eyes finally fall upon her: a blonde woman in a black-and-silver dress, strapless, high heels over fishnets. She sits at the bar, nursing a drink the bartender just handed her in one hand and clutching her purse in the other.

She feels a compulsion to look up, and in a moment our eyes lock. I play it cool, as if I had just looked over her way in the same manner she looked to me. I flash her a smile, a well-practiced feint, and she returns with one of her own before brushing her hair behind her ear and giggles to herself, returning to her drink with the smile maintained. She turns her gaze back to me, and I raise my empty glass to her. She again checks the gesture, before quickly checking around herself to make sure that she was the intended recipient of my gaze. When she looks back up to the VIP booths, I am not there; I’ve sunk into the crowd around me, like a lion in tall grass. I can feel her disappointment in the moment, and I can taste her expectation on my tongue. I descend the metal staircase, entering the jungle of sweaty bodies. To hunt in a place is lucrative, only if done well and properly, and if you know what to look for.

A good hunter knows how to use his surroundings to his advantage. These people dancing around me, they are nothing but coverage. Trees and brush through which to prowl. I see my prey. From my vantage I can see her insecurity and loneliness as she sips her drink. I see nothing but flaw, and it makes her malleable. Workable.

~~Maggie~~

Amy and Sara strut off to the dance floor, drinks in hand and instantly find two guys to dance with. More like grind against. Creatures of the night, those two, I swear. Finally, the bartender slides a napkin and places my drink in front of me. God, I really needed this, I think to myself. I give the bartender a smile and he gives a reciprocal raise of his eyebrows that disappear into the curly mop that droops over his forehead. He’s kinda cute, but not my type. I sip my drink and let the warm rush of gin, Campari, and vermouth run through me.

I hate nightclubs. This is so not my scene. It’s too loud, there’s too many people in here, the lights hurt my eyes and everyone’s shitty perfume makes this place stink worse than a Sephora. The fuck is that guy doing over there? Does he really call that dancing? It looks like he’s having a seizure. I can’t help but look at this LED-strobe-lit clusterfuck that is this club, and that’s when I look up and see him: leaning against the rail in the VIP area I see probably the best looking guy here, and that’s by a long shot for sure. He’s got the nicest hair on a guy I’ve ever seen, it comes down to about his shoulders, no sign of a receding hairline or anything like most guys his age. I mean, he looks like he’s in his late twenties to mid thirties, but I can’t really tell from here. Okay, he is so my type. Oh my god, he just smiled at me. Did I just smile back? I take another sip of my drink, he probably isn’t looking at me. I look back up and he’s STILL SMILING AT ME. He holds his drink up to me, and I can’t help but do the same. I look around the bar thinking Please don’t let me embarrass myself, but no one else was returning any gestures. I look back up to him, but he’s gone.

Fuck.

I turn back to my drink and take a few sips. I get through, like, the whole thing before I see a hand reach past me and place an empty glass down on the bar, and the curly-headed bartender stands at attention.

“A Negroni please, Chris.” Says the voice. It’s soft spoken, but carries enough confidence behind it to carry through the blasting music. “And whatever she’s having.” I follow the arm, past a rolled sleeve of a pristine white button down, into a black vest containing a red necktie, and my eyes lock with his; deep brown with a hint of green, like a quiet forest you could just get lost in.

“Uhm” I stammer, not breaking eye contact. “Same for me.” The bartender, I guess named Chris, nods to him and spins away to start pouring drinks as this man sits next to me. Seeing him up close now, he’s even prettier than I thought before. Such sharp but delicate features, so toned he looks like he was carved from stone, like marble.

“On me, of course.” He smiles. God, even his smile is perfect, his teeth are whiter than pearls. “Good choice, by the way. You know your mixed drinks.”

“Yeah, I never really liked drinking until my ex started making me drinks and taking me to bars.” OH FUCK WHY DID I SAY THAT?

“Well you chose well.” He chuckles, not at all weirded out by what the fuck I just said. “I’m August by the way, August Blythe.” He holds his hand out. Without a second thought I do the same. His hands are soft. Like, baby soft. He probably moisturizes, you don’t get that good looking skin without a self care routine.

“I’m Maggie.” The drinks land on freshly laid napkins and August slides Chris a five. We clink our glasses together before taking a sip before setting them down, and our eyes meet again.

“So, what do you do, Miss Maggie?” he asks.

“I’m an office administrator for Coulson and Frank downtown.”

“Coulson and Frank? Lawyers or insurance claims?”

“Lawyers. And pretty good ones, too. Pretty good track record.”

“That’s interesting. Do you enjoy your job?”

“I mean, it’s a job. It’s not what I wanted to do, but it’s what’s keeping me alive. Paying the bills, and such.”

“Well, what is it you want to do?”

I sit and think for a minute. I think back to being a kid back out West, wanting more than anything to be off that farm. “I can tell you I didn’t want to be a cowgirl.”

“For what it’s worth,” he chuckles as he takes a sip from his drink. “I don’t think many folk nowadays want to be cowboys or cowgirls.”

“What about you, though? What do you do?”

“I’m what some may call a connoisseur.” He grins. “I’m really just very well traveled. I’ve been all across the world. About two thirds of my staff here I brought along from my travels.”

I nearly choke and spit up my drink when he says that. “Wait, your staff?”

“Oh, yeah, this is my club. I own it, and I have stakes in its sister clubs around the world. Los Angeles, Chicago, London, Paris, Tokyo, among other cities.” His drink returns to his lips.

“I’ve always wanted to travel, to see the world. I thought moving here to the city would help make that happen, but all I got was a dead end job and a shit ton of bills.”

“Well, I can certainly tell you that Paris is a truly lovely city. The architecture is rich and intriguing, the cafes are quaint, the lights when the sun sets...” he trails off for a moment and I find myself gazing into his eyes. The longer our eyes remain locked, I can feel this energy between us. “The lights when the sun sets are just the most romantic thing you have ever seen.”

“I’d love to see them... one day.” I sigh.

“You know,” he glances at the glasses of red liquor and back to me. “The Negroni is a relatively recent creation. Not unlike many contemporary cocktails, but this one is actually a spin on another drink, the Americano. It was named after Count Camillo Negroni in the 1910s at a bar he frequented in Florence. He changed the soda water for gin to give it a stronger, bolder flavor, and garnished it with orange instead of lemon.”

“I didn’t know that, actually.” I say as I take another sip, and fail to cover my smile.

We kept talking for hours, but it felt like barely one. For how gentle and smooth his voice is, I can hear him perfectly over the crowd. There’s something about him that makes him so charming, I can’t describe it. At one point, probably at around ten or eleven, we make our way onto the dance floor. As uncomfortable as I felt about being here before, I feel CALM with him, and as the two of us start dancing together I feel excitement and joy and everything good that could be felt bouncing between us. We’re eventually on the other side of the dance floor from where we started and he’s guiding me by the hand up the stairs and past the bouncer into the VIP section.

There’s a way nicer bar up here, with private booths that have deep purple curtains hanging from rods that can be pulled around to grant some privacy. Three of the six booths have their curtains pulled shut, while two of the remaining three are occupied by what look like mixes of upper class businessmen and women, artists, oligarchs, just random upper echelon people from all over, from so many different walks of life it almost feels wrong to see them mingling. August walks past all of them, giving nods of greeting and acknowledgement, like he’s known all of these people for a long while but sees no need for formalities. With my hand still comfortably in his, I ignore the tinge of worry in my stomach as August walks the two of us to the closed door on the far wall, pushing it open and allowing me through.

Before the lights turn on, I can see the room from the strobes flashing through the bay window overlooking the club. A lavish wooden desk sits facing away from the window with a high-backed leather chair positioned behind it. Two rounded couches face each other in the center of the room, the cushions look like they’re made of a purple velvet. A circular glass coffee table sits between the two couches. On the wall opposite the desk is an opening into a side room flanked by the same thick purple curtains that dangle from the booths outside. August steps around me and flips a switch, turning on the recessed lights in the ceiling, casting a dim light across the room. He steps further into the room and sits on the couch facing me, wordlessly beckoning me closer, simply resting his arm on the back of the couch, tilting his head slightly forwards with a soft, relaxed grin. As if it was a compulsion, I walked over, kicked off my heels and sat down next to him. I look behind me into the side room and see an immaculate king-sized bed. He must have sensed my curiosity, because before I could say anything:

“No, I don’t live here.” he chuckled. “There are some nights I work late and don’t feel like going all the way back home, so I keep a bed here.”

I feel my phone buzz in my purse. I haven’t felt it all night. I kind of forgot about it. “Sorry, it’s probably my friends asking where I am. I haven’t seen them in a while.” I pull my phone out as August stands and steps around the couch.

AMY

Mags, wya? Sara and I cant find u

MAGGIE

In the owners office. Hes pretty hot lol

AMY

Damn girl, one night and ur

already getting it lmao

Can we come up???

“Hey, my friends are asking to come up, is that cool?”

“How many?”

“Just two.”

“Sure. I’ll let Murphy know to get them.”

MAGGIE

He said yes!!! A bouncer or someone

named Murphy is coming to find u!

AMY

Fuck yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

<3<3<3

I slide my phone back into my purse just as August steps away from a hidden bar in the wall, carrying a bottle of red wine and six glasses by the stems.

“Six glasses?”

“Well, if you’re inviting your two up, as am I.” His eyes flash with that unbridled charisma and my nerves drop again.

“Fair enough.” I couldn’t tell why I was agreeing with it, but for some reason being around August just feels right. Like, just being with him makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.

A little while later, the door to the office opens, the loud thumping of bass guiding Sara and Amy through the door, followed by Chris the bartender and a tall, muscular man wearing a gray coat with white hair and an eye patch over his left eye. It’s the bouncer from the front of the VIP section, he must be the “Murphy” guy August mentioned. The girls look around the office in awe, are escorted to the couch and handed glasses of wine by August who introduces himself. We talked for a little bit before Amy suggested we “turn things up in here,” and eventually we were all dancing and drinking more, having our own little party before I asked August if I could see the bedroom.

~~Amy~~

“Maggie’s with the owner right now!”

“No. Fucking. Way.” Sara gasps. “Can we come up?”

“Hold on.” I hit send and wait, drinking my marg and eyeing a fit gym-body across the bar before my phone buzzes. “She said yes! Some dude named Murphy’s gonna come find us and bring us up!”

Sara takes another big sip from her drink and slams it down on the bartop. “Oh my god, no way!” she squeaks. “Should I go fix my makeup?”

“Why?”

“In case there’s another hot guy or two up there?”

“Good point... let’s go to the bathroom.”

“There’s a big line though. Give me your phone.”

“What? No, use yours. I’m gonna use mine.”

“But mine’s dead!”

“Really? You didn’t charge it before we came out?”

“I forgot!”

“Ugh, fucking fine. Be quick.”

Sara squeaks again and takes my phone out of my hand at the same time as throwing her purse on the bar. She leans her phone against her drink and starts pulling out different makeups from the purse. After a minute, she slaps her lipstick down on the bar and turns to me.

“How do I look?”

“Clean. Move, my turn.”

I bump Sara out of the way and smack her hand as she reaches for the phone stand that just so happens to be her drink. I clean up my eyeliner, my blush, concealer, lipstick and lipgloss. I check my teeth and smack Sara in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, psycho?”

“I have LIPSTICK on my TEETH! It’s BEEN THERE all NIGHT!”

“How am I supposed to know that? Wipe it off!”

“No, I think I’ll just leave it there, idiot.”

I grab one of the cocktail napkins from behind the bar, wrap it around my finger and wipe the red stains off of my teeth.

Then, I feel a tap on my shoulder and I spin around to see a brick shithouse of a man standing behind us with long white hair, a thick gray coat and an eyepatch over his left eye.

“Are you Amy and Sara?” the man asks. He’s got a thick accent, probably British or Scottish, something like that. He’s kinda hot when you get past the fact that he’s like seven feet tall and has one eye.

“Yeah, we are!” Sara pipes up.

“My boss sent me to bring the two of you up.” the man says.

“Are you Murphy?” I ask.

“Mhmm. Let’s go.” he replies before looking past us to the bartender. “Chris. You’re coming with me.”

I turn to look at the cute bartender who served us before, who looks at Murphy, smiles and nods before stuffing a rag in his back pocket and walking out from behind the bar.

Sara and I stuff our makeup back in our bags and I grab my phone back from her before following Murphy and Chris through the dance floor. I take another look for that fit guy I danced with before, but I see him dancing with some other chick with fucked up bangs. Oh well.

Before I realize, we’re climbing the stairs into the VIP area and Murphy unclips the velvet rope before ushering us through. The booths up here are filled with a bunch of crazy looking people. They look, like, really rich or really important. The ones I can see look that way, at least. The rest of the booths have these really nice but thick purple curtains pulled in front of them. Murphy steps back in front of us and opens the door into the office where me and Sara see Maggie sitting with this cute guy on the couch.

“Damn, so this must be what it’s like to have money!” I joke. I don’t really know if anyone liked the joke, but fuck ‘em if they don’t. The cute guy smiles as he stands up from next to Maggie.

“I guess it is.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re Amy and she’s Sara? Pleasure to meet you, I'm August.”

Sara and I drop our purses on the glass table in between the couches and sit down. Chris comes in behind us and walks over to the bar. As soon as he turns around to look at Sara and I, I cross my legs like I saw in that one movie years ago. “Yep. I’m Amy, that’s Sara. We’re Maggie’s best friends.”

“And roommates.” Sara chimes in as she does the same exact fucking leg thing I just did. We make eye contact and she raises her eyebrows at me.

“Well, I hope you two are enjoying your night at the Pavilion?” August asks.

“Oh, yeah, we are. Your club is really nice.” I say.

“Definitely the best club we’ve been to in a while.” Sara adds.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me. I worked hard to make this place as... enjoyable as possible.”

“So how long have you owned the place?” Maggie asks.

“Well, I bought the space about eight months ago now, and we opened up about six months ago now, right Murphy?”

Murphy is still standing next to the door, his arms crossed. Obviously flexing.

“Just about, yeah.” he replies.

“So are you two, like, business partners?” Sara asks.

“In a way, you can say that.” August says. “We’ve known each other for quite a while, running in the same circles if you can believe it or not. I eventually hired him on as my personal guard, then when I acquired my fortune I named him my ‘head of security’ and we became more partners than employer-employee.”

“That’s cool.” I say. At this point, Chris comes back out from around the bar and fills the four empty wine glasses on the table before sliding two of them towards me and Sara, sliding the third one to the far side of the table, then picking one up for himself. I, of course, take my glass and take a sip. So does Sara.

Now, I don’t know shit about wine, but this stuff was smooth. Like, I’ve had good wines, I’ve been wined and dined, but this stuff isn’t the usual stuff a regular Chad or Mike or Ryan would buy.

August goes full wine tasting on us. He sniffs the wine, swirls it in his glass, and does that weird mouth-swishy thing before swallowing the wine. “A Château l'Arrosée, Grand Cru Classé from Bordeaux. The twenty-ten vintage. You can really taste the cherry and mint notes, and there’s a hint of tar in there. And there’s a subtle herbal aroma. It’s supple, pliant, yet more forward than some.”

Okay, this guy’s kind of a snob. Can’t see what Maggie sees in him, but go off girl, I guess.

Chris sits down now between Sara and I, so I finally have someone else to turn my attention to.

“So,” I start as I turn towards him, resting my arm partially on the back of the couch and on his shoulder at the same time. My usual opener. “How long have you worked here?”

“I’ve been here since the club opened,” he says. “Yeah, Mr. Blythe hired me out of this other bar I worked at downtown.”

“Oh, where’d you work?” Sara joins in, blatantly copying my move.

“Oh, this real hole-in-the-wall place. It’s not there anymore, the owner was busted for something and it got shut down.”

“Oh no, that sucks.” Sara whines, trailing on the final S. I shoot her a look behind Chris’s head and she returns a different one. Kinda like she’s telling me to keep going?

“Do you live around here?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah, I have a place a few blocks away.”

“A place in Hell’s Kitchen? How fancy.” Sara leans in.

“I should come see it sometime.” I lean in as well.

Mine and Sara’s hands rest on Chris’s thighs at the same time and the two of us lock eyes.

Oh, I get it now.

~~Maggie~~

The silk bedsheets feel like heaven against my skin. So soft and comfortable, wrapped around me like a cocoon. My eyes flutter open when I realize August isn’t still in bed, but I wake up when I hear a thud from the other side of the curtain. I climb out of the bed and pull my dress on as I creep towards the edge of the room.

“No, please stop!” I hear Amy sob. I peer through the crack in the wall and I feel my stomach drop.

In the dim light of the office I see Chris the bartender hunched over Sara’s shoulder, his hand pushing her head to one side to fully expose her neck. I see two streams of blood dripping down her neck and onto her exposed chest. Murphy stands behind the other couch, one hand holding the back of Amy's head like a vice, forcing her to watch whatever it is that’s happening to our friend. A horrid slurping sound is coming from Sara’s neck. Her eyes are open, but I can tell even in this dim light that there is no life behind that look of terrified shock.

I see August step from behind his desk and pat Murphy on the shoulder, who moves over so he can lean down into Amy’s ear.

“You know, I wasn’t planning on letting him feed tonight. He’s still a newly embraced child, he hasn’t fully earned it yet, but I was feeling generous.”

“Please,” Amy whimpers, uselessly trying to get away from August who now has a hand on her shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Oh I believe you, darling." He brushes her hair away from the side of her face. "And you have Maggie to thank for that.”

August bites down on Amy’s neck and she lets out a pained yelp, like a puppy whose tail just got stepped on. After one slurp, August wrenches his head away from her neck and spits up the blood and viscera.

"Ugh, what the FUCK?" August shouts out. His glare returns to the back of Amy's head, who's now curled up on the couch clutching her neck. "FUCK YOU, DUMB WHORE." He storms back over to Amy, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her upright, resulting in another pained yelp from her. He grabs a lock of her hair and holds it up to his nose, near instantly pulling his head away with a look of disgust painted on his face, like he just took a point blank whiff of raw sewage. He palms the back of Amy's head and forces her back onto the couch.

“Ugh, fake blonde. I hate when my food lies to me.” he spits. “Murphy, she’s all yours my friend.”

Murphy steps back behind Amy, grabbing her by the neck to pull her back up into a seated position, once again forced to stare at our friend’s naked corpse. A quick motion and another yelp from Amy, and now Murphy slurps from her neck as Chris does to Sara.

I slowly step away from the curtain, holding my hand over my mouth to make sure they can’t hear my quivering breaths. I grab my purse off of the floor. I pull my phone out and quickly tap on the screen, but it won’t respond. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I whisper to myself. My heart is beating in my chest. I can feel it in my ears. Is there any way I can help them? Or at least Amy? I need to get out of here. I can’t be seen or I’ll die like the two of them. I look out past the curtain again and see my heels still scattered on the floor next to the couch. I didn’t like those ones anymore anyways.

Chris whips his head away from Sara’s neck, a small gout of blood jumps from the two pin pricks in her neck. He eagerly licks the rest of the blood from her neck before wiping the excess dribble off his face with his hands and quickly licking it all off afterwards. I can still see flecks and drops of blood in his beard, which is a generous description now that I think about it. The beard is just a patch of hair that looks like a cluster of stray pubes on his chin. Sara’s body still lays there beneath him on the couch, pale white and blue, and her body looks like a half-crumpled CapriSun pouch. He reaches over and pulls his tight black t-shirt back over his head and wipes the excess blood from his beard patch with the bar rag he keeps in his back pocket. He reaches down once more and begins to lift Sara’s body, but August raises his hand in a silent command for him to stop.

“Leave the body, go clean up downstairs. Then you’re good to go.”

Chris does as he’s told and unceremoniously drops Sara’s body back on the couch before leaving the office.

Now’s my chance.

I slowly creep out from behind the curtain and hug the wall, doing my best not to catch any more glimpses at my friends bodies, but I hear a faint groan.

“M...Maggie?...” I turn to see Amy’s pale face turned towards me beneath Murphy’s heavy body. Her eyes are half open and makeup-stained tears streak from her eyes. “H-help... m-me...”

August turns from his bar and our eyes meet. He flashes me a smile and I can see now, clear as day, the enlarged fangs and a crimson hue where once there were brown and green eyes. “Maggie! How kind of you to join us!”

I turn and run through the office door back into the now empty club. Running down the cold metal stairs, I can see Chris at the bar cleaning up, who hears me and furrows his brow in anger. I look around, trying to find any way to get away from them. I see the back door behind the DJ’s booth and I make a break for it, my bare feet smacking against the floor before I burst through the door into the rainy night. I’m now in the alley behind the club. To my left is a dead end, but the other way I can see the alleyway turn towards the street.

I sprint towards the turn, I feel my feet freezing and cutting against loose asphalt on the concrete beneath me. My heart is pounding in my chest, harder than before, my breathing is heavy but I can feel my freedom and survival is around the corner. I can call the police, they’ll find Sara and Amy’s bodies in the office, they’ll get here and I’ll be safe. I make the turn and I freeze.

The alleyway is blocked by a fifteen-foot-tall brick wall. No dumpsters, no trash cans to climb on. Just a smooth wall, and tears staining my cheeks.

"No, no, no, please NO!" I cry out.

Footsteps grow louder by each echo, moving at a calm pace, until rounding the corner I see August with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. Out of pure fear, desperation and my final glimpses of hope falling away, I scream at the top of my lungs.

“Oh, Maggie, it’s okay.” August steps forward. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

In an instant, my face is pressed hard against the cold brick wall, my tears staining it now as well.

“You won’t even feel a thing.”

~~August~~

It’s difficult to describe how she tastes. Everyone tastes different, but mostly similar. Everyone has those base notes of iron, but the flavors from the glucose, sodium, hormones and everything else present is just... different. Unique. I prefer my blood to have a fair complexion, at least the hair to be blond. I can’t stand that synthetic, artificial crap. The bleach and peroxide just overpower the rest of the flavor.

As anyone would, I prefer to season my food before consumption. A little oxytocin, estrogen or testosterone depending on what mood I’m in, a dash of dopamine and a pinch of serotonin. They bring layers to my meals and dining experiences. The finishing touch, though, is always the healthy helping of adrenaline and cortisol. They add a salty heat to really spice things up, really making those base flavors sing.

I could tell how Maggie truly felt about me, even here now as I feel her essence rush past my lips with each sip I take. When I first saw her tonight, I could tell just how lonely she felt, the scent was palpable across the club. I knew just what to say, how to say it, and when to say it to lower her defenses. I knew I had her when she said she wanted to see upstairs, when she wanted to see the bedroom, when she took my shirt and her dress off. It was merely a coincidence when she asked if her friends could join us in the office as well. Murphy took no part in our festivities, but Chris seemed eager enough when the girls propositioned him.

I can taste the fear in her blood. With each sip, I feel it all rush over my fangs in gouts, filling my mouth and spilling out past my lips. The sweet heat of the adrenaline stings my tongue. There are many reasons I leave fear for the last additive to my meals; not only is it the easiest to obtain after filling my prey with joy and euphoria, but if applied too early it gets buried beneath the other flavors. It’s a strong emotion, but can be buried by love if mixed in before. I’ve perfected my recipe after all these decades of unlife. Her weak body trembles in my arms, shaking in fear and pain as I drain the life from her being.

As I continue to drink I can feel more of how she felt warming my heart and wetting my tongue. I didn’t want to kill Maggie tonight. I saw something in her that made me remember who I once was. I was content with feeding upon the friend, before I knew she wasn’t a natural blonde. But I needed to feed, regardless. Maybe I could turn her instead? Maybe I could see where this goes between us?

No, that wouldn’t feel right. Those feelings would be true. She would be under my thrall for years at least, and that is no way to love someone. I may be a monster, but I am no monster.

Besides, it’s too late to turn her now. I feel the final drips of her blood and essence grace my tongue before I’ve reached the end and those feelings end with it. Oh well. I have much to do tonight before sunrise. Maybe I’ll find another special someone next evening. As I pull my fangs back, wipe the rest of her blood from my lips, cleaning my fingers with my tongue, I grab Maggie’s lifeless husk by the back of her strapless dress and walk back through the alley and into the club.

Her limp body slides against the floor as I drag her towards the stairs. I hear the squeak of flesh on linoleum as I walk. Maybe I’ll get the floors buffed tomorrow. The body thumps against the metal stairs behind me, and I’m half a mind to just throw her up the stairs or call Murphy to take her from me. The curtains remain closed in the VIP booths, and I can hear the hushed conversations of my fellows making plans for the rest of the night and future nights as I breeze back into the office.

I toss the body to the side as I step behind my desk and I hear a gasp. I turn to find Amy standing still beside the couch, her bleach-blonde hair tumbling past her exposed chest, though now her roots are returning to their natural brunette. Behind her on the couch sits Murphy, still wiping the blood from the corners of his mouth before he turns his head and meets my gaze.

“So you turned her?”

“Yep.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Not really. Just felt like it.”

I step towards Amy and brush the hair out of her face. Her eyes still linger on her friend’s corpse, occasionally glancing over towards the other on the couch. She shivers as my hand grazes her face. Her fear is palpable.

“The Courts aren’t going to take too kindly to this.”

“Fuck what they take kindly.” His thick brogue carries the conviction that brought Murphy to my attention all those years ago. “The only opinion I give a shit about is my own, and sometimes yours.”

“I learned long ago that there’s no use in telling you what you can or cannot do. I think that’s why I trust you so much.” I turn my attention to Amy. “We’ll deal with you later. For now, get dressed and go tell Chris I’ve sent you to feed. A newdeath needs to feed as soon as possible. Go.”

The girl nods and starts gathering her clothes as I step around her, grab a glass of wine off the table and sit on the couch opposite of Murphy. I nudge the other body off the couch, letting her naked body slump onto the floor. Until the door closes behind me, Murphy and I maintain eye contact.

“You felt sorry for her?”

“You would have felt the same.”

“Past tense, maybe.”

“You gonna do anything about it?” His thick brogue carries the same intensity that drew my attention to him years ago, a fellow ambitious strigoi.

I chuckle. “I learned a long while ago there is no use in telling you what you cannot do. You simply do what you please. We’ll figure her out together. Maybe she could use a job here. Maybe we will send her to the Manor.” I glance at the two corpses again. “Perhaps now we should clean this up. I guess call the Cleaners to deal with this spillage. I’ll call Detective Wilkins, he’ll make sure this doesn’t reach any prying eyes. Oh, and we should call Coulson and Frank. Maggie had to leave town suddenly. A death in the family.”

Murphy nods, stands from the couch and exits the office. I stand as well and cross to my desk, pulling the receiver from its cradle on the desk. I stop and stare at the two exsanguinated masses on the floor and a slight chuckle burbles from within.

“Hello, detective. Let’s have a chat.”