Silent Cravings

by E. Blix

  Without the capabilities of their fuzzy side, Christoph and Ashi didn’t experience nail-gun like pain. However, Ashi was immediately disoriented. He stood stock still in his cage, head craned up like a Goliath on the lookout.

  Christoph recognized the stance. He shouted at Ashi, his voice almost lost in the noise.

  “Hey! Hey, Ashi! Hey! Asshole!”

  Ashi looked at him. God, he was the very image of a lost puppy.

  “Snap out of it! Dude, snap out of it!”

  Ashi blinked and looked around.

  “Hey! When we get back—hey!—when we get back, Reece is going to give you more lessons than me because you aren’t dancing!”

  Ashi’s eyes widened.

  Well, when in Rome.

  The crowd loved it when they both started moving, the sounds of cheering and catcalls growing louder. Ken watched from one of the security feeds in the back, pleased with this turn of events. He’d have to be sure to warn them never to fraternize with the patrons. It would ruin the “untouchable” image.

  Christoph hailed from Tonopah, Nevada. Its main street was a highway that led from California to Utah. Every other weekend, he and his friends would make the long drive north to Carson City to party. Because of their bumpkin status and that they had two days out of every month to keep up with trends, they studied how to dance by watching TV and practicing at home. That way they managed to at least blend in.

  Ashi hailed from Seoul, Korea. He went to school and studied Japanese, Mandarin, and Thai to better survive in a family that traveled extensively throughout the Far East. His father was a high-level executive in a distribution company and groomed Ashi and his younger brother to become businessmen in his image. There was no time for partying in Ashi’s world, and his pursuit of martial arts took up what free time he had.

  Even without either of them knowing each other’s backgrounds, Christoph started to question his sanity when he became annoyed that Ashi was dancing better than him.

  As the song came to a close, the last few notes on a quieter loop, Joy moved front-and-center on the stage. She plucked a wireless mic off a stand and strutted back and forth across the stage. Her voice was throaty and enticing, promising all sorts of wicked things, and had the audience hanging on her every word.

  “Mm, good to see some familiar faces in the crowd tonight,” she said, earning a number of cheers and whistles. “You are all looking good tonight! Let’s play it up for the new guys, huh? Give it up!”

  Once again, cheers and screams of delight roared out, a bunch of people turning and waving up at Ashi and Christoph. The music screamed into a crescendo of fast, heavy techno, the same song the troupe had been practicing to right before the doors opened.

  Joy fell into seamless step with the other dancers, shouting over the noise.

  “Let’s show them how it’s done!”

  And the audience went into their own frenzy of dancing and cheering, their screams growing even louder as the backup dancers behind Joy—guys and girls—started removing their shirts on the chorus. That was their cue.

  I am not doing that, Ashi thought vehemently.

  I hope no one’s filming this, Christoph thought as he took off his shirt.

  Why the hell is he taking off his shirt? Is he seriously going along with this?

  Why the hell isn’t he taking his shirt off? Is he confused again?

  “Ashi! What the hell, man?” Christoph shouted.

  Ashi raised his middle finger, then made the swirly “you’re crazy” gesture at the side of his head. Christoph gave him a “hurry up” gesture in return. They gestured back and forth for bit, Ashi growing increasingly agitated.

  It would take forty years of Zen for him to be at peace with himself after this. Ashi mimed stabbing Christoph in the face, then went along with the dancers on the stage.

  When he got home he was going to hide in the closet and never come out.

  Some of the crowd was getting distracted by their antics. A few stopped dancing, staring, laughing, or questioning to each other what the heck was going on.

  Ken, back in his office, had his face in his hands.

  A few sets later, their replacements came. The cages were hauled over to an upper catwalk so a couple of similarly built, ridiculously pretty guys in outfits matching what Ashi and Christoph were wearing could take their places.

  Two pretty, smiling girls were leading them with fingers hooked into their collars past the revelers, some of whom who were not too careful as to where they put their hands. A mix of sly and blatant offers were called out as they passed.

  The girls led them through an “Employees Only” door, and promptly let go of the collars, making faces.

  “God, you’d think they’d never seen a man before!” one of them piped up.

  “Seriously,” said the other as she adjusted the tiny pleather skirt she was wearing. “Ken said you two should wait here. He’ll call you on stage in a couple minutes.”

  “‘Just smile and nod and, for crap’s sake, don’t open your mouths’ were his exact words,” said the first girl, even affecting Ken’s tone, rolling her eyes with a grin.

  Christoph couldn’t stop laughing. He leaned against a wall with a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. This was so absurd. He had just stripped in front of an entire dance floor full of humans while suspended in a cage wearing a Bondage Shirt of Emasculation.

  Ashi stared at him. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Christoph gasped for air, wiping his eyes. “Oh, my God. Can you imagine if your parents saw you right now? If the pack saw?”

  Ashi blinked. He had to think about it.

  He grinned. In about thirty seconds he was leaning on the wall next to Christoph, arms wrapped around his sides as he almost choked from laughing so hard.

  They could barely calm down enough when they were led out—by the collar—onstage to smile at everyone. They kept their faces straight long enough to set the crowds screaming in appreciation while they waved and were given the kind of introduction only Ken could manage. When they were taken backstage again, they lost it.

  “I swear to God,” Christoph wheezed, “we are going to be in so much trouble for tonight.”

  Ashi couldn’t respond. He was too busy rolling on the floor, laugh-hiccupping.

  A few minutes later, Ken met them backstage along with a number of women, most of whom appeared to be dancers, hanging around in the shadows. His arms were folded, and he did not look happy, though he didn’t rip into them like they were expecting.

  “Okay, it wasn’t… horrible. But, Jesus, can you two save the sniping for when you’re not in public?”

  “Och, leave off, lad, they did well under the circumstances,” came Clarisse’s unmistakable voice.

  It was hard to spot her in the shadows. She came into the light, folding her arms and smiling wryly at the pair.

  She was wearing something that looked straight out of an S&M magazine: lots of leather, lots of latex, and lots of chains, with heels on her boots high enough to rival Joy’s. Her long, curly black hair was bundled on top of her head in a severe bun, making her features look a great deal more menacing than usual. Say, like Meg Ryan instead of Shirley Temple.

  “Ye did well, lads, and don’t let Ken tell ye otherwise,” she said, holding out her latex-encased hand to Ashi. “Now, as delightful as this is, unless ye want something at the bar, I’d like tae go home and get this bloody piece of work off. I think Mouse does, too.”

  Like Clarisse, Mouse was easily overlooked, simply because she looked so much like one of the dancers. It didn’t help that her hair fell in a thick curtain, obscuring her features, and that she was deep in shadow, obviously embarrassed. It took Clarisse waving impatiently to get Mouse to come forward, folding her arms across her chest a
nd ducking her head as she sidled to Clarisse’s side.

  Her outfit was more like Joy’s: a one-piece, long-sleeved cat suit. The front laced from navel to cleavage, and her jewelry consisted of what appeared to be barbed wire at the wrists, throat, and woven through her hair in places. Her boots were a bit more sensible, low-heeled, quiet, laced all the way up her calves. Judging by some of the scuffs here and there on the shiny material, it wasn’t new. She just felt awkward as hell in it, particularly in front of Christoph.

  Christoph tried not to stare.

  This is fulfilling fantasies I didn’t even know I had.

  He wasn’t exactly sure how to react. Mouse was obviously embarrassed and Christoph was embarrassed by her embarrassment. He had never expected to see her in something like that. Hell, he doubted he’d ever expected to see anyone in that.

  He glanced at Ashi, who was buttoning up his shirt, staring at the floor.

  As he often did when he was frightened or embarrassed, his mouth quickly took control of the situation. He pointed at Mouse and blurted, “Hey, how come I didn’t get to wear that?”

  Ashi sputtered, then put both hands over his eyes. “Thanks, you just blinded my mind.”

  Mouse was startled enough by his comment to gape at him.

  Clarisse laughed, reaching out to snag Ashi’s arm and tuck it through her own, waving his hands away from the buttons. “Lad, trust me, if ye knew how much these things chafe, ye’d be glad of what we gave ye.”

  She paused.

  “Then again, if ye think ye’ll brave those thongs Ken got ye, maybe ye’d do just fine after all.”

  Mouse covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Once she got a hold of herself, she held out an arm in a clear offer for Christoph to escort her like Clarisse had done with Ashi. She managed an awkward smile, wishing mightily for her usual skirts and blouses instead of this crazy getup.

  “So, where do ye boys want tae go, eh? Home, the bar, or do ye fancy a night on the town?”

  Christoph took Mouse on his arm and shrugged. “I just used up all my adrenaline for the next ten years, and Ashi doesn’t drink. Ever.”

  “Clouds the mind and sl—”

  “‘—ows the body’, yes, you’ve told me this. You may notice, however, that you are not in danger of being torn apart by Amberguard here.”

  Ashi shook his head.

  “I would like to take this moment to mention that I am, in fact, opposed to wearing a thong,” Christoph added.

  “I never want to see you in a thong,” Ashi muttered, covering his eyes again.

  “Was I pretty?” Christoph asked with a giant, goofy smile at Mouse.

  Mouse was rather glad at that moment that she couldn’t say a thing.

  So Ken answered for her. “Adorable. Get out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Touchy,” Clarisse murmured, leading the way to the employee lot.

  Mouse ducked her head to hide her smile.

  “You can add that you your list of things that ought to help you gain rank,” Ashi commented.

  “Yes,” Christoph agreed. “Single-handedly took out ten Amberguard, saved three cubs from certain death, assisted River in tracking down and exterminating a warlock, and was adorable.”

  Ashi looked around, blinking. “My eyes are still messed up from the strobe.”

  Christoph twisted and leaned this way and that, frowning. “I want to take this thing off. It’s not as comfy as I originally thought.”

  Ashi looked at Clarisse. “Could we go home? I want to punch the boxing bag until I feel manly again.”

  Mouse was silently laughing again, running the fingers of her free hand along one of the straps on Christoph’s side. She wasn’t in any hurry.

  Clarisse, on the other hand, was impatient, taking charge and easily guiding Ashi through the dark to the exit. She took her purse from a guy in a black shirt with big white letters reading “SECURITY” on it, digging out her keys to a cute little sports car. She got into the driver’s seat, and Mouse took a seat in the back.

  Christoph managed to squeeze into the back with Mouse while Ashi sat in front with plenty of leg room. They were pretty quiet the entire way home. Ashi looked like he was going to go comatose at any moment.

  Christoph kept stealing glances at Mouse. He was reminded of the story of an ancient Goliath, Aulus, and a vampire, Rosa, and how Aulus was entranced by Rosa’s beauty. Then she tore him in half.

  Mouse didn’t seem like Rosa, though.

  Once they got back to the building, Clarisse didn’t mind that Ashi wanted to get the hell away from her. She waved a hasty goodbye, barely returning Wes’s nod of greeting in the foyer before going straight to her room to change.

  Ashi immediately went upstairs to shower and sleep.

  Mouse, on the other hand, cocked her head at Christoph questioningly. She planned to slip into her room to get out of the crazy getup she was wearing, too. Whether he’d stick around or join her later was on her mind, but she didn’t have anything with her to write down her questions.

  “Can I change first, then come back down?” Christoph asked, tugging at the BSoE and making a face. “I’m finding it really hard to take myself seriously.”

  At her nod, he jogged upstairs, overtaking Ashi. He got the hell out of the getup and back into real clothes. He never thought he’d be so happy for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He was counting the time he had to drive home naked after he obliterated his clothes defending himself against an Amberguard ambush. He’d been pulled over for a taillight that was out.

  That had been awkward.

  He jogged back downstairs and went into Mouse’s apartment.

  Mouse’s outfit took a bit longer to get out of. She was on the couch, one foot propped on the edge of the table so she could work the laces of her boots. She jerked her chin to one side to gesture he sit, though she didn’t stop what she was doing. It was taking forever.

  Christoph sat next to her and scratched his chest. He had a red outline of the BSoE imprinted in his skin, thankfully covered by his T-shirt. It would take a lot to surprise him from now on. He had a very distinct feeling of been-there-done-that.

  “If that finds its way onto YouTube, I’m going to hide in the closet with Ashi. Just saying,” Christoph said, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. His curls were breaking free of their prison.

  Mouse grinned, figuring it probably wasn’t the best time to tell him that pictures of the highlights of the evening were always posted on the club web site.

  She paused in her work, grabbed a pad and pencil, and started writing.

  We never really were introduced. My real name is Marcella Vilatti. You can keep calling me Mouse if you want.

  I never asked—do you have questions for me? Can you tell me a little about yourself?

  She handed the note to him, then went back to removing her boots. Christoph read it and sat back.

  “Well, I’m from a little town called Tonopah in Nevada. It’s south of Carson City, up in the hills. I was with friends in Reno when I got bitten. Moved to California a couple weeks later and made my way to Los Angeles. Goliath found me in a hurry and said ‘join or die,’ so I joined. Worked my way up to a sort of middle rank.”

  He fiddled with the note, folding it and unfolding it.

  “I’m a Goliath courier. I run packages around the city. When I’m not a courier, I’m a warrior. That’s how I gained my rank. Sometimes I get sent up north with a few other warriors to help one of our ally packs. I watch football and UFC. That’s about it.”

  He shrugged.

  “I don’t know about questions. I guess I mostly wonder where people here came from. Mostly the vampires. I mean, you’ve been around for hundreds of years. I can’t even imagine living that long.”
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  She nodded when he finished speaking, pulling off the boots and wiggling her toes before shifting to sit Indian-style on the couch. She scribbled on the pad again. It took a while, but only because she had an awful lot to write, not because she was hesitant about answering him. As she filled up a page, she tore it off and hand it to him, then furiously continued writing until she was done.

  I’m from a small town outside Florence, Italy. I was born in the late 1500s. My father was a baker, my mother a seamstress. It wasn’t the kind of life I wanted. I always admired the gypsy performers in the streets when they visited in the summers. I auditioned for a part in a play, which later gave me the opportunity to take part in one of the first operas.

  I stayed in theater for a few years. That was how Max Carlyle found me. I thought he was handsome and charming, and he seduced me with the promise of centuries to perfect my art.

  Max took me with him as he traveled, introduced me to many, showed me off like some great prize he’d won. After a while he pressed me into doing things to “liven up” the performances. At first I agreed, and for two hundred years I did everything he asked of me.

  Once, he found a young man with a voice to rival the angels to sing beside me before an audience of vampires that included the Master of Rome. During a break, he advised me that once the boy finished his last note, I should drink of him until he truly died, the way the hero of the tale we were singing was supposed to.

  I refused. He listened to my arguments, tried briefly to persuade me, but in the end, agreed to let the boy go when it was done.

  He did not bring it up again until we returned to Massachusetts. The next several years were spent experimenting with ways to destroy my voice without damaging the rest of me.

  Alec eventually rescued me and drove Max out of Boston. He installed another Master for the city. Max was furious, but there was little he could do. He shifted his operations to Chicago and has been the Master there ever since.