"These are not your average vamps, dearie. Not by a long shot."
Black and Red have been Nightwalkers for longer than they care to count, and that alone is unusual enough to attract unwanted attention.
Life and survival in the Blue Light District is...
I descended the steps to the sidewalk purely on instinct, then glanced back. The door to the condo's foyer had already closed, leaving a seamless and impenetrable glowing red surface. Reluctance and loss flitted through me. Chill night air sank past my skin, seeping into my bones. I tried to wrestle some order from the thoughts in my head. My surroundings came into focus only with effort.
No 'walker I knew ever entirely acclimated; disorientation was a familiar side effect. I blinked a few times and scrubbed moisture from my cheeks with rough impatience. Solitude felt jarring.
My survival should've filled me with relief. It didn't. My gut said it was a gift. Restraint. He could've destroyed me. Part of me felt like he'd done just that.
Tearing my gaze from the building, I walked away. Every step demanded an exertion of will. Every stride created a gulf between myself and that part of me surrendered and left behind. A larger part than I intended, it pulled at me with more strength and insistence than any previous experience. None delved so deep into me, stripped me so thoroughly. The ache of absence and loss became a sharp needle, a razor blade, then a piece of steel rebar jamming into my temple, my diaphragm, that niggling point between my shoulder blades that I could never scratch regardless how it itched.
I lifted my hand and traced a finger along blue veins prominent beneath almost translucent skin. Another side effect of heavy feeding. This john left me hollow, empty. He'd paid handsomely for what I offered; I'd taken a price far greater than he knew. His chi pulsed through me, liquid fire, unnatural. The gradual process of assimilation took time. A luxury, but an affordable one now.
I relented and glanced back at the building. Its unfamiliar red aura began dimming with the encroaching sunrise.
Will I ever see him again? Do I want to?
The answer I gave, walking away, wasn't authentic sentiment.
It's the energy talking.
I quickened my pace toward the glow of imminent dawn. Buildings jutted into the vivid color like some mythical beast gaping its maw to breathe fire on the remnants of humanity. I had just enough time to reach our little hovel in the heart of the Blue District — to put some distance between me and the john, to weaken the resonant sensation even if it increased the pain and gave me a headache — before he recovered from his feeding thrall.
Exhaustion, and pain from that sensation of rebar gouging into my spine, dragged at my every step by the time I made it back to the flat. Litter lined the hallway, residue of life, escape. The faint smell of mildew and decay hung in the air, paint peeling off sweating concrete walls. As I yanked at the chain around my neck and fumbled the key from beneath my shirt, the door swung inward.
"You look like cold shit." Jhez gave me a quick once-over as though checking for contusions or amputations, then stepped to the side, moving the solid door with her shoulder. Her brow furrowed in concern, relief flooding her aura so heavily it discomfited my jangled senses. She may as well have bathed in jasmine while I was gone. I hated that scent with fiery passion.
"I love you too, sis." It was good to see her. A relief, the loud, vibrant red of wavy hair falling around her shoulders, the strong line of her jaw and wide cheekbones, her hazel eyes narrowed with suspicion and concern. We were the same height, the same build; she struck a tall, lanky mirror of me, in red instead of black.
I nudged past her, leaning into the fleeting contact. The slide of aura on aura smoothed agitation from my frayed edges. The living room's dreary features swirled around me as I flopped onto the couch. Relief loosened the remaining tension from me when I caught sight of the small painting hanging where it always was, on the wall opposite. The strong, heavy lines of pattern in the cheap print were better than any drug at staving off a persistent hangover.
The door clicked shut; the steel analog lock slid into place. Solid, real.
"Didn't you recognize him?" The tone of annoyance in Jhez's question distracted my focus.
"Recognize who? I don't get why you're upset. He was just a john."
"Are you serious right now? Did your brain short-circuit? That was Le Gross Shite himself, the Monsieur of York."
I twisted sideways and stared at her. My brain felt like I'd shifted into reverse.
"Monsieur Garthelle? Hello? That name ring your bell?" She stepped closer to the couch, braced her stance wide, and folded her arms. Judging from the freshly darned spot on the inner thigh of her argyles, her temper already had a shortened fuse. Worse though, it was her favorite pair, the reds all dark shades of blood.
"I know what the reigning vamp in this city looks like." Eying her askance, I patted the cushion next to me. She rolled her eyes and huffed but relented, tension relaxing from her shoulders as she flopped down onto the couch and folded me into a hug. Had she bummed some cheap hypno-hits off her street partner this evening? I shook my head and frowned into her shoulder as I wrapped my arms around her. "Don't know what you think you saw. But that wasn't Monsieur Garthelle in the car. I'd know if I was sitting next to him."
Physical contact soothed away the stress of a vamp's feeding. How or why it worked remained unclear, and it didn't work with just anyone. But Jhez, my twin, her aura thrummed in tandem with mine and smoothed away the weak spots. It worked that way for her, too, so the whole hugging thing had become an unspoken post-john routine of ours.
At least she didn't bother asking the one question I hated. I looked like cold shit with good reason. It was frighteningly close to the way I felt.
I pulled away and sank back into the threadbare couch, beige more from age and wear than intention. For the space of a heartbeat, it transposed with a black velvet creature, its cushions so soft and deep I almost lost myself in them.
In the next breath, the smudged tan corduroy returned.
That sort of thing was normal, the juxtaposition of reality with memories. Like the tug I still felt. I let my head fall back and massaged my temples.
Jhez stood and disappeared into the kitchen. I listened to her moving around and sighed, grateful for the familiar aura of home. I didn't have the strength to pull my boots from my feet. It didn't stop me from propping my heels on the corner of the battered coffee table.
Jhez reached over my shoulder with a tumbler full of chilled liquid. "How strong is the pull?"
"Strong." I straightened long enough to toss the contents of the tumbler down my throat without breathing, then flopped back against the couch again. I learned some time ago not to taste anything she offered.
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