by AJ Tipton
“Would you mind if I call you sometime?" The words slipped out before Christopher could stop them, and yet he felt selfishly grateful they were out there. "I have had such an enchanting evening with you. I would love to continue our conversation.”
Alice smiled, handing him a small, white card from her handbag. “I would love that. The ‘business number’ on there is my cell.” She played with the edge of her shawl. “I had these made up for the show and thought it would look more professional.”
“I’m sorry I completely monopolized you tonight.” He didn't feel in the least bit sorry. "I hope you still had a good time."
Alice laughed. “Don't worry, I mingled as much as I could stand. You saved me from hiding in the corner all night. Besides...” She directed her gaze at her feet. “I enjoyed being monopolized.” She rose onto her toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before hastily gathering her things and heading out the gallery door.
Christopher touched his face, the shadow of her kiss on his skin like a blazing brand. The last patrons stumbled together out the door, giggling into their last complimentary glass of wine, and then he was alone in the echoing room.
“Well done, Christopher.” He hadn't heard Margot approach, but she could be as silent as a cat when she wanted to. She stood in front of one of Alice’s photos which captured a small portion of a building’s facade. The five-foot tall print showcased the intricate designs painstakingly crafted in a section of the cement.
“Alice told me this photo was taken seventy-two stories up. Can you believe it?” Margot asked. “She had to bribe a window washer to let her use his rig, but she didn’t have the right harness. The wind at that height was so wild and strong, it nearly blew her off the side. It was a hell of a risk to take, but look at what she did with it.” Margot sipped her glass of champagne thoughtfully, rising an eyebrow in his direction. “That kind of persistence, over centuries... I think we’d all be very impressed with what she could do.”
Damn it, not Margot too. “Oh, hush,” Christopher said. "That's not why I was talking to her, she's special and…" His voice trailed off when he looked over at Margot.
She was opening and closing her mouth like she was trying to speak, but no words came out. With an annoyed grimace, Margot pointed at her throat and then at Christopher.
Christopher's stomach churned. “Shit! I do not compel you to hush.” His words reversed the compulsion of his inadvertent sire command, and Margot massaged her now unlocked jaw.
“Ugh. I’ll never get used to that damn hortari.” Margot took an impressively-large swig out of the champagne glass she was holding.
“Me neither.” Christopher sighed, running his fingers roughly through his hair. This was why he didn't see Margot or his other sirelings as often as he wanted. He'd gotten out of the habit of carefully choosing his words to avoid even the hint of a command. As the vampire who turned Margot from human to vampire-kind, his words were impossible for her to resist and he hated it. The sire command, called a hortari, was the one part of being a vampire that Christopher deeply resented.
This is why you cannot turn Alice, the rational voice in his mind reminded the part of him that still wanted to run after her.
He followed Margot back to a door marked "Staff Only" at the back of the gallery. She glanced at him and finished off her champagne like a shot.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She waved away his words, pressing a code into a keypad by the door. "Just watch it with the definitive sentences, okay?" She set down her glass. "I'm glad you were able to come tonight." The door slid open and the lights switched on to reveal a high-ceilinged room. Art covered every inch of the walls and up onto the ceiling, most of it hundreds of years old: masks from Nigeria and Mali, paintings from Parisian masters who never got their big breaks, headdresses from Native American cultures so old that their names were lost to time. The effect was chaotic and a little mad, but still gorgeous, much like the room's decorator. Christopher never regretted giving Margot the chance at immortality, and she'd used her time well.
"Tell me, how have you been?" He asked.
Margot poured another glass of champagne. "Fine as things go. Roxanne the succubus passed through town a few weeks ago and we had some fun before she moved on." Margot waved the bottle in his direction. "Want any of this?"
“No thanks. I never understood why you drink that human stuff. It’s not like you’re able to get drunk.”
“I like the bubbles.” Margot walked over to the wall and tilted a stunning portrait of a naked woman to the side until Christopher heard a click. “But you have the look of someone who needs to get drunk for real, and I have some excellent options in here.” A panel in the wall opened up, revealing a bar set and wine fridge filled with hanging bags of blood.
“Anything 'A positive' would be great, thanks.” Christopher stretched his arms behind his back and sat down on one of the low couches in the middle of the room.
Margot handed him a crystal glass filled with blood. “Cheers.” She sipped deeply from her own glass. “I have an instinct about you and Alice.”
Christopher sat up straight, nearly spilling the blood down his wine-sprayed shirt. "What are you talking about?"
She laughed. "You, her, the way you just jumped at the sound of her name like you got poked by a unicorn in the ass." She swirled the blood in her glass slightly. “I'm not wrong. You like her.”
He leaned back. “She’s magnificent, what's not to like?” Christopher sipped from his own glass. Emotions from the blood's donor washed over him as the crimson liquid necessary for his survival coursed down his throat. The male donor had been drunk and in love when he donated, his emotions rich and rolling within his blood. With each sip of the man's heady happiness, Christopher wondered more about what Alice was doing right now. He eyed his glass, then Margot. With her choice of vintage, she was definitely trying to play matchmaker.
“Alice has a profoundly passionate worldview and a good eye.” Margot pointed an accusatory finger at Christopher. “Perception like that is worth preserving for the centuries.”
He groaned. Margot's words matched so closely how he'd felt when he first met Alice.
“That’s true.” Christopher took a long gulp of blood. “The way she thinks, her passion, her kindness...” He turned away. “...her immense beauty. It would be a crime to let all she is wither and fade away.”
Margot frowned. “Then why are you hesitating?”
“I'm not." He was. "If she agrees to be turned, I will do it, but...”
“But you have your rules,” Margot smiled, her expression wicked. “You must want her bad if you're this conflicted about turning her. Poor sire. You can bang her, or turn her.” Margot kicked off her high heels with a happy sigh, settling next to him on the couch.
“You know why I have my rules. It would be monstrous to sleep with somebody I have such absolute control over.” Christopher sighed. “I can barely spend time with you or the rest of my sirelings as it is. But you're right, I need to put my attraction to her aside.” He nodded, sure in his decision. “She’ll be a tremendous asset to my sire line, to our family.”
"Good. I’ll be glad to have her. You’re a good sire. Even if we're sad we don't get to see you often, we're all grateful you’re so careful with avoiding the sire compulsion."
Christopher shrugged. His brother, Rhys, had a distinctly different view of how a sire should treat his turned vamps. In his twisted way, he thought he was actually helping his sirelings by taking away their will. As the last sirelings of the Vampire King, Christopher and Rhys were the only heirs, and their conflicting approaches to sireing made presenting a unified example for their people impossible. Christopher had spent centuries trying to convince the king to set laws for how sirelings should be treated, with no success.
“I’ll offer Alice the transition, explain how it all works, and let her decide.” Christopher said.
“I’ll drink to that.” Margot lifted her glass.
Alice rechecked her phone to confirm she had come to the right place. When Christopher texted her where they were going to meet, she hadn't been sure what to expect, but a smoky dive bar with a pink, neon sign reading “AUDREY'S”, was not what she had pictured. AUDREY’S was a lone building several stories tall surrounded by dark forest, with a parking lot mostly filled with motorcycles and beat-up sedans. Frost on the front windows made it difficult to see much inside, but Alice liked the feel of the place. Music curled out of the entrance's double doors, with laughter and light creating the welcoming glow of a lighthouse’s beacon.
Her phone beeped with a text from Christopher confirming that he'd arrived and was waiting for her at the bar. He must have arrived right before she did. Punctual and polite. Two more points for the hot guy. She smiled. After her last few disappointing dates, tonight was looking very promising.
Alice stepped through the doors and was immediately hit with the strongest allergic reaction she'd ever had. Her vision misted, her eyes itched, and her headache felt like something large was pounding to escape her forehead. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and held her breath, hoping the feeling would pass.
Crap. Not now. She'd had this kind of allergy attack before, but it usually only lasted a couple of seconds. She was hiking the last time this happened. Her headache flared up just as she'd passed a group of folks watching a track and field event. It was only after she'd climbed a ways away and stopped even thinking about what she’d seen that the feeling cleared.
Through what felt like a cloudy film over her eyes, Alice scanned the crowd around the bar for Christopher. She found him in intense discussion with the bartender, a pale woman with a mane of black braids sticking up from her head and an intricate rose tattoo that took up most of her chest.
Christopher looked so gorgeous Alice had to stop and collect herself. He filled out his jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt so perfectly, it was like they were tailored to show off the tapered lines of his waist, the curve of his shoulders, and the tight cording of his biceps. His hands were clenched so tightly around his glass, the skin on his fingers was almost white, and his eyebrows were furrowed with stress. The bartender kept mixing and handing out drinks to other patrons, but her expression of patient compassion didn't waver from Christopher's face. Neither seemed to have noticed Alice yet as she made her way carefully through the crowd, her headache getting worse the further she waded into the bar.
To her left, four big guys with mohawks were grunting loudly as they egged on a furious arm wrestling competition taking place at the next table between a petite, teenage girl in a floral dress and a looming beast of a man with skin so pale, he looked almost blue. Alice blinked, her headache spiking as she looked at them, and for a second it almost appeared like the men with mohawks had green skin and the teenager had flowers growing out of her hair. Alice shook her head. That's impossible. Alice's headache faded for a second and the flower woman was once more just a girl, the men were biker dudes, and the big guy was just being nice by pretending to strain against the girl's strength.
A bird flew across the rafters, nearly hitting Alice in the face and she let out a small squeal of alarm. What's a bird doing in here?
A hand gently cradled her elbow, and Alice recognized the callouses against her skin even before she turned to confirm Christopher had found her. His skin felt even colder than she remembered from the gallery, but it was strangely soothing in contrast to the hot roar of her headache.
Christopher smiled at her. "I’m glad you made it. Sorry, this place can be a bit much."
Alice didn't mind leaning on him a bit for balance as they made their way over to the bar. "It's okay. I think someone must be wearing a perfume or something that's aggravating my allergies. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if we went someplace else?"
Christopher shared a glance with the bartender. The woman leaned over the bar, stretching out a hand to Alice.
"Hi, I'm Lola. It's been a while since we had some fresh blood in here." Lola smiled, flashing white teeth. "That headache is your perception of reality getting threatened, and your body trying to fight it off. Ignore everything except me and Christopher and you'll feel a lot better."
What the hell? My perception of reality? Alice shook the bartender's hand automatically and her headache disappeared like turning off a light.
Alice sunk onto one of the padded barstools. The misty feeling still hung over her eyes and Alice tried to blink it away. What’s happening? A sensible, quiet voice inside her head was screaming at her to run away from this place as quickly as possible, but she was too curious to leave. She glanced at Christopher. He was looking at her with an expression of hope that warmed her down to her toes.
Christopher’s handsomeness was almost unreal in its perfection. His features were perfectly symmetrical, the only imperfection a tiny scar along one cheek above the line of his beard, and his tousled hair which seemed to fly in whatever direction it wanted. The bartender slid a pink drink across the bar and Alice grabbed it before it slid off the ledge.
"Good save." Lola winked and turned away to serve something bright green to a stocky man whose head barely reached the top of the counter.
Alice flinched as the bird flew past, barely missing her head. It landed on the shoulder of the young girl who was still arm wrestling.
"That poor bird." Alice blinked rapidly. The whole room looked like it was swimming behind a misty veil. "We should try to help it out of here, shouldn’t we? I bet that bartender has something we could use.”
Christopher settled on the stool next to Alice, looking at her with concern in his deep, brown eyes.
"That's not a bird. We can still go if you want. If we continue to stay here, I suspect your worldview is going to be changed forever. I know of another place where we could go if you’re not up for that."
Alice took a sip of the drink. It tasted divine, with an initial sweetness which gave way to a spicy aftertaste that nipped at the back of her throat all the way down. Alice shook her head. All this talk of challenging reality was a little weird, but she wasn't leaving the best cocktail she'd had in years.
"It's okay. I like it here. It's just not where I would have pictured our first date."
Christopher leaned back from her quickly, all trace of humor erased from his face. "Ms. Jones, I invited you here because there's a business arrangement I would like to discuss with you.
Alice felt a blush surge up into her cheeks. I’m such an idiot! Of course, this isn't a date. "Oh, right. I hadn't realized." She frantically scrambled for a shred of dignity. “What an interesting venue for a business meeting. What can I do for you?”
"I invited you here because I think the world would be a better place if you continued to live in it beyond your natural lifespan." Christopher’s tone was serious.
"What?" Her headache was brewing again behind her temple.
"I'm a vampire. And I think you would make a great vampire too."
The headache was back in full force, building like a wave of heat. She took a long gulp of her drink, but all she could taste now was the burn. Alice peered at Christopher, waiting for him to smile and admit that it was all just a big joke.
"Vampires don't exist.” Of course I end up on a non-date with a crazy person. “You’re certainly welcome to believe in whatever you want, but I think I’ll be going now," she said slowly.
Christopher reached forward to gently lay his hand on top of hers on the bar. "Wait just a moment. Look around. Look closer. Most humans ignore the supernatural with a stubbornness that lasts a lifetime, but you're an artist. You've been discovering beauty your whole life." His fingers rubbed along the top of her hand, sending little shivers of want up her arm. Why is it the hot ones are always unhinged? She shifted in her chair, trying to ignore what he was saying, but the misty feeling in front of her eyes was fading like an opaque veil becoming more transparent by the moment.
How is this possible? There
was no denying that something was definitely happening.
Christopher's voice dropped to a low hum, sexy and strong. "It's up to you. You can go back to your old life. You can forget all of this, write me off as some nut you met at a gallery. But you have to decide."
"Decide what?" The headache pounded like a desert rave. What had Lola said? That the headache was the challenge to her perception? If Alice wanted it to stop, she knew what she had to do: focus on the grains of wood on the bar, look at her glass, look at what was sane.
Maybe it’s time for a little crazy. She remembered at the art gallery, shyly tucking herself away. If she hadn't taken a risk, she would never have met Christopher, wouldn't be here now. If there was something more to the world which she hadn't been able to see, didn't she owe it to herself to find the truth? Even if everything about this was utterly insane.
She straightened in her chair and looked out into the room, concentrating on every detail she could spot.
"That's it." She could hear the smile in Christopher's voice, even though she wasn't looking at him. "See the truth. There are more wonders in the world than we could see in twenty lifetimes."
She clutched his hand like a lifeline. The misty look of the room shimmered, and then ripped apart like a curtain tearing at the seams. Every memory when she'd thought she was having an allergic reaction flooded in all at once, with new vision.
Months ago she'd looked up to see low-flying airplanes and gotten a massive headache. Those weren't planes. They'd been brightly-scaled dragons flying together across the sky. The track and field event she'd seen had been an elaborate obstacle course of men and women transforming back and forth between animal and human forms as they overcame magical barriers.
"Ms. Jones?" Christopher gave her shoulder a little shake.
Alice blinked, frozen by fear and awe fighting each other under her skin. Everything I know about the world is wrong.
"Alice, are you okay?"
At the table less than ten feet away, the men with the mohawks looked like trolls from storybooks, their skin swamp green and their brightly-colored hair actually rocks sprouting from the top of their heads. A blue-skinned man with marble-white skin and hands like claws was arm wrestling with all his might against a woman with golden skin, flowers sprouting from her forehead, and rainbow wings fluttering from her back. On her shoulder sat a tiny brown-skinned man riding an oversized butterfly, a bow and arrow strapped to his shoulders.