Sips of Blood

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  The top sheet and blanket had been kicked to the floor, but she was too sated to retrieve them. She'd be cold later on when the sexual glow wore off.

  Cecelia rolled onto her left side onto a puddle of her own juices and stared at the sheet and blanket. Languidly she reached out her hand. Useless, she knew. She would have to get out of bed to collect the linen.

  She sighed and resigned herself to a frigid wake-up call.

  * * *

  Sade hungered for blood. The need to feed gnawed at his body, causing him to move along the street with a predator's gait.

  Je meurs de faim!

  Even the stale odor of the refrigerated dead blood had spiked his appetite. He had driven into Manhattan to feed. Here he could be sure of a wide selection any time of night, especially in Greenwich Village, where something always seemed to be happening.

  On the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fourth Street at two a.m. a variety of blood passed by: the tourists, eager to experience it all; the youths, lost and vulnerable; the transients, some crazy, some on drugs and/or alcohol; lonely people unable to sleep in empty apartments; the elderly, unable to sleep, period; and the immoral, trying to find an easy mark.

  Of course, Sade knew he did not fit into any of these categories. Yes, he was there to steal, perhaps even kill, but he was no different than anyone else who needed to hunt down food. Healthy survival was everyone's right. If there were a central blood bank he could use, would he feed from it? No, not fresh enough; besides, the violence added to the ambiance of a good meal. And oh, the cold chill of refrigerated blood would burn his throat. How did Liliana stand it? Sade shook his head.

  "Can you spare some change? I have to get back to Jersey City." The tall girl stood before him with hand extended. Her long straight black hair contrasted with the white make-up layered on her face. The black eye make-up did also. The bright red lipstick looked cracked and badly in need of a touch-up. Her black dress reached down to her ankles and covered the upper part of her military boots. The purple and black shawl matched her attire and purple fingernails.

  A Goth, he thought. He loved Goths, they were so willing.

  "Mon enfant, I'm going back to New Jersey and can drop you off. My car is but a block or two away."

  "I'd rather take the Path train." She still extended her hand.

  Sade laughed. "Il n'y a pas moyen d'échapper au fait que..."

  "There's no escaping the fact that I need fare for the Path train."

  "You speak French, mon enfant."

  "I'm a French major at Rutgers, and I'm not your child."

  "Mais non, if you were my child you'd be severely disciplined for being out alone so late. I give you money and you travel alone on a train. With all the perverts in the world I could not allow that. Let me take you safely home."

  The girl tilted her head, but kept her hand extended. "How do I know you're not a pervert?"

  "This is called mutual trust, ma..."

  "Lucy. The name's Lucy."

  "Louis," he answered. "See, we already know each other on a first-name basis. I know a coffee house that stays open late. Why don't we go there and share some more secrets."

  "No." She finally pulled back her hand. "I'll take my chances on the street."

  "Oh! Mighty Zeus, send down your terrible thunderbolt on these fools that have forgotten you." A wiry man with a sandy-colored beard and several missing teeth walked by the girl and Sade. He stopped a short distance away to wring his hands and cry out again to the Greek gods. The knitted cap on his head was a dirty gray; actually, all of his clothes were dirty, from the chambray shirt to the loose-fitting jeans that rested low on his hips. His naked feet were marred by non-healing sores.

  "You see what I mean, Lucy. Obviously I must have looked harmless enough to you, or else you would not have approached me. Trust me a bit more and let me buy you a café au lait."

  Lucy looked back over her shoulder at Sade, and he smiled wide enough to show that he was not missing teeth.

  The coffee house had several customers all spaced out for individual privacy. Each table had a different type of candle and holder. One was a simple votive, another was a beeswax candle set on a white plate. The table nearest the door had a candle in the shape of a frog's body; the head had already burned down. The table at which Lucy and Sade sat had an elaborate candelabrum with multicolored dripping candles. The ceiling of the café was tin and the floor wood planks. There hadn't been much choice in food. Lucy had settled on a whipped cream éclair and hot honey-sweetened milk, while Sade had ordered a café au lait to be sociable.

  Sade pulled a chair out for Lucy; however, she opted to sit across from where he stood. Sade merely shrugged and sat.

  Lucy opened her mouth and pulled on her teeth until a set of fangs popped out. Carefully she wrapped them, first in cotton then in a napkin.

  "They look great, but I can't eat while wearing them."

  "Personally I don't have that problem," Sade stated. He ran his tongue across his short but pointy incisors.

  "Also they're made of dental acrylic and can crack and discolor easily."

  "They sound useless," Sade commented.

  "I could have gotten them made of dental porcelain, but it would have cost more." She slipped the napkin into her carpet bag. "When I get home I'll shine them up a bit with a nail buffer. My parents hate them and think I wasted money on them."

  "Perhaps," Sade mumbled to himself. "So you live with your parents."

  Lucy nodded.

  "That makes things much simpler."

  "How?"

  "I will not give you money to travel home alone; however, I will help you call your parents, and your father can come pick you up."

  "That's an awful idea. If they knew I was out this late, they'd kill me. I was hoping to sneak into the house."

  Sade smiled. "I guess, then, my other idea of going to the police for help would not appeal to you. But your parents will be furious when they wake up and not find you at home." By now, Sade knew, her parents were probably worried about her. Parents do not sleep while their babes stray. It was too soon for a missing-person report. Still, he had to move quickly.

  Lucy licked some chocolate icing off the middle finger of her right hand. Sade's mouth watered.

  "What kind of car do you have?"

  "A Jaguar. The locks are independent, not under solely the driver's control. It's fast, it's sleek, and it's a marvelous shade of clotted blood."

  "What's the color of the leather inside, scab-brown?" She made a face and finished her éclair. "What year is the car?"

  "Brand new, merely three months old."

  "Could I try driving it?"

  "You can drive us both back to New Jersey if you like."

  "Why would you do all this for me?"

  "I have a young niece at home." Sade's eyes sparkled. "At least she had better be at home and not wondering around as you are. I would be very angry to find out she had been disobedient. I would take away all her privileges." Sade was willing to bet that even though Lucy was of college age she was still forced to live by her parents' rules.

  "I meant to be home earlier, only I was having so much fun at Dracula's Lair I lost track of time."

  "Dracula's Lair?"

  "A Goth place. It's a place where people who are into the darker side of life go." Lucy said this with sophistication.

  "Certainly not a place for me," Sade said. "However, I would like to hear more about it."

  All the way back to the car Lucy educated Sade about the Goth life. "It may be silly to you, but one never knows when one may meet a dark spirit, like a werewolf or a vampire."

  "Do you still want to drive?" Sade had the car keys in his hand.

  "Honestly, I'm way too tired."

  Not tired enough to keep still on their ride to New Jersey.

  "I plan on going to France my junior year. Do you ever go back?"

  "It has been many years. Ah, mais I feel that soon I will."

  "You have fam
ily there?"

  "No, the ones I am close to are here."

  Lucy cocked her head to the side in order to lean against the car door. Sade glanced over and noticed two ruby dots on her neck. She had been playing at vampire, but he did not play games.

  "You've gone way to far!"

  "Pardonnez-moi?"

  "You've passed the exit for Jersey City a while back."

  "Je m'excuse. Perhaps a little farther up we will find a place to stop and check a map."

  Sade pulled into an empty parking lot and drove around to the back of the office building.

  "Please, look in the glove compartment; I should have a map there." He stopped the car, and Lucy fumbled to open the glove compartment.

  "It's either locked or stuck."

  "What is this?" Sade asked, reaching out to touch the pseudo puncture wounds. "You like donner ton sang?" His fingers skimmed her neck in search of her carotid.

  "Oh, those things. It's kind of a sexy idea to be bitten on the neck and become someone's sex slave."

  "An idea that can well become true if you so wish."

  He drew an arm about her, and she did not shy away. He stared into her round painted eyes and invited her into his world. She moved closer to him and gently his grip tightened. Her fingers touched his smile. He slid his lips down her fingers and kissed the palm of her hand. The smell of sugar and chocolate penetrated his senses. The odor of human fear hid under the sweets. But it was there, and he had to move before she could regain her senses.

  Quickly he moved to her neck; she screamed and hunched a shoulder. Taking his right arm from around her shoulders, he used his right hand to grab a hank of her hair and pulled her head back.

  Suddenly she was out the door running toward the front of the building, her head covered with bobby pins and clips.

  "Sacrebleu!" Sade looked at the droopy wig he held in his hand. He threw it to the floor like a dead rat. His hands were stained and slippery. She had obviously used a cheap die to attain the deep ebony color.

  Should he chase her? he wondered. He would definitely be swifter than she. He looked down at the wig lying in a puddle-like mass. Somehow his appetite for this girl's blood had been vanquished by a head of hair.

  "A fake Goth," he muttered, starting up the car and driving out of the parking lot onto the freeway. A car had already stopped for the girl, and she was too busy hesitating to go near that car to notice Sade drive by.

  Chapter 13

  Sade couldn't bear the feel of the black dye on his hands, not to mention the fact that the dye was streaking his steering wheel. He pulled the car into the parking lot of an all-night diner. Once inside the diner he headed straight for the men's room.

  "Hey, our rest rooms are just for customers," a male voice yelled out.

  Sade didn't bother to turn to look at the man.

  "Fine! Pour me a cup of coffee." He pushed open the door to the men's room and was sorry he had. A stench of vomit hit him immediately, and the person responsible was not finished yet, as Sade could tell from the retching inside the single stall.

  After turning on the tap water, Sade spilled some liquid soap into his palm. Before putting down the bottle he spilled a bit more. A little water and voilà, soapy foam covered both his hands. Perhaps I took too much, he thought as he worried about getting the slippery, smelly soap off his hands. He knew, however, that he often did things in the extreme.

  He heard the stall door open.

  "Imbibe a bit too much, monsieur?"

  "No, food poisoning."

  "Ah! You must be married."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Already you are thinking up excuses."

  "It's true. I couldn't have had more than a couple of glasses of wine. And perhaps one or two martinis before dinner."

  "Port? Cognac?"

  "Just one snifter at the end of the meal."

  "Sounds like food poisoning." Sade made room for the man at the sink. He glanced at the man's profile and then looked into the mirror to see the man's face in full. Even beneath the dripping water that the man was splashing on his face, Sade could see the incredible similarity.

  "The British espèce de crétin, Stuart."

  "Excuse me." The man crossed in front of Sade to retrieve some paper towels from the machine.

  "Stuart?"

  The man tossed the soaked paper towels into the trash. "Are you speaking to me?"

  "I am Louis. Louis Sade. And your name?"

  "David Petry." The man put out his hand to shake Sade's.

  "Incredible," Sade said, ignoring the proffered hand. "You look so much like someone I met once."

  "Just once? He must have made a strong impression on you."

  "He changed my niece's life."

  "Oh! I didn't do it, whatever it is."

  "If I thought you had I'd..." Sade thought for several seconds. "You look très pale. You don't look like you should be driving."

  "I'll hang around for a while before I drive home."

  "Anyone waiting for you?"

  "That wife thing again. Naw, single. Used to have a hound, but he ran away. Must have found a better home someplace else. At least that's what I hope happened."

  "You like animals? My niece has a rabbit that she refuses to feed from."

  "She won't cook it and eat it?"

  "So to speak." Sade was thinking about what a better meal David would make. There was an edge to Sade's hunger, but this mortal could potentially bring Liliana back into the fold of vampirism. "Perhaps she would change her mind if you came home with me. Besides, you do not look well, and I am not sure a brief rest will make you whole."

  "Wait a second. Are you asking me to go home with you so that I can talk your niece into cooking a rabbit?"

  "No, into feeding."

  "She anorexic?"

  "In a way, yes."

  "I think she needs a psychiatrist more than an accountant. Good luck, though." David reached for the door knob.

  "Wait! I would feel, how you say, guilty if I didn't do something to assist you."

  "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Sounds more like your daughter--"

  "Niece."

  "Niece is the one who could use your help."

  "That's what I'm trying to do. Help both of you."

  "Don't need any." David opened the door and exited.

  Sade looked into the mirror. "Where is your charm, your charisme, your savoir-faire?"

  Sade stormed out of the men's room.

  "Hey, here's your coffee." The man behind the counter waved with a dish towel. He had practically no hair on his head, and his features seemed to resemble a clown's. His eyebrows were too bushy, his nose too red, bulbous and pitted; his mouth turned downward in a sulk.

  "Coffee? I don't drink coffee, monsieur."

  "Oh no you don't. That jerk before you ducked out without ordering, not you too. Pay for the coffee you ordered."

  "I would gladly pay for something to drink, but I fear that you and I would differ over the price to be paid."

  "I got this menu here." The counter man tossed a stained plastic-coated paper on the counter. "Even got a Gallo jug under the counter."

  "Gallo? No Château Lafite?"

  "Whatever you said we don't have. At least it doesn't sound familiar."

  Sade walked to the counter and picked up the menu.

  "No, I don't see what I enjoy to drink on the menu."

  "I'm sure I can come up with something."

  "Yes. Yes you can." Sade leaped over the counter and grabbed the man around the throat. When the man reached behind him to find a weapon, Sade grabbed his wrist and broke the arm over his knee. There was a high-pitched scream before Sade jammed his thumb into the man's voice box.

  * * *

  Sade cleaned up in the ladies’ room. The soft pink tiles and the smell of menstrual blood was far preferable to the stink of the men's room. Neatly Sade cleaned the counter man's blood from his lips. He rinsed his mouth several times to eliminate any
blood stain that might be on his teeth.

  The meal may not have had the delicacy Sade preferred, but it certainly had been sating.

  Sade remembered the name. David Petry. He used his limited-edition hand-painted Namiki fountain pen to write the name on the cuff of his shirt. He meant to replace the shirt anyway; besides, this way he wouldn't lose the name.

  He walked back to the dining area, over to the counter, where he left money for the coffee, then went to the door, flipped the "open" sign to "closed", and left.

  "You must be fully cognizant of the death you are going to undergo: this perverse blood has got to be made to seep out of you..."

  Justine

  by the

  Marquis de Sade

  Chapter 14

  Garrett had visible bruises from the last visit, bruises that kept him away from his wife. He worked late. He offered excuses why he could not bed his wife, and she became suspicious. He had wanted to explain all this to La Maîtresse, but he feared losing her completely to another client, to another submissive.

  La Maîtresse spoke infrequently to him now. Instead she demanded that he reveal secrets of his matrimonial bed. If he halted in his stories, La Maîtresse did not notice right away. Her mind wandered to someone else, he knew.

  She still sought his blood. Often she seemed starved for his blood. The infliction of pain had lessened, as if she feared truly hurting him.

  "Maîtresse," he called.

  Her blonde head rose from the crook of his neck. Blood spotted her chin. Her lips quivered and her nostrils flared. But her eyes were vacant, lost to Garrett. Slowly her hands reached up to touch her own lips.

  "Garrett," she spoke as her eyes focused on his features.

  Who is it that she sees when she is with me?

  She stood. Small, he thought, with hands as strong as a workman's and a mouth more foul than any he had heard. Yet she was small. The black corset cinched her waist into an abnormally small circumference. The stiletto-heeled boots increased her height by at least six inches. Still he towered above her. Her hips and bust swelled in sensuous curves.