Vampire Hunt

I studied my reflection in a gilded mirror.  Long hair, blonde.  Eyes blue. A handsome countenance, I’d been told. "Gads, I'm pale as a vampire."

I am, amongst other things, a vampire, and tonight a very hungry one.

As I shrugged into a black sweater and jeans, a soft footstep behind me caused me to turn.  Avery, always the perfect manservant in his black suit and bow tie, entered the room that was a treasure chest of the art and antiques I’d collected in three hundred years of life.

"I'm going out," I said.

A talk show, Vampires Among Us, on the telly last week had peaked my curiosity. Five attractive young mortals circled the show host and claimed to be vampires. These real vampires plunged hypodermic needles into their veins, extracted a thimble of blood and squirted cardinal sin into their mouths directly from the syringe.

Appetizing? Not much. Pleasure? Not any.

"Imagine, instead," I wanted to tell them, "pressing your lips to the throat. Open your mouth, run your tongue along the throbbing artery. Sink your teeth into that river of sheer delight. Your whole body vibrates with satisfaction more acute than sex. That's what it means to be a vampire." The very prospect of telling them chased away the Hounds of Hell called Boredom that had been nipping at my heels.

It had been an easy matter to run the little coven to ground. The five TV vampires shared a three-room flat in Maida Vale near an Underground station. Several evenings, I'd stalked the children at play. Among them was a flower of a girl--wild auburn curls free as the spirit that flashed in her blue eyes. Her long legs drew my gaze each time she pranced out of the flat in very short skirts. I imagined those legs in all sorts of erotic postures. Jaime was tonight's entertainment.

Avery asked, "Shall I fetch your coat, Milord? It's another rainy night in London."

I smiled at the old gentleman who'd served me for twenty years. “Yes, I'm off on my vampire hunt. Don’t wait up.”

“Vampire hunt?” He chuckled. “Shouldn't you wear a cross?”

With my fingers I made a cross, bared my fangs and hissed like a horror flick fiend.

At quarter-past nine, I nosed the Jag to the curb between an elderly Ford Escort and a new Mazda, switched off the headlamps then decided to park around the corner from the prying eyes. After a short walk in a misty rain, I opened the etched glass door of the Rose and Crown and bit the bottom lip of a smile. The cheerful neighborhood pub in Maida Vale was a supremely unlikely haunt for vampires! But unseen, I had observed them in their natural habitat, and the Rose and Crown it was on a nightly basis.

When the door swooshed closed behind me, I found myself the object of lively scrutiny. Apparently, strangers rarely visited the pub. Everyone was looking at me, then as suddenly as I'd turned their heads, they lost interest and returned to the serious business of having a jolly old time.

The babble of voices, the clink of glassware and the subtle throb of pulses blended in human noise. The aroma of strong ale and pub food was overwhelming. An American voice called for more ice. Barware dangled upside down from the wooden racks on the ceiling. Flushed faces smiled at their reflections in the "BASS ALE" mirror. A spattering of university students decorated the working-class crowd.

Instinctively, I shielded against the noise, rampant thoughts and emotions flitting around the room. I shed my coat, hung it on a tarnished brass coat rack and scanned the room for my quarry. Squat mushroom tables dotted the scuffed wooden floor. The chairs were an assortment of nobody-cares. To my left, a fire leapt in an arched brick fireplace, crowned by a picture of the Queen at her Silver Jubilee. As I gravitated toward the two brocade benches flanking the hearth, a familiar laugh chimed like a bell.

The vampires huddled in the forest of Guinness cans sprouting from their table in a far corner. I focused to eavesdrop on their conversation, an instant replay of their stellar TV debut. Like a fox scenting the hunt, Jaime’s head came up and bluebell eyes met mine. She tossed her copper curls, her smile an invitation any man would recognize. The people turning to watch as I made my way to their table didn’t see a vampire. When, as most times I did, walk among mortals, the glamour of a normal man was second nature. My clothes and my bearing spoke of my station, but these were natural not a learned response.

Immersed in whatever vampires discussed, my prey were unaware of my approach, giving me time to study them. Goths, so I understood, dyed their hair raven wing, wore black clothes, lipstick and nail polish. These children looked normal except for the boy with bright purple hair, nose ring and a dozen silver earrings piercing each ear. He was reading from a fat paperback with Vampire emblazoned on the red cover.

“Pardon me.” I clasped my hands behind my back and smiled a charming—no fangs on display—smile. "I caught your guest appearance on the talk show."

"Did you now?" The boy sitting to Jaime’s right shook his blonde curls and challenged me with a rude stare.

Jaime fluttered ginger lashes, offered a coquettish smile and a thorough examination that made my pulse race. I wasn’t in trouble yet but, since her gaze lingered on my zipper, I suspected that getting in trouble, into Jaime, was a definite prospect.

"Do you really drink human blood?" Innocently, I asked.

In unison, they nodded. I swallowed a fit of laughter and a draught of regret. These mortal children flaunted a secret I was obliged to keep--at the penalty of death. Sometimes, like any guilty man, I merely wished to confess, tell someone what I was.

“I was,” I paused, “intrigued.”

“Is that right, Mate?” The blonde boy arched his brows.

“So you’re into vampires?” The boy with the paperback stroked the cover. “You don’t look the type.”

I don’t look the type!

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“Join us.” Jaime stared at me as if she knew what I was. “My name’s Jaime.”

“I’m Anne.” The girl to Jaime’s right stood, smiled shyly and moved to the opposite side of the table.

Anne was a bit of a mouse, straight brown hair, brown eyes, round British face. Spicy Jaime bit the bottom lip of a sexy smile. Her flamboyant beauty emphasized her friend's lack. As I slid into the booth beside Jaime, I brushed my knee against hers. The skirt was suede not leather. The milk chocolate hem had ridden up to the juncture of leg to hip, displaying a sleek thigh. Dark brown leather boots hugged shapely calves.

"What's your name?" Jaime interrupted the boy who’d begun an instant replay of the TV show for my benefit.

"Morgan D'Arcy." That tidbit could be erased from their minds later.

Jaime leaned near, pressed her hip to mine. A rebellious curl tickled my cheek. "The pianist?"

I smiled what I hoped was a modest smile. "I play piano.”

The curly-haired boy leaned his elbows amidst the beer cans. "There's a piano here. Why don't you play for us?"

I’d seen the bedraggled, beer-stained upright forgotten in a corner. The abuse her chipped ivories had suffered played a chord of pity in my heart.

Jaime slapped his hand. "Don't you know anything, Michael? Lord D'Arcy is a concert pianist." She stretched to run her fingers through her hair. Her small breasts peaked beneath a skintight caramel sweater as she aimed a sultry grin at me. "You'll have to forgive my friends. Some people can't even spell class."

A hiss of dissent swept around the table. Michael glared at me for being famous but not famous enough for him to recognize. As my gaze trailed from one rosy face to the other, I smiled at the thoughts I snatched from each mind. No doubt I was infringing on Michael's territory. Jaime was his girl. But his girl’s big, round eyes were devouring me. Blood lust thundered in my veins.

The boy with the paperback licked wafer thin lips. “A lord? Blue blood.”

His expression shocked me. He looked like a hungry animal. Who was the vampire here? I allowed the beast to gaze from my eyes for a split second. Purple-hair sat back, eyes wide, fingers rapping his beer glass.

I gazed at Jaime, covered her hand with mine. "Why don't you invite me to join you? Vampires--" I almost strangled on the word, "fascinate me."

Five pairs of blue eyes studied me. Michael’s burned jealous. Pulses throbbed faster. My heart lifted to their beat. Apparently, the vampires were hungry for new blood--common red or blue.

An hour later, in their cold water flat six blocks from the pub, five innocents sighed, pretending to experience a high I knew too well indeed. The thimbles of blood they'd fed me were an empty tease. Stacked on the bare linoleum floor in a communal heap, trapped in the temptation of soft breasts and hard muscles, I was suffocating on the tantalizing fragrance of blood. The beast clawed at my eyes and my intestines. I needed air, a moment to regroup. I struggled free of the jungle of body parts and rose.

“What’s wrong, Morgan?” Jaime shrugged off Michael’s embrace to catch my hand.

“I need a drink,” I said.

“Vodka in the cabinet over the stove.” Michael kissed Jaime’s neck. “I told you he wasn’t one of us. Blood doesn’t satisfy him.”

I stepped over them, strode through city light slanted by dusty blinds. The rain had stopped but a damp chill permeated the room.

“Damn, it’s cold in here,” Anne said. “Anybody got any money. I can’t feel my bloody feet.”

My coat lay on the faded sagging sofa. In the pocket, I found several five-pence pieces, fed them to the shilling meter. The electric heater sucked up the offering at a vampiric rate. Poor children were learning character the hard way.

I swung the kitchen door closed, leaned my elbows on the counter and fought for self-control. Cigarette burns obliterated silver stars from a dingy white Formica sky. Dishes and burned pans overflowed the sink.

Damn, even breathing hurt. My body was one rigid, throbbing need. This is a test. Don’t adjust your television. I must know, beyond a doubt, that I could control the beast. Rake and rogue that I was, I'd fallen in love and her blood was the ultimate temptation to me. I had set the bar very high. If I managed to escape this fiasco without killing, I could waltz into my beloved’s life and be confident that she would be safe in my embrace.

The door creaked open. Jaime’s voice flowed down my rigid back like a caress.

“Did you find what you wanted?” Her question was open to a tempting variety of interpretations.

I choked on a laugh as every fiber of my body rose up, aching for the taste of her. I tried to control the shivers of need shaking my body but the earthquake had blasted off the Richter scale as the door snapped closed behind her. A red mist blurred my vision as I lifted my head and turned. A barefoot ballerina in a Shetland wool sweater and a short-short suede skirt danced toward me.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine now.” But I wasn’t

Desire shifted my heart into overdrive. On fine long legs, red-haired trouble was coming for me. Jaime was a predator. Like me.

"What do you want?" she purred.

"Blood, perhaps." I traced a cigarette-burn with a fingertip

To Be Continued, Check back next Month!