Blood and Guitars

by Heather Jensen

  I was feeling restless, and wished I had something more to do, but I didn’t have any great inspiration to start another piece so I took off my apron and went back downstairs into the bathroom to scrub my hands, trying to get the paint from underneath my fingernails.

  Knowing I was done for the night, at least with painting, I grabbed my keys and locked up. The sun would be up in an hour and I wanted to be in lost in sleep when that happened. I drove straight home and went into my bedroom where I undressed and pulled on some pajamas. The windows were blacked out to prevent the sun from shining in and disrupting my sleep during the day. I climbed into my silky black sheets and let my head fall on the pillow. My eyelids were growing heavy and my nerves were dulling as the moon descended to allow for the new day. It was like the intangible tentacles of my senses were growing numb at the tips. Sleep would come easily. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what my next painting should look like as I drifted off.

  The sound of my own stomach rumbling woke me up around nine o’clock pm. I climbed off of the bed and unlocked the front door before going to the pantry that was located toward the back of my kitchen. I opened the double doors and reached for the wine cooler that was installed in the bottom corner below the shelves. The bottle of blood was cool to the touch as I pulled it out and carried it into the kitchen. I reached for a wine glass, and then reconsidered, reaching up for a second glass. I set them on the counter of the island in the middle of the kitchen and emptied the contents of the bottle into the glasses. Just as I’d suspected, a knock sounded on the front door seconds after I’d tossed the empty bottle into the garbage.

  “Come in,” I said without raising my voice. I picked up the wine glasses and walked into the living room as Mark was closing the door behind him.

  He was carrying a box, which he quickly set down on the coffee table before I noticed the flyer sitting on top of it.

  “What’s that?” I asked, holding out his glass to him.

  “It was taped to your front door.”

  I bent down and picked up the flyer. It was a local lounge promising live music seven nights a week. I dropped it on the coffee table and watched as Mark took a sip and then handed me the glass again to hold for him. “We really should get these in the cooler.” He gestured to the box he’d brought with him.

  I followed him into the kitchen where he filled my wine cooler up with bottles resembling those you would find wine in. Truthfully, I didn’t know exactly where the blood came from, just that it was from donors and the Synod took care of the supply and demand aspect of things. As long as I had access to it I didn’t really care where it came from. I handed Mark his glass again and we sat down on the couch in the living room.

  Before my change, I’d never been much of a morning person. Mark had been the same, I guessed. It always took us a few minutes after waking up to get going for the night. This drink might be considered the vampire equivalent of a cup of coffee to awaken our senses for the rest of the evening. Just a few sips and I was already beginning to feel more alive.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I asked casually.

  “My weekly report to the Emissary. Care to tag along? I wouldn’t mind the company.” Mark’s eyes widened with anticipation, although he already knew what my answer would be.

  “Gee … it’s tempting,” I humored him with my best sarcasm. I was sure there were worse things in the world than having to visit with a representative of the Synod, but at the moment I couldn’t think of any.

  “Oh come on,” he pleaded halfheartedly, knowing it was a losing battle. “It’s only Damir. He’s not technically Synod.”

  “He’s as good as,” I replied. “And he’ll have his little posse of Emissary along with him. That’s a little more testosterone than I care to deal with tonight,” I said. “I’ve had as much Damir as I can stand for one week.”

  Mark smiled and shrugged, acknowledging defeat. “If you’re sure.”

  “Thanks for the refill,” I said as he walked toward the front door.

  He paused and looked at me. “You’re welcome.” Then the door opened and closed and he was gone. The gust of fresh air that blew into the room with the closing of the door awakened my senses and I suddenly wanted to be out in the night. I got to my feet and carried our empty glasses into the kitchen where I washed them and put them away. I pulled on my black jacket when I was finished and ran my fingers through my long dark hair. It fell over my shoulders and down my back, giving me a mysterious look I was quite proud of. I didn’t know where the night would take me, but I wanted to be prepared for any situation. I slipped some cash into my jacket pocket, along with my keys. I wouldn’t be driving, but it was careless to leave my place unlocked.

  The first breath of cool night air filled my lungs and my senses all at once. My vision adjusted immediately to the dark and I glanced around me as I made my way north up the street. It had been too long since I’d just spent a night out on the town observing. This is what I needed. I covered a block in ten seconds, which was only just tapping into the speed I was capable of when I wanted to be. Had I chosen the physical magic that gives a vamp incredible strength and speed, I would have flashed past any onlookers like a cool wind. In my dark clothing I moved invisibly across town.

  I found myself standing in front of The Waking Moon, gazing through the large glass display windows at the front of the studio. My exceptional eyesight allowed me to see details inside that no human would ever see. I studied the layout of my paintings, trying to judge the scene before me with an unbiased eye. My studio was perfect in a lot of aspects. It was organized well, it was neat, and it was appealing to the passersby on the street who were the majority of my buyers. It was something I had worked hard for and I was proud of it, but despite all the nights I spent painting and restocking the walls with pieces of art, there was still a sense of something missing in my life.

  Was this really it? Would I spend the rest of eternity trying to sell paintings about the night and all its glory to mortals?

  It’s true that there was a time not so long ago that I thought this kind of life would be a fulfilling one. Owning my own art studio is something I had always aspired to do. My mother used to tell me that I could paint whatever world I wanted to live in, and if I paid enough attention in life and made the right decisions, I could make it magically exist. I’m fairly certain that she didn’t imagine her daughter living as a creature of the night when she’d told me those things as a child, but now I knew more than ever that she was right. I had known what I’d wanted and I had put in the time to make it happen. So why, then, did I feel myself yearning for more? What more could there possibly be for someone like me? I was destined to live in the shadows. And with all of the wonderful abilities and opportunities that came with it, I couldn’t help feeling trapped. In so many ways, I was limited. Not limited in the sense that mortals are, but limited by the fact that I was no longer one.

  Chapter 4

  There really wasn’t anything special about the flyer Mark had found taped to my door last night, but for some reason I hadn’t thrown it away. It still sat on my coffee table in all its tacky neon-orange brilliance. I picked it up and read it over again. It seemed pretty harmless; just a small crowd and a few struggling musicians trying to break into the business. It might be a good place to clear my mind, or if nothing else, scout out my next meal. It had been six days since I’d last fed, and having just realized that, my mouth began to water. No wonder I was in a mood.

  I’d been working a lot lately and it was starting to wear on me. Mark probably would have jumped at the chance to go out tonight, but I was in a strange mood. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, but not alone.

  My mind made up, I carried the flyer with me into the bedroom where I rummaged through my closet for ten minutes before finding something suitable to wear. I settled on a pair of distressed jeans, a grey top, and a pair of black heels. I stuck my cell phone in my pocket, hesitating for only a moment to assure myself that I
wanted to go solo, and then went out into the night air. I took my time walking to the music lounge, rather than walk at the full speed I was capable of. It gave me time to wind down and clear my head before I arrived. I reminded myself that I just needed blood. Once I fed, everything would come into perspective and I would feel like myself again.

  As I got closer, I realized I’d seen the lounge before in passing, but never considered going inside until tonight. I made my way toward the front doors and a tall, burly bouncer smiled at me and stepped aside to let me in without a second’s hesitation. I decided I might just like this place after all.

  Not only was the place bigger inside than I had expected, but the crowd was bigger to match it. There were round tables that seated six set up along the front half of the room in a semi-circle to follow the crescent of the stage. Behind those tables were two rows of smaller ones, and the bar was positioned in the far back. I glanced around, scoping out the best view of the entire place, and spotted an empty table for two on the other side of the room, furthest from the entrance. I stopped at the bar to grab a bottle of water, and, ignoring the strange look the bartender gave me, made my way to the table. From my seat, I could glimpse the entire crowd. I opened my water and took a drink, not surprised when it did nothing to quench my thirst.

  That was when I noticed the guy on stage. I mean, really noticed. I’d seen him as I walked inside, but it wasn’t until I was settled in my seat that I became aware of how the crowd was reacting to him. The majority of the people were intently watching him, hanging on his every note. They listened with admiration, as he sang an unfamiliar song. I might have believed I was the only one who didn’t recognize the tune, but no one was singing along, and yet something about him had grabbed the attention of everyone in the room and wasn’t letting go.

  He was alone, strumming somber notes on an electric guitar, and singing into the microphone on the stand in front of him. He had a unique voice with an almost sandpaper-like quality to it, and his ease in front of the crowd led me to believe he’d done this a few times, but all that aside, there didn’t appear to be anything special about him. This only fueled my curiosity. Was he a vampire? I didn’t think so, although it would explain the strange power he held over the crowd. Instinctively, I started to reach out with my mind before I realized the moon hadn’t yet made her appearance over the city. I was powerless.

  When the song ended, the crowd applauded, and a few women toward the back whistled, earning a wave and a chuckle from Guitar Guy.

  “Thanks for your patience with me,” he said with a half-smile. “You guys are a great crowd. I’ve found there’s nothing better to combat writer’s block than a night at Carlie’s. If you don’t mind, I’ll just try one more out on you and then I’ll let the real talent take over.” He gestured to a small group of waiting musicians with various instruments who appeared to grow more nervous at his mention of them than they had previously been.

  Without another word, Guitar Guy began to strum and sing another song. After the first few opening notes, my phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket to see a text from Mark.

  Got paged 2 hospital.

  I smiled. It seemed I could stop feeling guilty for not inviting him along. I quickly typed my reply. That sucks.

  Where u at? He responded

  I considered the question for a moment before I answered. A buffet. Jealous?

  His answer came immediately. I fed last night…. Then he quickly added, Should I be?

  I glanced around at the crowd of people before me, my nerves becoming more on edge as my thirst grew stronger. I’d been so entertained with analyzing the mysterious Guitar Guy on stage that I hadn’t even been paying attention to all of the potential donors in the room.

  I texted Mark back quickly, distracted now by my thirst. Probably.

  I closed my phone and slipped it back into my pocket in time to pay attention to the last of the song. It ended with a great reception just as the previous one had. Guitar Guy thanked the crowd again and was joined on stage by a man who I could only assume owned the place. He took the microphone and said, “Thanks Trey, for that impromptu performance. You know we love your surprise visits.” Trey, as was apparently his name, shook hands with the owner and waved again before leaving stage with his guitar. He disappeared into a crowd of waiting women and I lost sight of him as the owner on the stage started to speak again.

  “He’s complaining of writer’s block and still manages to knock out songs like that,” the man said with a disbelieving shake of his head. The audience laughed as he asked the next act up on stage. The band of nervous musicians clumsily made their way up onto the stage and began setting up their instruments.

  I drank from my bottle of water, tasteless and unfulfilling, and focused on the small clumps of people surrounding me. A table in front of me to my left consisted of three male twenty-something’s that seemed like possible frequenters to the club, at least judging by the way they seemed to know the girl clearing the tables and refreshing their drinks.

  Any of them could be an easy target, especially if the alcohol at their table kept flowing, but then there was a good possibility they had arrived in the same vehicle. Upon further consideration, I decided I didn’t want to hang around until closing time to wait for one of them to wander off alone.

  I scanned another table not far away, and considered a guy in his early thirties with blond hair. From what I could tell, his girlfriend had left him alone to join some other girls at a table across the room. He was peeling the label on his drink and casting longing glances at the all-girl table. I checked my watch and saw that it wouldn’t be long before my other senses would be functional. I wasn’t in an especially patient mood, but waiting just a while longer would make the selection process that much easier.

  I heard a slight commotion behind me, but didn’t bother turning around until I recognized the sandpaper voice amid a bunch of shrilly female tones. I looked over my shoulder to see Guitar Guy backing away from a small group of women, hands in the air in a helpless gesture. The smile on his face didn’t completely cover up the panicked expression he wore beneath it.

  “Really, I’d love to but-” he bumped into the back of my chair in his retreat and turned to look at me regretfully. Whether or not he meant it, the expression on his face was more desperate than apologetic. The entire scene was a little pathetic, which is probably why I didn’t resist when he decided to use me as an escape. “Whoa, there you are,” he said, turning to face me. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  I couldn’t help the amused smile I wore as I gazed up at him, his blue eyes pleading with me to play along. The small clique of women behind him eyed me doubtfully, and just to spite them I gestured to the empty chair in front of me and said, “Who knew I could blend in so well?”

  His eyes locked with mine for half a second before he forced himself to turn to the women and shrug. “It sounds like a great party. Maybe next time.” He settled himself into the chair in front of me and after only a few seconds of deliberation, the women reluctantly turned on their three-inch heels and walked away, glaring at me as they went.

  “Thanks.” He sighed. “I’m Trey Decker.” He offered his hand across the small round table and I accepted it.

  “Aurora Evins,” I replied.

  He gave me a lazy smile and leaned back in his chair casually. “I’m really sorry about that. Can I buy you a drink or something?”

  I raised my bottled water a few inches off the table. “Thanks, I’m all set. But I am curious to know what you did to attract the mob over there.” I gestured with a nod to the pack of women who were still eyeing us from the other side of the club.

  He chuckled before looking up at me with interest. I realized that my earlier impression of him didn’t do him justice. He was about six feet tall, with a lean athletic build (demonstrated by the fit of his t-shirt), and dark messy hair that made his clear blue eyes all the more noticeable. He was hot, and that wasn’t the only thing
I was certain of: he was one hundred percent human.

  “I guess they just liked my set tonight. I blame the guitar. It’s great for picking up girls but it will probably be my downfall in the end.” He half-smiled at me and waved at the girl who was cleaning the now empty table in front of us, calling her by name and asking her for some water. She responded with a flirtatious wink and a promise to be right back with his water. I watched the exchange with curiosity.

  “What’s the point in meeting girls at music lounges if you won’t even follow them to the party afterwards?” I asked.

  He shrugged casually. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

  “A musician who doesn’t like to party,” I observed. “You’re either a rare breed or a liar.”

  Trey grinned at my statement and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he gazed at me with interest. I briefly contemplated how fun it would be to paint him. He would be something close to the perfect subject. I envisioned myself with a paintbrush in hand, trying to capture the strong lines of his jaw, the texture of his hair, and the strange intensity in his eyes that he managed to pull off without coming across as arrogant or intimidating. Of course, I’m not one to be easily intimidated.

  “What brings you here tonight? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”