Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
I sigh and get up to follow Mephisto downstairs to the parlor. On winter days, we open all day as the sun rarely shines, but I open from 6:00 PM till 0:00 AM in summer.
Swept, dusted, and free from cobwebs, the parlor is impeccable. Mephisto turns the close sign off and switches on the open.
There's already a small crowd, I let Mephisto welcome them, and I go into my room. The equipment is ready, and so is the blood. I can't remember when it was, probably around the time Jesus released his first singles in 2006. It was a revelation; I desired to tattoo. The passion made me travel around the world. Drawing comes naturally, and I have had a few centuries to perfect the art. Once in Crimson, I knew exactly how to occupy my hours.
Humans get inked, and vampires get fed. It's a small service I do for vampires unable to seek food on their own.
This category comprises orphan Seconds, abandoned by ruthless Firsts who took their life without guaranteeing their livelihood.
It's illegal and against our laws to abandon those we have sunk our teeth into, and I will punish them when the time comes.
For now, I set up the material when I hear the doorbell, and the scent hits me like a tidal wave, a sweet scent of blood. I've never smelled blood like this, it has no metal or iron accents, and it fills me with nostalgia. My teeth throb as my fangs threaten to appear like a boner when one is erect.
I leave the room and walk into the parlor, eyes, and nose seeking. Some people look at my works, others sit and wait with magazines, and two women are at the counter. One is arguing with Mephisto; the scent is hers. I'm sure, and I approach the redhead, It has to be hers.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but we're full for today," Mephisto says.
"Listen, we had an hour drive to get here, okay, can't you just slide us in between two rendezvous?"
"It doesn't work that way," Mephisto says, overlooking her to stare at me in despair.
The girl sighs and lifts her hands to the ceiling as she turns to face me.
Ophelia.
Is it reincarnation?
I don't have time to ponder as my senses alert me, and I divert my attention.
The redhead taps on the other woman's shoulder, who still is debating with Mephisto, she turns.
I expected everything except this, brown eyes, caramel skin, and no hair. I mean, the woman is as bald as a boiled egg, and the luscious scent, which has all the hairs on my body pointing in her direction, is hers.
I envision my teeth sinking into her neck, the piercing sound of her crackling skin as my fangs dig deeper into her flesh. The throbbing of her arteries as the blood rushes to my bite. Finally, the euphoria caused by the entry of her juice into my mouth, which has me gulping the overflowㅡ.
"Boss?" Mephisto points his index at the rim of his mouth; I mimic de gesture. I understand I am slack-jawed and drooling.
Snap out of it, Soren, I stare at my nectar's envelop, dark gray washed slim jeans, white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up tied in a knot at the back, black old skool Vans. The saying it's what's inside that counts as never been any more accurate.
My gaze goes up to her neck; I need not see it to know if she has silver on her. I can not tell what it is, but the thing is preventing me from entering her mind. It must be more than an ordinary pendant; perhaps it's a talisman.
The redhead who gave me high hopes wears a kitsch red and white polka dot skater dress with a heart-shaped neckline, which shows her heaving chest and Havaianas platform sandals. She makes me think of a 50′ pin-up; her mind is an open space. I will not even get into the details of 18+ movies she is creating starring me as we stand.
"Boss?"
I nod.
Mephisto smiles, "okay, ladies, I guess it's your lucky day; he'll take you."
