Alana rose and slipped quietly into the closet of her bedroom, slowly closing its sliding door. Even though he was in the living room, she could guess and almost visualize all of his movements.
"Valeria...?” he said, his voice playfully mysterious. “Where ... are ... you?” He sang this last question, like the bad wolf looking for Little Red Riding Hood.
Alana stood motionless, unexpectedly aroused. Already she could feel the little pointed edges of her fangs against her lower lip.
"You're being a very, very, naughty girl, Valeria,” Miguel went on, slowly walking into Valeria's room, checking inside the closet, under the bed. “Once I catch you ... there'll be no mercy..."
Alana could feel his excitement. The man was all adrenaline. And he wasn't one bit afraid to be walking around in the dark. The only illumination came from the living room lamp he had switched on, which was quite dim. But then, why should he be afraid? The only surprise he expected was Valeria, hiding somewhere in her lingerie. He was used to this game, he loved it. Valeria had told Alana about it. Hide and seek. Oh, her lascivious Valeria. The irony of it.
Miguel went stealthily into the bathroom, peered behind the shower curtain. He was grinning. His brain was pumping adrenaline by the liter and he was grinning.
Then he walked into Alana's bedroom. It didn't occur to him that Valeria wasn't in the house, that maybe Valeria had forgotten the stereo on since morning. No, he was so overwhelmed by his emotions that the possibility didn't even cross his mind.
Miguel went on his knees and glanced under the bed. Then he looked to the closet and laughed. “You little fox...” he said under his breath, standing up and walking slowly toward the closet. “Where ... are ... you ... my ... little ... fox...? Could ... you ... be ... maybe ... here...?” he drawled his question, his voice like a lullaby. Then, abruptly, he opened the closet door.
Seeing Alana, he jumped back in surprise, letting out a rasping moan from deep down his throat.
Alana clearly read his thoughts. For a split second the possibility that this was really Valeria, that Valeria was wearing a tousled red wig and white plastic fangs, crossed his mind. But then he realized this wasn't Valeria playing games. This was Alana. Alana with fangs. He stared at her, dumbstruck. Not really terror, but incredulous shock. Then his eyes dropped to the golden crucifix on her neck, immediately recognizing it.
With preternatural swiftness she stood in front of him and held his face between her hands. She wanted to be swift. She didn't want to torture him. She didn't want to wait one more second so he could think that this was maybe a big joke planned by Valeria, and that what Alana had in her mouth were nothing but plastic fangs. Or to recognize the truth, to breath the word Vampire. No, she didn't want to be that cruel.
The flesh of his neck was all tense and tight. The artery throbbed. She slid her fangs into it, and drank. Even if she hadn't planned it, she would have drank him dead. Because she was hungry and because he was there and because this wasn't just another junkie or bum or prostitute in the street. This was Miguel, the Pirate, with dreams and desires and plans for his life. And because he was passionate and beautiful and Valeria loved him. And because Alana wondered, had wondered from the very beginning, what a mortal she knew and cared for would taste like.
But she had planned it.
She had decided to kill him the moment he had reminded her of the big, bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.
* * * *
Even before Valeria turned the key and opened the door of her apartment, she had a creepy feeling in her gut. As if something bad had happened.
"Miguel?” she said, frowning, setting the food bags on top of the kitchen counter. She had spent the last hour in a supermarket that closed at midnight. She'd had to, her refrigerator was almost completely empty and she'd had an uncontrollable craving for pistachio ice cream. The pistachio ice cream they sold there was delicious. But now, oddly, her craving had totally vanished.
She walked into the living room and saw his briefcase and jacket laid out on top of the glass coffee table.
"Miguel...” she called again, peering into the darkness of the corridor, but her voice was lower this time. She hoped he wasn't playing hide and seek. She definitely wasn't in the mood. She had asked him to come here because she felt lonely, and scared, and she wanted to talk and needed someone who would listen. She didn't want to make love tonight. She just wanted to be held like a child and fall asleep.
And the music ... one of Alana's favorites. Vivaldi's “Summer.” Strange. Though she did remember Miguel had, on some occasions, walked into Alana's room and put on her classical music cassette. Once he had told her the music got him in the mood.
The music finished. That was the last melody in the cassette. The cassette player clicked off, and all of a sudden an uneasy silence saturated the apartment.
Valeria swallowed dryness. “Miguel, please. I'm not in the mood for games. Not tonight,” she said, angry now. Fear made her angry. And she was suddenly afraid. Afraid of ... what? She wasn't sure.
Silence.
She cursed under her breath, switching on the corridor light. To the left was her bedroom. Resolutely, she walked up to it and turned on the lights. It was empty. From her bedroom doorway, her eyes darted back down the corridor. To the right was the bathroom, and farther down, at the end of the corridor, was Alana's bedroom. Its door was half open.
Slowly she continued down the corridor. Then she halted. Silence, except for a strange low sound. A continuous sound. Coming from Alana's bedroom.
"Alana...” Valeria whispered, staring at the half open door. But how could it be Alana? Miguel's things were in the living room. Goddamn it, if this was Miguel's idea of a joke, it was sure going to be his last.
That sound again.... Slurping?
For a split second she froze, but she refused to surrender to her fear. She went a few steps forward, past the bathroom, and stopped right in front of Alana's bedroom. Holding her breath, she pushed the door open.
At first, there was only darkness. Then she saw two darker figures in the farthest end of the room on the floor. She stepped inside, and turned on the lights.
During the first two seconds she didn't understand what she saw. Miguel appeared to be lying on the floor, and Alana, kneeling and bending over him, seemed to be kissing his neck.
There were drops of blood on the floor.
Then Alana drew away from Miguel and turned to look at her, and Valeria saw the blood dripping from her lips and the raw, gaping wound on Miguel's neck.
Valeria gasped, staggering back against the wall.
"Don't move and be quiet,” Alana ordered, somewhat dazed, her voice a menacing hiss, like someone who had been interrupted from a deeply pleasurable dream and was annoyed by it. She straightened up for a moment. Then, bending again, she leaned over him and began to drink once more, though this time her black eyes were keenly fixed on Valeria.
And Valeria thought ... Vampire!
* * * *
Alana blinked, accepting the accusation with a little nod of her eyes, her mouth still pressed to the wound. She was thrilled by Valeria's terror. And even as she drank, she was overwhelmed by her own shock and terror, by the despicable act she was committing, but the pleasure was too powerful, much too powerful for her will.
The blood finished. He was gone.
Alana drew a little away, then she stuck her tongue into the wound, greedy for the precious last drops. Nothing left, gone.
Finally she rose and looked at Valeria, who remained petrified against the wall.
"Yes ... vampire,” Alana said, panting, licking any last trace of blood from her lips. She looked down at Miguel, and shuddered. The guilt was devastating, but it was mingled with ecstatic satisfaction. For a long moment she fixed her gaze on his gaping wound. Heal. Then gradually, like in a dream, the raw edges drew together again, the gaping wound closed until the only thing visible were two miniature puncture holes, two pin pricks . Like magic, like in a m
ovie with excellent special effects, his neck was almost supple again. Except he was very pale, and very dead.
Valeria shut her eyes. This is a nightmare, this is not happening. This is not happening! This is not possible! Dear God.... This cannot be real! Please, God, dear God ... !
"God cannot help you,” Alana said, almost sadly, desperately. “This is real, Valeria. This is what I've been hiding from you. You understand now, can't you, why I couldn't tell you?"
"You killed him ... you ... drank his blood...” Valeria breathed.
* * * *
The bedroom reeked of blood, of death, mingled with the hot scent of Valeria. Succulent, little lascivious Valeria ... Dear God in Heaven ... What kind of monster was she! She had just had her fill of innocent blood, yet she was already lusting for more! Sighing miserably, she ran her fingers through her tousled hair. Some of the strands were speckled with blood. She wanted to sob, to scream. In fact, the urge to scream was so strong she had to grimace and bite her lips in order to stop herself.
"You said he would pay for it ... you said sooner or later he would pay the price...” Valeria mumbled.
"That has nothing to do with it. I'm not the avenging angel of justice. I'm a vampire. I just wanted his blood.” The words came out blunt, even though she hadn't meant them to be so.
"Vampire."
"Yes, Valeria. Just like in the horror books."
"Sadash.” Valeria said, and swallowed.
"Yes, Sadash. Remember what I told you when I came back from that trip to Istanbul? The man I saw in the bazaar—with fangs? Well, I didn't imagine it. It was not a hallucination. It was him. All along it has been him, since I was ten years old, in my nightmares, in my dreams, always him."
"Your sleepwalking..."
"Exactly."
Valeria nodded slowly, biting her lower lip.
"Don't do that,” Alana said coldly.
Valeria stared at her, awe-stricken. “What?"
"Don't bite your lip. It makes me irrational,” Alana said. Glancing down at Miguel, she wondered how she was going to get rid of the body. She couldn't leave it here.
If Sadash saw her now, if he saw what she had done...
The awful reality of what she had done gradually began to sink in . She had not only killed an innocent man in her own bedroom, but she had also revealed herself to Valeria. And what was she going to do about it?
Her beloved Valeria...
Alana looked back at her, peering into her eyes. Soft, moist brown eyes, eyes that stared at her with awe and wonder. Yes, the terror was slowly subsiding. There wasn't so much fear anymore, as if in spite of it all Valeria trusted their bond, their love. Their pact. As if she somehow knew Alana would never hurt her.
"Are you ... dead?” Valeria said.
"In a way, yes. But I'm also immortal. I told you. It's everything you know from the horror books ... only with a few differences."
"My God...” Valeria whispered. “How?"
"No, don't ask me any questions now. I wouldn't know how to begin. It's a long story. Besides, I have to think what I am going to do about Miguel. Or have you already forgotten about him?"
"Of course not!” Valeria said. “But I can't cry. I can't think anything. I'm in shock."
"Really? You seem more shocked by the secrets of immortality than by his death."
"Why do you suddenly hate me so?"
"Because you're merciless, that's why,” Alana whispered with cruel satisfaction. “Have you ever loved any man?” Even after the feast, the fragrant scent of Valeria's blood was enough to blur her thoughts and make her giddy.
"Merciless—me? You just killed him."
"Yes, I'm a monster, I admit it. I loathe myself. Are you happy now?"
Valeria began to cry. Big tears slid down her cheeks. She grimaced, looking down at Miguel, at the blood on the floor. I loved him, I did, I loved him .
"No, you didn't,” Alana snapped.
Valeria looked at Alana. For a split second, she seemed deeply trouble. “You can read my thoughts,” she said, her voice shaking a little.
"What is it, my twin soul? Afraid I'm going to discover something I shouldn't discover?” Alana said.
How strange. Valeria was suddenly consumed with guilt. Alana could feel it, could almost smell it. Guilt like a wisp of vapor flowing out of her. But when she scanned her thoughts she couldn't get hold of any specific vision or image.
"Like, for example, how Humberto came to be your first lover? No, don't bother denying it. I already know it. I already know what a little liar you are,” Alana said.
"I didn't..."
"Or how you witnessed my mother and Humberto's father together in bed. Making love. And you never told me."
Valeria held her breath. The fact was she almost couldn't breathe. She was still stuck against the wall, the violent pulsing of her heart thudding inside Alana's head. Alana felt an uncontrollable desire to pull her roughly into her arms and shut the heart off with a deadly kiss. There she was again, lusting. The situation was ridiculous. And evil ... yes, yes, there was Absolute Evil. Miguel dead on the floor, sucked dry. She and Valeria playing little telepathic games.
"Oh, my God...” Valeria whispered. “How did you learn that? I mean, how..."
"Forget the when and why and how and just fill me in with the details."
"Oh, Alana, I'm sorry I never told you. Yes, I knew it all along, that she had a lover, that it was Antonio. But I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to hurt you. Even after her death, I didn't want to hurt you."
Alana caught the image. Flashes of it. Humberto's pool party. Playing hide and seek. Valeria sneaking upstairs to hide in one of the bedrooms. Valeria seeing them in bed. Her surprise. Her shock. They had not noticed her. In their rapture, they had not noticed her.
"I'm sorry,” Valeria pleaded softly, honestly. “I kept the secret. I never told anybody. I couldn't tell you. I only saw them for a few seconds. They didn't see me. They didn't even notice someone had opened the door. At first glance I didn't even understand what they were doing. They were dressed, they weren't naked. I was very silent. I just closed the door again and went into another room to hide. My mind was reeling, but what was I supposed to do? I didn't want to upset you. I decided I wouldn't tell you anything. I decided I would keep the secret only to myself."
"What else do you know? Did you ever see them again together? Anywhere else?"
"No, never. I only saw them that one time, Alana. I swear. Never again,” Valeria said, wiping off the tears with her fingers. She was calmer now. She had stopped crying.
"I'm going to ask you something, Valeria. And you better answer me truthfully or I'm going to wring your neck. On the day my mother died ... did you see Antonio coming into our house? You were roller skating outside in the street, remember?"
Valeria stared blankly at her. “No...” she replied.
"Are you sure?” Alana said. Once again, she tried to scan her thoughts, but this time without much success. Little flashes of Valeria skating, of Valeria falling and scratching her knee. Little flashes of Valeria crying, phoning the ambulance, of Alana lifting her dead mother out of the pool. Sobbing faces. Confusion. Nothing else...
And for a creepy second Alana vaguely realized the amazing strength of Valeria's will.
"You didn't see any strange car parked in front of our house? Or anybody, man or woman, coming into our house?"
"No...” she said again. She seemed puzzled. “I wasn't exactly skating right in front of your house. I was skating up and down the whole length of the street. And anyway, I wasn't there a long time. About fifteen minutes after I got there you and your uncle arrived. Why are you asking me this?"
"None of your business,” Alana slowly said, narrowing her eyes, weighting Valeria's words in her mind.
Valeria lowered her eyes, apparently intimidated by Alana's stare. “What are you going to do about Miguel?” she said quietly.
"You should be more worried about what I'm going to do wit
h you."
"You wouldn't hurt me."
"Don't be so sure."
"No, I'm sure. You wouldn't hurt me."
Alana regarded her for a moment, thoughtful. Valeria's behavior intrigued her. She didn't seem afraid anymore. An intense longing and restlessness had taken the place of fear.
Valeria suddenly mumbled something.
"What did you say?” Alana said. But she had heard perfectly well what Valeria had said.
"Give it to me. Your blood,” Valeria whispered shyly. “Will I become like you ... if I drink from you, if you give me your blood?"
CHAPTER 14
Alana was at loss for words.
"Make me like you."
"No,” Alana said. Though, actually, the response was like a reflex, no feelings or deep thoughts were involved. It just seemed right, saying no.
"Please."
"No."
Valeria moved a few steps forward, her hands slightly raised in question. She seemed heart stricken. “But why not? I don't understand.... Don't you want us to be together? Wouldn't you like making me like you?"
"No."
"Yes, you would. I know you would."
Alana shook her head. “No."
"Isn't that the reason why you came here tonight? You've been trying to stay away, but you can't stay away ... can you?"
Alana shook her head again, appalled. “You're not the center of my universe, Valeria."
"It's true, isn't it?” Valeria said, ignoring her. Yet her voice was so gentle, so yielding.
"No, it isn't true. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it isn't true. I came here because of totally different reasons. I came here to ask you..."
"I don't think so,” Valeria cut her off, slowly shaking her head. “You came here because you wanted to see me, because you missed me, because you couldn't stay away from me. Because you love me."
"If that's what you want to believe, go ahead, believe it. I don't have the energy nor the time right now to convince you otherwise. And to be quite honest with you I don't give a damn. Think what the hell you want. I won't bring you in with me. Not even if you kill yourself. I won't do it. Never."
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