Sacred Circle

by Claire Thompson

  He felt no need for sleep though the hour was close to 3:00 a.m. Vampires did take rest but they needed far less than humans. And at the moment, the need for blood outweighed any fatigue. Stepping outside, Julian took a deep breath of the thick night air.

  He knew that while it was safe to wander at night in the heavily populated tourist area of the French Quarter, even just a few blocks to the south would take him into dangerous neighborhoods where the ravages of crack, cocaine and poverty had created an environment that was frightening and even dangerous to the unprepared.

  That was exactly where Julian wanted to go, however, as he sought out a victim. It had been too long, much too long and he couldn’t wait another moment. He knew if he had stayed with Marguerite, he would kill her with his kiss.

  Instead, he strode away from the bright lights of privilege and tourist attractions, walking quickly toward the loading docks on the seedier side of the riverfront. The anticipation of a blood meal made him almost dizzy with need.

  It didn’t take long to find what he was seeking. An old man was sleeping against the side of a warehouse, an empty bottle of vodka at his side. His head was slumped over, a soft snore issuing from his mouth. A thread of drool glistened at his lip. The old man was dark-skinned and gaunt, dressed in clothing that might have once had color, but was faded with dirt and time to a muddy gray.

  Julian crouched next to the man. He stank of rank sweat and alcohol, but Julian didn’t care. Kneeling close to the man, tenderly he touched his neck, feeling for the delicate pulse at his throat. He looked around but other than the two of them, the area was deserted.

  As if lifting a child, Julian stood with the old man in his arms. He didn’t awaken but cried out softly in his sleep, the words an unintelligible mumble. Julian moved to the side of the building, out of sight of the deserted road. He pulled the filthy old shirt from the man’s body and now he did come awake, jerking his head with a slurred, “What the…”

  Julian didn’t bother to try and enter the man’s head to calm him and make him compliant. His need was too urgent and he knew the man was too weak, and still too drunk to make any effectual protest.

  He bit, his teeth sinking in past grimy flesh to the sweet, clean, hot blood within. Blood—its color the pure scarlet of the poppies that grew in the fields of his boyhood. It gushed up like a little geyser, and Julian moaned with passionate pleasure as it filled his mouth with coppery perfection.

  The man fought back at first, trying to claw at Julian’s arms, which were wrapped firmly around him. Julian barely noticed his impotent struggle. Soon the man fell limp as he drifted into unconsciousness from fear and loss of blood. Still Julian’s mouth stayed locked on his neck.

  Oh, he would stop soon. He must stop soon or the man would die. He would stop. Just a little more. Oh, just a little more.

  He didn’t stop.

  He suckled and sucked until he had bled the man dry. Life was ripping like fire through his veins. He felt powerful and alive! He felt as if he could swallow the world whole. He felt like singing and laughing, and crying all at once. The blood-fever raged through him as he sat alone in the pre-dawn with the bone-dry hull of a man in his arms.

  The fever, which had seized him, slowly ebbed as he finally sat back, his lips still stained red with blood. Without recognition, he looked down at the corpse that lay in his arms, its face gray and marked with death. The head lolled inertly as Julian shifted and he stifled a little cry of dismay.

  He hadn’t meant to kill the man. He had gone too long, denying his need for human blood. Now he had cost a human his life. His own primal urges had driven him to murder yet again. With a sigh he stood, letting the corpse roll gently to the ground. It was after all only a human. A sick old man with little time left and clearly nothing to hope for. Did that make it excusable? Julian sighed, and walked slowly back to his hotel ready at last to sleep.

  * * * * *

  Marguerite was good to her word. She had managed to arrange to take Julian to the blood bar, having apparently convinced her friend Becky to let them in on the secret. They went on Saturday night, after a week of sex, which grew increasingly dull for Julian, though poor Marguerite claimed to be falling in love.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, but she was, after all, only nineteen and they had absolutely nothing in common but the sex, and her professed interest in all things vampire. In fact, he came to learn rather quickly that her interest was completely superficial, based only on silly ideas garnered from online role-playing games.

  This left only the sex, and Julian was a fickle man, preferring new conquests with trembling girls spreading their legs in a mixture of fear and lust. Marguerite had become a known quantity and not a very exciting one. He knew he would have to let her down gently, but he kept her around for the week, knowing she was the easy route to this so-called blood bar, which he was curious to visit.

  What was a week after all, in the life of a vampire? Nothing at all. He told her he was leaving the city in a few days but that he would keep in touch, and they would meet again when he returned. He had no such intention, but Marguerite believed him. The relief that he would soon be rid of her, as well as the knowledge that she was young and would easily recover offset the twinge of guilt he felt at lying to her. Though she claimed otherwise, she wasn’t in love with him by any stretch, but was only enjoying the amorous attentions of a mysterious older man who could fuck her senseless night after night.

  “It’s up here, on Bourbon. You wouldn’t even notice it! I’ve walked past it myself. You think it’s an antique shop, one that always seems to be closed. Becky showed me.” She leaned toward Julian, whispering conspiratorially, “and I have the password! It’s Jalena.”

  Julian looked sharply at the girl. Jalena! Was it a coincidence? Surely it must be. And yet—he had known Jalena. She was already an old soul when he had been turned. He’d lost track of her and Dusan at least a century ago. She had passed into legend, but she had been human once upon a time. Originally a queen of one of the many city-states that littered Europe in the twelfth century, she had been “turned” by the Elder Dusan, who had fallen in love with her. She had been dying of some fatal human disease when Dusan gave her the kiss of a vampire life. All illness fell away and their passion became legendary in the vampire world.

  Enduring vampire romantic love was rare, as the population was small and scattered over the globe. Couplings did occur and even true love, as was the case between Jalena and Dusan. However these relationships rarely lasted, spanning only a hundred years or so before one or the other lost interest and moved on. Yet, these two names remained linked and they were together still, as far as Julian knew.

  Marguerite of course was unaware of the impact that her password had on Julian. He was left to wonder how these humans had come across it. He wasn’t really surprised, as much of the so-called vampire research contained kernels of truth, as is often the case with legends. “Here it is, ‘Foulet’s Antiques—Closed’,” she read. “This is it!” Marguerite gripped Julian’s arm and he could feel her excitement. This was all just a glorious game to her.

  Julian knocked on the glass pane of the door but there was no response. Noticing a little chain dangling on the frame, he pulled it. A distant tinkling sound was heard from inside. After a moment, someone shuffled forward and unlocked the door, cracking it a bit. “We’re closed for summer inventory. Go away.”

  “Jalena,” Julian said, softly rolling the J in proper Slavic pronunciation.

  “Well then,” said the man, closing the door a moment so he could release the chain. He opened the door and peered nearsightedly at the two of them. The man seemed to be in his mid to late sixties, with grizzled gray hair like lamb’s wool. His skin was a dark mahogany and stretched tight over the bones of his face.

  Julian could feel inside the man’s mind that he was weighing the two of them for worthiness. He could also sense that the man sometimes turned people away. Julian and Marguerite seemed to pass
muster because after a moment, the man stood back and said, “That’ll be forty dollars each. You go back through there.” He pointed a bony finger toward the back room.

  Julian handed over a hundred-dollar bill, waving away the man’s attempt to make change. “Enjoy, enjoy,” the old fellow grinned, clearly pleased with the tip. Julian knew he was assured reentry should he wish it at a later date.

  They stepped through the little back door and walked down a narrow corridor, paint peeling from its walls. Julian was reminded of Prohibition, when speakeasies were the order of the day in cities like New York and Chicago. New Orleans was an exception, he recalled, pretty much ignoring Prohibition from the start, its population amused and disdainful of such a ridiculous law.

  They came to the end of a hall where the words Jason’s Blood Bar were painted in curly black letters against a red door. They stood uncertainly for a moment, and then Julian turned the handle.

  Inside was dark. Julian, who could actually see better in a half-light, quickly took in his surroundings. The place was set up like a typical bar or pub, with a long, high counter complete with tall, leather barstools with chrome circles at their base for resting one’s feet. The room wasn’t large and the rest of it was filled with a scattering of small tables. He saw that the walls were painted a blood red. The ceiling was covered in tin tiles stamped with designs and surely dated back at least a hundred years.

  But what most caught Julian’s attention was the scent. The ripe, lovely smell of human blood. It was here—the place was rife with it. Even though he’d slaked his blood-thirst just a few days before, his mouth began to water. He noticed the long glass cabinets behind the bar stocked with little bottles of red liquid. Stored blood?

  The bartender noticed them and came out from behind the bar, wiping his hands on his black denim jeans. He was a tall man with long, strong arms lined with thick ropy veins. His face was creased like someone who has spent a good deal of time in the sun, though he didn’t look older than perhaps thirty-five. He held out his hand, his expression guarded. “I’m Jason. I don’t recognize you. How, may I ask, do you come to be here?”

  “Oh!” Marguerite looked frightened. She had, after all, cajoled the password out of her friend Becky. Her expression now registered that she might be regretting her decision to use it. “Gosh, I hope it’s okay! I…uh…that is—”

  Taking the offered hand in a firm but friendly grip Julian interrupted, “We’re friends of Becky Johnson. We were told we’d receive a welcome here. I’m a sanguine vampire and my friend Marguerite is a swan.” Julian knew the local lingo and didn’t hesitate to add a bit of a mind-bend as he entered the man’s thoughts and whispered, These people are welcome. They are legitimate. They are safe.

  Jason’s scowl slowly smoothed to a smile. “Well, all right then,” he said. “Make yourself at home. I’ve got some excellent fresh blood tonight, just bottled. We will also have a live donor on the premises if you’ve a mind to do a bit of cutting. She should be coming with her coven within the hour.”

  Julian licked his lips, trying not to let his greed betray him. They sat at the bar, with Marguerite speaking in a loud stage whisper, “You were amazing! He bought it! Me! A swan! Imagine!”

  Jason glanced at them as he stepped back behind the bar but said nothing. Julian said quietly, “I suggest you hold your tongue, Marguerite. Let’s just see what the place is about, shall we?” Marguerite looked miffed, but said no more.

  “What’s your pleasure then, Julian?” Jason asked.

  “How fresh is it?”

  “About an hour old. These bottles here.” He waved toward the refrigerated case. “Twenty dollars a pop. Clean donor. Eats organic foods.”

  Julian suppressed a grin. These modern fools with their constant food fads. He couldn’t care less what they ate or drank. It made no difference to his vampire heart. Only that the blood be human, and from a living person. He’d never tried bottled blood and doubted it would be worth much to him. Nonetheless, he was intrigued and so he said, “I’ll try a bottle.”

  “Julian!” Marguerite nudged him sharply with her shoulder. “You’re actually going to try real blood? Ewww!” Julian gripped her arm, pushing her elbow gently but firmly away. He shot a thought into her head, Be still. Be quiet. Don’t talk. Everything is fine. Everything is as it should be. As he felt her relax, he let go of her arm and smiled reassuringly at her.

  If Jason noticed any of this, he didn’t comment, but said, “And for the lady?”

  “Oh. Um. I’ll have a rum and cola?”

  “Sorry, we don’t serve alcohol here.”

  “Oh,” Marguerite looked genuinely nonplussed. She stared helplessly at Jason until Julian said, “How about a Virgin Mary? Would that suit you, Marguerite?”

  Marguerite sighed with relief and nodded her head, “Yes, that would be perfect.”

  Jason placed the ridiculously small glass bottle of bright red nectar in front of Julian along with a little shot glass. Julian forgot for a moment that Marguerite was beside him. Slowly he unscrewed the little cap and lifted the bottle, tilting its contents into the glass. He had to swallow rapidly to keep from choking on his saliva as the rush of blood scent assailed his nostrils.

  When Marguerite had her drink in front of her, he lifted his and nodded toward her, offering a silent toast. She watched with evident fascination as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

  Ah. No, it wasn’t fresh and hot from the veins of a living thing, but it was still delicious—piquant and delicately flavored, the blood of a woman. His hand trembled slightly as he refilled the shot glass, which resulted in emptying the little bottle. Again he drank, his bloodlust now ignited.

  A mistake! He wanted more! His eyes slid feverishly over Marguerite’s neck, which was fully revealed as she had pulled her hair back in a barrette that evening. Biting his lips, he dug his fingernails into his thighs, silently fighting for control. “Another!” he called to Jason, who raised his eyebrows but made no further comment.

  In a moment, a second little bottle of life was set before him, and Julian drank it greedily, though he tried to make it last. He felt the pulsing throb of bloodlust in his head. His cock ached and extended as he shifted on the stool to hide his erection. “Another!” he called, his voice cracking with need.

  “Sorry, pal. Two’s the limit. That’ll be forty bucks.” Seeing Julian’s countenance darken, he added, “Hey, I’ve got a party coming in. A coven. I only have six bottles left. What’s with you, anyway? Nobody ever asks for seconds. You’d think you were a real vampire, for God’s sake. Get a grip.”

  The few people at the little tables around them had grown silent. All eyes seemed to be on Julian and Jason. There was a hush as they waited to see what happened next. Julian felt a film of red hatred slide over his eyes. Rage seemed to well up from some carefully protected place. How dare this impudent human deny him his due?

  Julian had never fed in front of humans before. Never in all his years wandering the globe had he partaken in the drink of life in front of them. How dare this ridiculous man presume to insult him by withholding what he was ready to pay for? He clenched his fists in anger. Jason stood implacable behind the bar.

  “Julian,” Marguerite said, her voice high pitched with nervousness, “Julian, what’s gotten into you? You’re acting, like, really weird, you know? Like, what is going on anyway?”

  Somehow, her words penetrated his blood-rage and he felt his pounding heart returning to something like normal. The red film receded and he realized he was behaving foolishly by calling attention to himself and his need. It was over in a moment, as he regained control of his behavior.

  “Sorry,” he said shortly. “My mistake.” Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out several twenties. “I need some air,” he said to Marguerite. “You wait here. I won’t be long.”

  Without waiting for her reply, Julian slipped away. As he stepped out of the little building, after telling the old man he’d be back in a few momen
ts, he almost collided with a group of people dressed in black capes. He observed a tallish young man with his hair brushed straight back, an older woman though still quite beautiful, her dark hair streaked dramatically with lines of silver and a young blonde woman holding tightly to the man’s arm.

  As he slid past them, taking this all in at a glance, he heard the young man say, “Jalena.”

  Chapter Seven

  This time he was quick and probably not as careful as he should have been. At least he left his victim alive and merely unconscious, slumped over against a doorframe like a common drunk. His sharp vampire’s teeth slid neatly into the woman’s neck, once he rendered her unconscious in a chokehold from behind. Within minutes he had sucked his fill, at least enough to get him through the evening.

  His cock strained in his pants as it always did when he sucked human blood. Early on, when he was still learning his own powers and weaknesses, he had thought he could control his impulses. How divine to suck the sweet juice of life while making slow, delicious love to his chosen one. Yet, each time it had ended in disaster, with his lover dead, sucked dry by a vampire lost to his own carnal passions.

  Though it still happened on occasion, he did not like to kill his victims, preferring instead to take as little as possible to slake his terrible thirst and then leave them be. Sex became an alternative—something to divert him from the blood-passion that spilled over his reason. He had learned not to mix the two when humans were involved.

  With vampires, it was another thing altogether, and yet somehow such a connection had eluded him. In all his years wandering the globe, he had yet to meet a vampire who moved him with passion. Yes, he had taken his pleasure and even shared the sacred blood, but never, except with Adrienne had his spirit soared and looped with longing. Perhaps he was a romantic, holding out for his “true love”. The desperate hope for connection had slowly faded, as he was forced by time to let go of the idea that he would somehow find his Adrienne.