And now, Sid’s favourite song, a tune with a dark atmosphere, something that seemed to have an increasingly wild effect on her. She had eventually let go of her camera to give herself totally to the music and jump even more all over the place.
Terri shouted in the mic:
“She is a wild child of rock’n’roll! She could out-dance the pants of every man, woman, and child!”
* * * * * * *
Sid was one of these shortsighted people who couldn’t be bothered with contact lenses or spectacles. She thought her eyes were even more misleading to people since she had twisted her last frame out of shape in a fit of despair. She found her eyesight disconcerting at times but had other ways to get information about people. She would scan their auras, trying to understand the energies she would sense, but never with words. Words were deceptive, bringer of doubt. Written words were ok because she controlled them. It was why she had no clue about the colour of Terri’s eyes, the colour of Dawn’s eyes, and barely knew the colour of their hair. She had a tendency to view the world in black and white.
She could sense there was something strange about Joy. There was something in Joy’s aura that she had never sensed with anyone else. But Sid couldn’t care less, Joy was too feminine looking to really attract her attention.
Really?
So, when Baby Dyke got the song she had waited for all along, Joy started to dance around Sid, swaying her hips with all the languor she was used to, to Judy’s powerless annoyance. Baby Dyke stepped back instinctively, her eyes riveted to her idol. And Dawn was singing, singing:
“Track number five’s got the voice and the smile/ And the matching grey eyes/ She’ll drive you round and round the bend/Night after night, after night/ You will run the miles for her //
Track number five is the mystical siren/ Never, never calling your name/ You will run all the gauntlets for her/ To look at you and smile/ You will fall blistering your knees//
Track number five, she is a total mystery/ Hovering on the edge of your dreams/ Never, never, never there for you/ Who are you, who are you to her/ But just another dancer in the crowd//
And tomorrow will be another day/ with sunshine in the blue sky/ You’ll be hiding in black velvet, of course/ Waiting for destiny to knock your door down.”
The Goddess reached the last verse, the verse Baby Dyke was always waiting for, because the voice would turn into a raspy sound, something grabbing her heart:
“Track number five/ She’s got the voice and the smile/ The matching grey eyes/ And you know it/ Track number five/ She is the siren/ Never calling your name/ Oooooh you want it so/ You want her so/ Oooooh you want her…….”
The vampire looked into Sid’s eyes and Sid looked back. The green-mohicaned woman was under a spell, no longer the spell of a voice and a keyboard, but Joy’s mesmerising spell. Judy didn’t see the vampire reached for Sid’s hand. Sid, who was not the most tactile person in the world but didn’t mind a bit of handholding with a woman on a very occasional basis, accepted the slender fingers and followed without any resistance, straying away from the stage and her favourite band for the first time ever. Baby Dyke watched them walk away. The show went on.
* * * * * * *
In the strangely deserted beer garden, Sid felt suddenly more relaxed. The rush of energy abruptly left her. The moon was welcoming her. The vampire turned to her, a smile growing slowly on her playful lips. Sid smiled back. She was herself again, free from the spell now that they were outdoors, in the deep, wide night. Now slightly surprised to find herself in intimate terms with such company.
“I can’t,” she simply stated when Joy annihilated the space between them, wondering how to decline the advances of a gorgeous woman, when, simply, this gorgeous woman was not her type. And not who she wanted.
“Are you sure you can resist me?” The voice was sensual and wispy, the smile broader, the lips parted, showing the tips of the fangs.
Sid’s smile widened, knowingly, having read too many classics. Her eyes glowed with renewed amusement. Here was possible death, at last. Yes, why not at the teeth of a female vampire.
“I just cannot say yes,” she rephrased, feeling suddenly wiser, or was it crazier. Death on a silver plate, death under the moon, the death of legend, the one death she could accept –or take- without worrying about karmic consequences for her Akashic records. Not her fault, never her responsibility, if a vampire wanted to feed on her…….
And she was turning it down? She had learned to say NO?! My, my, maybe she had gone totally insane!
Frustration flared briefly on the vampire’s face. Hunger wanted to sink fangs into the tantalising tarantula tattooed on Sid’s jugular.
“You really believe you can resist me. This is what attracted me to you. I am hungry, but I also feel lonely. Shall I feed on you or shall I make you mine, shall I make you like me?”
The moonlight intensified, brighter and brighter. Sid felt suddenly tempted. Wow, grow new teeth, not to worry about the dole office anymore, fly through the night (Come on, you gotta gimme that one! It’s my greatest fantasy!)
The vampire’s fingers were soft on the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Oh temptation. Sid was thoroughly enjoying the game. She knew she could resist any temptation. When she wanted to.
“I had centuries of loneliness. You could keep me company.”
But a woman, sliding down the light of the moon, appeared at their side. She had long, raven hair down to her waist and the most gorgeous coppery skin, muscles slightly bulging in her arms, authority in her attitude and her voice.
“Enough, Joy, Sid has other things to do.”
Death! She was Death! Death, who had rejected Sid so many times. Death, who Sid longed to be with, more than anyone else in the world. She was head over heels for Death, wanted Death to take her into her warm and tender embrace. She so much wanted Death to take her away from everything, everyone, and all the suffering of this world. And Death wouldn’t have minded, after all, Sid, whatever names she’d used along the years, had occasionally proven of some interest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? And who the fuck are you?” Joy raised her voice with anger.
“I am Death, of course.” Gazing at Joy with irony. “I was just chatting with Life and we were commenting on how well and better Sid had started doing recently. We’re pleased with her attitude these days. That’s a nice change.” Looking at Sid: “Except for getting drunk tonight. By the way, Sid, I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with your drug-induced mania for a while longer.”
“Thank you for the information.” Feeling suddenly sober.
“And what has it got to do with you if I turn her into a vampire? She wouldn’t be dead!”
“She would be undead. Life and I cannot let this happen. She belongs to us and especially to me.”
Ownership. ‘scuse me but there, Sid had to bash her sixpence worth in the middle:
“Hey, maybe I wanna be a vampire!”
“Shut up there. And I thought for a minute you were getting wiser. Let me handle this.”
Great. Sid crossed her arms over her stomach, slightly sulking, but only slightly. Because, after all, it was Death who had told her to shut up, and after all, she had great respect for Death. Death was telling Joy:
“We have great plans for Sid. It might take her a long time to get into it but it is her destiny. And no one’s got the right to change that. You least of all.”
“But what if I never agree to your plans?” Sid again.
“Oh, sweet child.”
“I ain’t sweet!”
“Your rebel streak again, .” There she used Sid’s secret name, the name of her secret core, so secret that the spelling was unknown. That made Sid shut up for real.
“Ok, but what about me?” Joy’s frustration was shifting to exasperation. She could do nothing against Death’s decision, no matter how powerful and immortal she was herself. “I’m hungry! I need to feed!”
“Dawn Ferndale, Terri Harley.”
Sid jumped: “you must be joking!”
“Oops! Sorry! Wrong year!” The two names had no cause of extinction written in the next column. It was too far away in time. She punched a few more keys:
“Year 2001. Month of July. 28th day. Oh, busy night for me! Quite a few people for collection. Let’s see. Teddy Longhorn.”
“A man? I’m more into wimin these days.”
“Well Joy, it’ll have to do for now because he is the only one with no apparent reason for collection. Therefore, he must be yours. You’ll find him easily, he’ll be marked for you.”
The vampire sighed, rather disgruntled.
“Now, I must be off. Sid, behave yourself.”
“When will I see you again?”
Death smiled, and her smile was a more powerful spell than any Joy would have ever tried.
“You know it: you’re still doomed to immortality.”
Sid sighed, disgruntled, too.
Death pocketed her computer and the light of the moon took her away. Sid and Joy looked at each other. Joy walked away. Sid followed.
Inside, the vampire found her imposed prey as easily as promised. Sid smiled, amused. She identified Teddy Longhorn as the guy who had claimed she had the hots for Terri. What would he think if he knew that the writer had the hots for Death herself? She smiled more wildly. He’d never had the opportunity to find out, his death would be sweet and bespelled. Lucky him, she thought, claiming back her piece of dance floor in front of Dawn’s keyboards. Dawn was as usual bent over her instrument, going mad in tempo. Terri who was not requesting but ordering the crowd to give her “five”, walked closer to Sid, palm extended, and as usual, because the writer couldn’t bear to do like anyone else (how to be noticed otherwise?), Sid squeezed the singer’s hand briefly. The next punter copied her shamelessly.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WPC Glenn had only volunteered because D.I. Madison had the most incredible blue eyes and he always sported elegant suits. But he was so dedicated to his work that no one could really approach him. He had requested a female volunteer for one night undercover, for one night of mingling with a raucous crowd, for one night of rocky music. D.I. Madison had never looked at WPC Glenn before, now he had, albeit in the most sober manner.
Do not take any risks. Just keep an eye on the various goings-on. Watch for people leaving the audience by two or three. Do not drink anything but orange juice (WPC Glenn was allergic to citrus fruits). And do not take any risks. We are dealing with a very dangerous killer here, maybe two.
Heather Glenn was just under 5’5’’ but still taller than Joan Jett or Ani DiFranco. She wouldn’t impress any bad guys but, not being a stranger to karate and judo, she knew how to use surprise as a most effective weapon. She was not stocky or petite. Her hair was a mass of vague, dark curls generally held together in a ponytail. She knew how to smile innocently and had plenty of wits. If required to, she was a sharp shooter.
And there she was at the Greystoke in Teddington, watching the cosmopolitan crowd, while D.I. Madison covered the outside. It was a happy crowd, mixing local lads with Second Look groupies, mini-skirts with……. green mohican. That one, a tattooed punk with an expensive-looking camera, didn’t seem to mix well with the crowd, despite the bottle tightly grasped by the left hand. If you paid a bit more attention to this green mohican currently in conversation with the singer of the band, you could notice the green was slowly fading into yellow.
A punk with a camera. WPC Glenn added the writer to her list of potential suspects, while leisurely sipping some apple juice. She resumed her scanning of the crowd, ignored the fidgeting Baby Dyke, and contemplated a very feminine-looking woman. Early twenties. A long mane of black hair striped with white strands. She was amicably chatting with a Second Look roadie. No, somehow, Heather couldn’t peg her on her list. And moved on. The victims found after each second Look gig were female. She started focussing on the men. None of them could look handsome enough to her eyes, none of them had looks to surpass or even match those of D. I. Madison’s. She chided herself and stirred her brain back to the increasing crowd.
When Judy walked in, WPC Glenn only noticed her because she went to sit on a bass speaker and talk with the green mohican. An accomplice?
And the music started. The green mohican was already taking photos and dancing, wild.
* * * * * * *
When the green mohican and the gypsy-eyed woman, somewhere in the middle of the second set, started across the standing crowd, walking hand in hand, WPC Glenn surmised that something was about to happen, something more important than her apple juice. When they came out of the crowd, ignoring the lively world around them, the undercover policewoman stepped forward to follow them, but arriving at the covered pool tables, she found herself intercepted by one burly man after another, until the punk and the goth walked out into the beer garden, and Heather stood in front of a woman whose masculine features screamed butch dyke at every second.
Heather looked at the spiky, short, blonde hair, the predatory smile, the bulging arms, the green top showing off well-developed abdominal muscles. She didn’t get to detail the butch more, because the butch spoke with honey in her voice. Heather found herself barely reluctantly hijacked for a drink at the bar, after a last wistful look toward the beer garden where a murder might, or might not, be about to happen.
The strong fingers that had played with Heather’s ponytail on the way to the bar, stuck a small glass of sherry in Heather’s hand. Heather listened to the babbling of the butch dyke, who, albeit discreetly, was sussing her out. When a very feminine woman joined them, one with long, dark hair and delicate spectacles, the butch dyke exclaimed, as honey-voice as ever:
“Darling! Meet Allison!”
Allison? Was it a code word between these two lesbians? Heather started to wonder if she was about to be picked up for a threesome and started to worry. She had no idea how to get out of this situation. This hadn’t been broached from any angle in any of the various training courses she had attended.
When she noticed the goth and the punk no longer holding hands coming back from the beer garden, her worry magnified by ten: was she just being picked up for a threesome, or was she intended as the next murder victim…….
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“So, this is what you do for a living?”
Joy ignored him. She swallowed the last drop of blood from Teddy Longhorn’s lifeless body. She was still in a very bad mood. To top it up, Teddy’s blood had the one bitter tinge she had never been crazy about. She slowly turned her head to look at the newcomer and spat contemptibly:
“Hello, Blondie, offering yourself for dessert?”
D. I. Madison was a relatively handsome man in his early thirties. A reasonable 5’9’’, that night he favoured a dark blue summer suit over a white shirt, but no tie. His feet sported very standard blue suede shoes. As a matter of fact, Joy had a great aversion for blue eyes. Grey would have been just about ok. Dark brown was always ideal.
The cop studied the vampire. Thought she was actually attractive, like most female suspects he had tracked down along his career. Extraordinary eyes enhanced with black mascara. Great legs sheathed in knee-high boots. He eventually noticed that the man propped against the wall, looked actually dead. He had a bloodless look to his face that didn’t look promising. As often he wondered how things like that could happen. For God’s sake, they were standing just outside a railway station. Or was it that by midnight trains stopped stopping in Teddington?
Was he facing the killer he had been trailing since the beginning of the summer? He looked at the woman: square shoulders, one square hand effortlessly holding up the corpse. Evaluating her strength: maybe stronger than the average female, but nothing I cannot
handle.
Her skin flushed with the freshly ingested blood, Joy looked back. She could have easily hypnotised him, mesmerised him into her merciless power, but she was still reeling with anger and frustration from her little encounter with Death. This guy was another mere pawn in Life and Death’s computer games. The hell with them.
D. I. Madison decided to make a stand:
“You are under arrest on suspicion of multiple murders.”
“Just like that? No back up? No forensic team?” The snarl rippled into a throaty laughter. Human silliness could at times sound so amusing. “Care to check the freshness of the corpse for yourself?”
With just one hand she flung the corpse across the policeman, who took it full in the stomach, stumbled backwards, fell flat on his back. Then fumbled agitatedly from under the lifeless body to get back on his feet. Looking at corpses was ok, but getting into such close quarters with one sent shivers of disgust down his spine. What kind of cold-blooded monster was he dealing with? If he’d had a tie knotted around the collar of his white shirt, he would have strangled himself retightening it.
The amused woman was facing him, smiling, revealing……. Canines longer than average.
After a moment of silence, she pouted: “Can’t recognise a cat when you see one?”
She stepped closer to him. He stammered: “What……. Who……. “He still couldn’t believe. No! Must be one of these fakes you can get specially made in dental labs!
Laughter rippled again in her throat. In other circumstances, it would have sounded lovely.
“I see, you haven’t read the classics. Charnas, Jewell Gomez, Laurell K. Hamilton, Tanya Huff, Stephen King, Konstantinos, Brian Lumley, Polidori, Anne Rice, Somtow, Bram Stoker, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro.” She mused some more: “Sometimes, I wonder who had been the first one ever to write about me and my kind. Because, you know, I’m only mentioning the famous names.”
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