“There aren’t any good vampire stories these days,” she said before taking a long drag of nicotine and then exhaling a slow, thin tendril from the corner of her purple lips a good few seconds later. She averted her gaze from the gloom that hovered above and looked directly into mine to nail her point home. “Pop culture has bled them to death that no one really takes these nocturnal hunters seriously anymore.”
I buried my face with open palms, let the heel slide up from the cheek bones to the eye sockets and pushed my head down until my elbows rested on the table top. I do not have the courage to return her gaze. To do so was sacrilege; especially after I became unsure if the dark had concealed the direction of what my pupils had zeroed in a few heartbeats ago. I let out a nervous chuckle. “And that would have been just the way you wanted it.”
“That’s what I missed about you,” she purred. “Your penchant or finishing my sentences or me.”
“And I, your eternal faith in the gullibility of the human mind.” I peeked between spread fingers. She was still half-seated on the table’s edge with one thigh facing me; skirt now hiked all the way up to reveal more pale flesh aglow from the moon beam that filtered in through a window crusted with a thin film of dust.
“I didn’t come here to be reminded of what I believe in, Ned.” The firmness in her voice returned, rekindling long discarded memories of past conversations that only ended after I conceded. “It’s your convictions that need a good jostling.”
In a flicker our faces were but inches apart. My fingers between us made a poor shield against the lilac orbs that bore right through them. “What in the seven hells were you thinking?!” she spat. ”That stunt you pulled has got the coven in an uproar!”
“Maybe now we will have good vampire stories again…”
I did not see it coming. It took me a few, good blinks and a full three seconds late outburst of pain to realize that I had been thrown across the room- smack right against the concrete wall. The lunar cycles had no been unkind to her. Lucky bitch.
Blood on my mouth. The sour tang left no doubt. I had to spit before I could speak. “If I were to tell you what I was thinking then, would you grant me leave to tell the tale in full first before I get another beating?”
She regarded me coldly as she stood, her silence seething. The shimmer from passing headlights seems to freeze her in a temporal bubble of some sort with the interplay of shadows and light; as if these flutter by’s sharpened her profile until it obliterated all doubts that she is the very space she is in.
“I’m listening…”
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