Women of the Dark Streets

by Radclyffe

  “Misae.” She whispered the name, liking the way it rolled off her tongue. She’d learned the name from the woman’s answering machine the night she had secretly visited her apartment. Malakai didn’t require lights to see; her keen eyesight allowed her to search the room as if she were standing in broad daylight. Daylight. Now there’s a phenomenon she hadn’t experienced in centuries.

  Misae’s apartment had been stripped of any personal items. No photos. No books of any kind that might give Malakai a glimpse into the young woman’s past. Only a message from a man asking Misae to dinner alerted Malakai that she had acquaintances of any type. A flare of jealousy shot through her at the memory of the phone call, and she bared her fangs. Power personified, Malakai was untouchable in this world. But what she craved was something she could not have. The touch of another. One person who wouldn’t shrink from her in fear when they found what fate had been bestowed on her.

  She silently moved through the city, climbing to the top of the stone building with ease. Perching on top of the sturdy balustrade, hidden by darkness, she watched the Native American beauty move about her orderly apartment. The first time she’d visited Misae’s dwelling, she’d taken her time moving around the spacious enclosure, wondering about the organization of the furniture. Placement of certain pieces seemed to be staged rather than used for function. At first, she thought maybe the woman had OCD. It made sense. Nothing was out of place. The chains to turn on two table lamps were both facing inward so that they would be easily accessible from the couch. The handle to the teakettle sitting on the stove always faced to the right. Then there was the way Misae moved. Her steps were even, but not bold. They were perfect. Too perfect. Five steps to the fireplace from the couch. Eight steps to the left to the kitchen. As the gravity of Misae’s situation hit her, she realized the woman she had been lusting after was not obsessive, but blind.

  Malakai silently jumped onto the balcony and peered through the window, her heart rate increasing with each breath. Misae turned as if sensing her presence, but that was absurd. The woman, after all, was without sight. Remaining motionless, she waited until Misae’s attentions were elsewhere before moving around the balcony. Seeing Misae in her knee-length silk robe, Malakai felt like a voyeur. Her stomach was tied up in knots and she tried not to gasp when the woman released the ties on her robe and allowed it to fall to the floor to reveal a sheer white negligee. Misae was breathtaking and Malakai wondered if she knew of the splendor she possessed. But then how could Misae know of her own beauty when she couldn’t even see Malakai standing a few feet away?

  The wind picked up and a steady rain began. The seasons were changing and soon the rains would be constant. Malakai didn’t feel the cold because she was the cold—one of the many who lived among the shadows. She’d lived this way for over three hundred years, and it was only now that she felt alone in this world. For centuries, she had walked the planet—moved from town to town, city to city. She’d lived through revolutions, famine, and world wars. She’d seen things that would make mortals shriek in terror. She’d taken thousands of lives, most of them deserved. She never killed for sport, or for pleasure. Those that died by her hand shouldn’t have been born in the first place. They were the rapists, child molesters, and scourge of the earth. She did the world a favor by taking these people’s lives, or so she rationalized in an attempt to believe she wasn’t a soulless monster.

  The lights went out in Misae’s apartment as Malakai turned to leave. These were the times when she felt the most alone. She was used to the darkness, but never got used to the silence. She placed her hand on the railing, planning to disappear into the night. But just as she turned her back a gentle voice called out to her.

  “I know you’re there,” Misae said, stepping out onto the balcony. Her shirt clung to her breasts, her nipples hardening under the thin material. She was most likely unaware of her appearance, but her body betrayed her ignorance of the cold. Malakai stood motionless, transfixed by the exquisite sight before her. “I can hear your breathing. Please, don’t be afraid.”

  Afraid? Shouldn’t Misae be afraid of her, a stranger she could not see, hiding in the dark of night?

  Misae extended her hand into the darkness. “Give me your hand.”

  Malakai couldn’t believe Misae’s boldness. How did she know of her presence? And even if Malakai was an ordinary human, would Misae invite a total stranger into her home—a stranger who had been stalking her for weeks?

  “I know you’re still there. Still watching.”

  “How?”

  Misae looked to her left, her hand following the deep voice. “I feel you.”

  “That is not possible,” Malakai snarled, her emotions getting the best of her. How could this blind woman see her when a person with perfect sight could not? She was confused, and her uncertainty was making her uncomfortable. She nervously scanned the immediate area to see if anyone else was close by.

  “It is possible. Please, come closer and I’ll explain.”

  Moving from a crouched position, Malakai jumped and landed silently in front of Misae. She looked into the dark eyes that couldn’t see her but somehow understood that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe it was because of the way Misae was looking at her now—as if she couldn’t just see her, but through her. “How did you know?”

  Misae placed her hand on Malakai’s cheek. “I’ve sensed your presence for weeks. The air moves differently when you’re near. No matter the temperature, your aura is colder, darker. But I do not sense danger, only uncertainty.”

  “It still does not make sense. How can you sense my existence?”

  “Your unique scent. It is what alerted me to your presence the first time.”

  “As I said, impossible.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You smell woodsy. A musky scent I can’t quite place—earth on a warm summer’s day. Now do you believe me?”

  Malakai took a step back. Could it be Misae smelled the ground where she slept off the daylight hours? Impossible. “And you say you’ve known of my presence for weeks?”

  “Yes. When I walked home a few nights ago, I could hear you above me walking along the balconies. I sensed you first. As I told you, it’s your scent. Will you tell me your name?”

  Malakai hesitated. If she revealed herself, she could no longer be one with the darkness. Her decision would not only alter her existence but most likely change Misae’s life forever. Misae seemed so innocent, and what would happen if she exposed Misae to the horrors of her life? She couldn’t risk this woman feeling disdain for her, so she remained silent.

  “I promise your secret is safe with me.”

  “But what if my secret frightens you?”

  “It won’t.”

  Malakai leaned into Misae’s touch, the hand against her cheek warm where her skin was cool. “Malakai.”

  “Malakai,” Misae whispered softly. “Do you know its meaning?”

  “Yes. My mother explained it to me many years ago.” How many years ago now failed her. “It means ‘my messenger.’”

  “That is correct. Do you have a message for me, Malakai?”

  Malakai took a deep breath and carefully brought their bodies close. She had to touch her. Caressing the side of Misae’s face, she could feel the blood racing below her skin—see the pulse point pounding rapidly in her throat. She turned away. Being this close to Misae was too dangerous. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  Misae smiled. “No. But I am curious.”

  “Of?”

  “Why do you hide?”

  Malakai slowly moved away. The moment their connection was broken, she nearly stumbled and leaned against the balustrade for support. “You said it yourself. Cold. Dark. You sense what I am. Yet you ask.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  Malakai sighed and turned to stare out over the city. She’d never had this conversation with a mortal before. Vampires were to remain hidden from the population. If humans ever d
iscovered their existence, they’d be hunted during the daylight hours when they were the most vulnerable. Outing herself would be dangerous, but instinctively she trusted Misae and couldn’t deny her simple request. “Vampire.”

  Misae moved closer and wrapped her arms around Malakai’s waist. “That’s not what I asked.” She rubbed small calming circles over Malakai’s stomach.

  Malakai groaned when Misae accidentally brushed one of her nipples with her fingertips. Or was it an accident? Misae didn’t seem the type to do anything unintentional. Malakai’s legs grew weak and she was slowly losing her composure. “I do not understand. I told you, I am a vampire. A cold, lifeless entity who walks the earth with no purpose. I have no soul. I am a monster. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  The low guttural sound that escaped Malakai’s lips would have scared most people, but Misae didn’t even flinch. She captured Malakai’s arm and slid her hand into Malakai’s. “Look at me. Do you know I can see you?”

  Malakai stiffened. “Impossible. I know you are without sight.”

  “You like that word, don’t you, Malakai? Not everything is impossible. I don’t need eyes to see. As I said, I’ve sensed you for weeks. Could feel when you watched me. My skin tingles when you’re near. I could feel you just now responding to my touch. You are anything but a monster.”

  Could this be true? After all these years, could Malakai have found the one person who could truly see past her disease? “How?”

  “The answer is simple. Because I want to. I want to know you—who you are and everything about you. How did you become vampire? What are your secrets? Your desires? You see, Malakai, you may have been watching me, but I have also been watching you.”

  Malakai took Misae into her arms and held her fiercely. Her need for this woman was growing by the second. “I want you. But I’m…scared.” She bared her teeth, this time not out of anger, but from desire.

  Misae cradled Malakai’s face and stroked the two incisors with her thumbs. “Scared? Of who you are or of what you could do?”

  “Both. I have never been with a mortal before. I am very strong. I could…hurt you.” The thought made Malakai sick to her stomach.

  “The only way you could hurt me would be to walk away. I trust you. You could never hurt me. Ever!”

  Malakai wanted to believe Misae, but her fear was too great. She’d never be able to face the untold centuries stretching before her if she were to seriously hurt—or worse—kill Misae during her time of passion. She loved her, but she was presented with a decision she didn’t want to make. “I know you believe that. But I don’t trust myself. I’m sorry. I must go.”

  Malakai ran as fast as she could, disappearing into the night. She wiped at the blood that stained her cheeks—tears of the vampire. She’d never shed them in all the years since she had been turned. Tonight was the first time she’d ever had a reason to feel sorrow.

  *

  Misae stood on the balcony blinking back tears of her own. How could one so wild, so free, be so restrained in her hunger? For the first time in her life, she cursed her blindness. She never questioned being born without sight—only accepted it as part of her existence. But not being able to reach Malakai, to see the desperation she heard in her voice, to stroke that pain away, brought her to her knees. She cried out Malakai’s name, but her words were lost on the wind.

  “Come back,” she whispered, but Malakai did not answer her call. She shivered as the rain soaked the thin material of her nightshirt, but it wasn’t the cold that left her a shaking mess. She had a firm picture of Malakai in her mind’s eye. Short black hair, dark eyes. An angular jaw and a bold nose that wouldn’t be considered beautiful, but sexy on what she imagined was a handsome face. Misae had never seen colors or patterns—had never seen an actual human face. But the moment she sensed Malakai’s presence, the picture formed instantly. Touching her tonight, it was as though she were an artist, sketching the final details of a picture that had eluded her for years. She’d felt complete in Malakai’s arms, and now for the first time in her life, she felt less than whole.

  The first night Malakai visited her apartment, Misae had recognized the scent instantly. She breathed it in, tried to firmly plant it in her memory bank. She’d been worried that the stranger would disappear without ever saying a word to her. She should have been scared, but instead accepted Malakai’s presence instantly into her life. What frightened her now was that even though they had only spent a few precious moments together, she didn’t know how to go on without her. Less than an hour of knowing Malakai made Misae want to know her for a lifetime.

  “You need to go inside,” the deep voice instructed from somewhere in the distance.

  “Malakai? You came back.”

  “Yes.” Malakai’s voice was rough but not aggressive.

  “I was frightened when you left.”

  “Frightened? Of me?”

  Misae looked into the darkness, feeling Malakai move to her left. She could hear the pain in her raspy voice. “No! No, love. Not of you. Of your leaving me.”

  A cry broke from Malakai’s lips as she gathered Misae up into her arms. Misae wrapped her arms around Malakai’s neck, holding on as though they had all of eternity to love.

  “I tried but I couldn’t do it. Please, don’t cry.”

  Misae buried her head into Malakai’s shoulder. She took in the sweet scent, basked in the joy of having Malakai in her arms. “Then don’t leave me.”

  “I must. The sun will rise in an hour.”

  Misae gently tugged on Malakai’s head, her lips carefully brushing over the tall vampire’s. Malakai’s incisors cut Misae’s lip, and when she winced, Malakai abruptly pulled away.

  “See what I have done,” she growled. “I cannot cause you pain. I cannot bear it.”

  “No! Malakai, come here.” She pulled Malakai close and moved back into her arms. “Taste me on your lips. Let my blood sustain you. Feed from me. Let me be your light in your dark world.”

  Malakai swiped her tongue along Misae’s lips, her growl turning to a purr. “Do you know what you are asking?”

  “I am aware.”

  “Misae,” Malakai asked, tenderly licking the small puncture she had just made on Misae’s shoulder, “what does your name mean?”

  “Funny you should ask. It means ‘white sun.’ So you see, if you allow me to be your sunlight, you will never have to spend your nights in the dark, alone again.”

  “And if I should say yes?”

  Misae brushed her palm over Malakai’s chest, smiling as Malakai’s breathing increased. She ached for Malakai, but the darkness was running out. “Then meet me tomorrow when the sun sets beyond the mountains and I will prove to you with everything in me that the darkness will no longer rule either of our lives.”

  Recyclables

  Joey Bass

  Toni smiled as she closed the classroom door quietly behind her. The silver-haired lecturer at the front of the theater hadn’t looked up and showed no sign of seeing her come in. Toni liked it that way. It would give her a chance to watch Professor Shannon Flugle at work. Even though she had collaborated with Shannon on a number of cases, Toni had never studied her in the classroom.

  “Certainly, many of the classic horror films are laughably over-the-top, but anyone who would romanticize vampires is doing society a disservice. Their parasitic lives are at best a tragic waste of potential.” Shannon’s voice carried to the back of the room without apparent effort.

  The tragic waste is all those times I had you alone and never tasted you. Toni had worked with the professor on five major cases over the last two years and consulted her on a dozen others, but Shannon still seemed a mystery to her. Shannon had never shown an interest beyond the intrigue of the cases—enjoying the puzzles, deciphering clues, and untangling the criminal mind to solve crimes. Toni chastised herself for her unrequited attraction and sophomoric crush. Next thing you know, you’ll be writing her name with loops and hearts all over your noteboo
k. She frowned. She wasn’t the type to chase women. She never had to go looking. They usually knocked at her door before she ever even noticed them.

  Shannon stood in the front of the room, hip cocked to one side, elbow tucked into her body and resting in the palm of her other hand. “It is the same with any historical event. They soften the blow—blur its meaning. Which robs us of understanding it—truly appreciating its importance.”

  Toni settled back to listen. The lilt of Shannon’s voice brought memories of when they first met. Toni had mispronounced Shannon’s last name and the professor cheerfully corrected her, “It’s an ‘oo’ not an ‘uh,’ Officer, like bugle. Flugle. Just think of a sick seabird.” The police chief asked Shannon to help Toni with a missing-person case and they spent nearly twenty-four hours chasing down clues and then a final six searching the rough terrain of Devil’s Gulch.

  Toni stifled a growl as the image surfaced—Shannon slick with sweat taking a long pull from her canteen. Toni’s nostrils flared, summoning the essence of Shannon—the light musk of her sweat mingled with the earth, sage, and fennel as it rode the heat waves of the baking canyon and tangled Toni’s brain with cravings. She recalled watching a drop of water run down the professor’s chin and neck, leaving a glistening trail on her dusty skin. Oh, how she’d wanted to be that drop.

  “What about the Titanic?” a female student asked.

  “Same thing.” Shannon turned toward the whiteboard and added Titanic to the numerous words already there. “Hollywood made a mawkish love story, thus perverting the actual event—taking the focus off the tragedy itself and minimizing the horror. In a way, they made it not real. They wouldn’t make a love story with nine-eleven as a backdrop. That was a horrible tragedy and America wants to use the loss, the hurt, and the outrage.” She wrote the words her tone had emphasized. “Our government wants us to really feel that.”