Lena and Victor

Lena pranced barefoot down the sidewalk, her slim heels held in one hand by two delicate fingers. Victor watched her with a smile and followed slowly behind, mesmerized by her childlike innocence. She whirled to face him, her white satin dress flaring around her, a coquettish smile stretched across her lips.

"I've got an idea," she said as he walked up to her. "There's a bar I know just around the corner. Want to join me for a nightcap?"

Victor's smile faltered for just a moment. This, the best night of his life, had to end? Lena seemed to sense his discomfort and wrapped her arms around his neck, gently locking her fingers. Victor felt himself drowning in her gaze as she swayed lightly with him beneath a street lamp.

"Does it have to stop?"

"For now," she whispered, pulling him down to her, his lips finding hers wanting. "Only for now."

Her lips were like ice. He took that as an invitation to warm them, taking to the job with relish, his arms slipping around her waist to draw her in. Lena reacted to him hungrily, her mouth devouring his, pressing harder and harder in their passion. She pulled away from him after a moment and Victor whimpered softly.

"Sure," he said, swaying with her again beneath the street lamp, "I’d love to."

"Love to what?" Lena said, her eyes staring into his.

"Join you for that drink."

She squealed with delight and led him by hand down the sidewalk, almost dragging him behind her. They walked a few blocks, finally coming to a squat brick building with soaped-over windows. The front door was steel, with a closed panel at roughly eye level. The awning over the storefront was rotting with each passing moment, its frame showing through like the rusty bones of a dead animal.

"This is the place?" Victor asked, appraising the building. "It looks like it's been closed forever."

"It's not closed, silly. It's a private bar. Invitation only and, lucky for you, I'm inviting you."

Lena walked up to the front door and pounded twice. The panel slid open, revealing a set of eyes that examined them in an instant. The eyes said something to her in a language Victor didn't understand, to which she responded curtly in what sounded like the same. The eyes looked them over once more before the panel snapped shut.

"How did you know what he was saying?" Victor asked, joining her at the door.

"I told you," she said, smirking as she slipped on her heels and using him for balance, "it's a private club. And that? That was Romany. We all speak it here. It reminds us of home."

There was a click, and the door yawned open. Snippets of conversation, mixed with soft music floated out. Lena took his hand, and together they walked in.

Inside, the only lighting was from the various neon beer signs on the walls and a string of Christmas lights lining the shockingly empty liquor shelves of the bar proper. There were round tables to the left, with scattered patrons engaged in their conversations. Some looked up to acknowledge the newcomers, then turned back to their own business. An unplugged jukebox butted against a wall in the back, next to a hallway.

"Come on," Lena said, pulling Victor toward the bar.

They walked past a small booth to their right, situated in what had to be the darkest corner Victor had ever seen in his life. He saw somebody sitting there, but only because of the flare of a cigarette held between two fingers adorned with an old ring with a bright red jewel set in the band. Victor suddenly felt as though eyes in that darkness were locked onto him, marking him. He turned away with some effort, hoping he'd not offended whoever was sitting there by staring.

Behind the bar, a mountain-sized man wiped the inside of a glass with a rag, looking at them with disdain. His bald head, slick and fresh from the razor, reflected the Christmas lights behind him like the surface of a still pond. Victor saw that his eyebrows were similarly shorn, replaced with studded piercings. On the bar beside him, a portable radio played the bar's music, a mixture of a mournful violin and singing guitar that drifted around the room just beneath a haze of cigarette smoke.

"What you want?" he asked, his accent obvious. "We only have wine."

"Wine is fine," said Victor, reaching for his wallet. Lena grabbed his hand gently, shaking her head.

"You don't pay here," she said. "You are my guest."

She led him to one of the round tables to await their order, which came immediately after they sat down. Victor picked up the long-stemmed glass that was set before him and sniffed the dark red wine inside. Raspberries, spice, and flowery oak. Merlot. He swirled the wine in the glass before taking a healthy sip, his eyes widening when the wine finished with the taste of deepest cherries.

"Good?"

"Oh my God," Victor said, taking another sip. "Who makes this?"

Lena leaned forward, sliding her glass to the side. "They make it here," she said, "in the back, in large barrels. It's an old family recipe."

Victor set his glass on the table and took Lena's hands into his, her fingers locking onto him. Staring into her eyes, he felt that same drowning sensation from the street. Was this love, he thought? Could it be?

"You haven't touched yours," he said, nodding toward Lena's glass, which was still full.

"Oh, I'm not thirsty right now. This is really about you. A thank you, for tonight."

Victor was touched. He'd never been appreciated like this, never mind by a woman this flawless. He released her hands with a pang of remorse and raised his glass. "The pleasure was mine," he said. "This night was perfect, like you."

Lena looked away, smiling bashfully. Over her shoulder, Victor saw the cigarette winking in the darkness of the booth. Pointing at them, now, as though the smoker was watching them. No, Victor thought, not us. Me.

The cigarette moved, raising as the smoker stood from the booth and walked toward them. The barman's attention instantly snapped in their direction, as though sensing trouble; for Victor, the alarm bells were crying.

"I think we have company."

Lena turned just as the smoker reached them, violently stabbing his cigarette out on the tabletop, his searing gaze drilling into Victor. He spat something in Romany before turning to Lena, who looked unimpressed with his display. A hushed silence fell over the bar, the music from the portable radio the soundtrack to Victor's discomfort.

When the smoker turned and walked away without another word, Victor realized he'd been holding his breath. When he let it out, it seemed that room came alive again, the conversation buzzing normally around them. There was the sound of a door slamming from the back of the building, and Lena turned in its direction to find the barman still watching them. He inclined his head inquisitively at her.

"You must excuse me," she said, standing up. "I have to take care of this."

"Old boyfriend?"

"Something like that. I won't be long."

With that, she quickly walked in pursuit. Victor, confused, watched her until she disappeared into the back. He lifted his glass of wine, swirling it, watching it roll around the sides.

"Figures," he said to himself. "Just my luck."

He drained his drink and stood from the table. The barman looked at him, and Victor raised a hand in greeting before walking across. He lay the empty glass on the bar top, the barman making it disappear behind the counter.

"So," Victor said, "the girl I came in with?"

"Lena."

"Yes. Could you tell her thank you for the evening and that I'll call her tomorrow?"

"You are leaving?"

"I think so," Victor said. "It seems she's got enough going on tonight."

"You are not leaving," the barman said, chuckling to himself.

"What are you talking about?"

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the back, followed by an inhuman screech. Victor whirled around in fright, his bladder nearly emptying itself. The bar itself carried on as usual, as though nothing even happened. He turned back to the barman, who looked at him with a slight smirk while he busied himself scrubbing a glass.

"W-What was that?" Victor asked, turning to address the room. "None of you heard that?"

"Is not my business," the barman said, lifting the clean glass up for inspection. "Nor theirs."

Another loud crash shook the building. Victor stumbled back into the bar, catching himself by its edge before he could tumble to the floor. The barman looked at him with the same smirk, righting glasses that were knocked down.

It was then that Victor remembered Lena chasing her old flame out of the bar, going directly toward whatever was causing this chaos. He started toward the back but was stopped when the barman's hand wrapped around his wrist.

"No," he said. "Is not time for you yet. You stay."

Victor snatched his hand away from him and backed away slowly. Chairs scraped across the floor as the patrons stood from their tables, their attention focusing on him. When he made it to the broken jukebox, Victor looked over his shoulder to see the back door of the bar. He turned and sprinted for it, yanking it open and stepping into the alley behind the building. He slammed his back into the door behind him, leaning back against it, eyes closed and heart hammering.

When he opened them, the first thing he noticed was the carnage around him, revealed by a bright scrap of the moon in the night sky. There were indentations in the very brick of the building like something was flung against it with extreme force. A dumpster lay upended, one side dented and misshapen. The broken form of the smoker lay in the middle of the alley, his head laying in Lena's lap; she stroked his face lovingly and sang softly to him in Romany.

"Lena" Victor whispered, stepping away from the door. "What happened?"

She laid the smoker's head gently to the ground and stood up slowly as Victor closed the gap between them, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the front of her dress, soaked with blood, the fabric clinging to her form. Reaching up, she wiped her dripping chin with the back of her hand. Her eyes reflected the moon like a cat, searing into Victor's mind.

"He was my consort for four hundred years," she said, her tongue sliding across her stained lips, "but he could not accept this age as our own as I did, and clung to the old ways."

Victor heard the door behind him open, the footsteps of the patrons surrounding him as they emptied into the alley. He was frozen, unable to move as Lena slowly stalked toward him, like a predator sizing up its prey. She smiled at him, the long eye teeth winking above her bottom lip.

Victor's mind broke his trance. He turned to flee and found himself surrounded by the bar patrons, the barman leading the crowd, their eyes blazing in the darkness. He felt Lena's breath on his neck, her hands slowly sliding down his arms to his hands.

"You, however, will teach us to be a part of this time," she said softly.

Victor looked down to see that Lena had slid the smoker's ring onto his finger. He raised it to his eyes, the red stone reflecting the moonlight like fire. He felt her teeth graze the skin above his jugular, tickling him.

"Now, about that drink…"