Pretty When She Dies (15 page)

Get something...err...someone to eat.

Go to the Goth club.

Find a vampire.

See, Sergio,
she thought.
I can make a plan.

After a quick shower, she found a black skirt with a skeleton dancing down the side of it buried at the bottom of her bag. It had a cool look: as if it strips of cloth had been sewn together just randomly. The skeleton glittered on it with a big grin and she loved it. A black lace tank top, black bra, and her high-heeled Mary Janes seemed like a good combo for a goth club. People mistook her for goth anyway with her black hair and fetish for black. Normal people never knew the difference between all the subcultures anyway.

Dressing quickly, she decided to try to put on makeup. She immediately realized it would not be an easy task. The mascara was relatively easy, but the eyeliner was a total bitch. She hoped it looked okay, because it felt wrong. Trying to figure out how much of her rose blush was too much was another challenge. Staring into the empty compacts was very disconcerting and she finally tossed the makeup back into her bag and tucked her money into her bra.

After pulling the furniture away from the door, she let herself out of the hotel room and headed to her car. There was actually quite a lot of people in the parking lot. A lot of them were young people that were probably in town for a concert or just to party. Walking to the Lincoln, she pulled out her lipstick from between her breasts and soon her lips were bright red. Tucking the tube back in her bra, she unlocked her car and got in.

Traffic to downtown Austin was picking up as people headed out to Austin's famous 6th Street to party away Hump Day. She knew from the past that the clubs had all sorts of specials throughout the week to keep people coming out even if they did have work in the morning. It would not be as crazy as it was Friday and Saturday night when the clubs and bars on both 6th Street and Warehouse District were overwhelmed by throngs of people heading out for fun.

She also knew from experience exactly where the Goth club, Elysium, was. She had hung out there a few times, when she was in college, with a few friends that skirted between all the alternative scenes.

Pulling into a parking lot a block from the club, she waited for a guy in the wheelchair to come over. Once she paid, he would hand her the slip of paper to put on her dashboard that would keep her car from being towed. He had a fistful of money and handed her the pink slip with a smile. Smiling back, she tucked it into a visible place on the dashboard, and then slid out of the car.

“Busy tonight?”

“Not like Saturday. That' s five dollars,” he answered.

She fished a twenty out of her bra and handed it to him. Nonplussed by this, he counted out her change, and handed it to her. “Be careful.”

“Will do,” she assured him, and walked up the cracked sidewalk toward the club. Elysium sat on the corner a block from 6th Street and was painted entirely black. Ignoring the comments from the guys lurking outside the Salvation Army homeless shelter, she straightened her shoulders and prepared herself.

Maybe it was a cliché, but the only place she could think of to find a vampire was the Goth club. It just seemed like a place an undead fucker would hang out. Of course, she could be horribly wrong and he could be up at the cowboy club on Burnet street, but Elysium seemed like a good place to start.

When she reached the large imposing bouncer sitting on his stool outside the club, she gave him a fierce look, and said, “I'm over twenty-one.”

“Let me see your license,” he answered.

Shit.

Her powers weren't working. And she was getting hungrier.

Sighing, she fished it out of her bra and handed it to him. She was terrified he would recognize her as the girl who was missing from the supposed Satanic massacre. He glanced at it and handed it back to her with a bored look on his face. She scurried inside as soon as he tagged her with a wrist band of orange florescent yuckiness and paid a pretty girl behind the counter to enter the club.

It seemed to be a slow night with only a few people out. Glancing to her left, as she walked toward the bar, she saw a few people dancing very slowly to Siouxsie and the Banshees. One tiny black girl with black braids seemed especially captivated by the music and it made Amaliya feel a pang of jealousy. She wished she could just dance the night away and not give a damn about what was going on in her life.

But she had other things to do. She had to find out what was going on with her one way or the other.

Then she saw him. A man with long flowing red-blond hair and a reddish goatee leaning against the bar. He was wearing a red frock coat and black leather pants tucked into boots with pointy toes. His black poet shirt was dripping with lace and he even wore a jaunty hat that looked like something the Three Musketeers would have worn.

His long nails were painted black and he had red tinted glasses on.

Walking up to the bar, she took the stool next to him and sat waiting for him to talk to her. She was not the prettiest girl in the world, but she could get attention when she wanted it.

Crossing her legs, she flashed a length of muscled leg and her tattoo of hearts and roses wrapped around her ankle. The man in the old-fashioned garb was deep in conversation with a guy with a simply stunning blue mohawk. Pouting slightly, she reached for the guy's pack of cigarettes and lighter.

“May I?”

He became aware of her and swung around. “Oh, my lady, of course.

Allow me.” He quickly handed her a black clove cigarette and lit it with flourish. “I did not mean to be so rude.”

She smiled at him coyly and took a deep drag on the cigarette. It tasted better than she expected. “Thank you.”

The bartender appeared. “So, what will you have?”

“A glass of red wine and whatever the lady wants,” the man answered.

Amaliya now realized he was younger than she originally thought.

Maybe mid-twenties. He was dripping in jewelry, including what looked like a garnet encrusted ankh.

“I'll have a shot of vodka,” she answered.

The bartender nodded and spun away to quickly get their drinks.

“I'm Lord Carfax, my dear lady,” he said with great flourish, and swept his hat off his head to bow to her.

“I'm Liya,” she answered him, and wondered what his real name was.

“Charmed to meet you.” He took her hand and kissed it.

Amused, Amaliya tried to figure out if his hand was cool because he was nervous or if he was a vampire.

“Nice to meet you Carfax,” she answered with a sly smile.

Behind her more people came in and the music switched to Sisters of Mercy.

“It must be an oldies night, huh? Eighties or something?”

“Oh, it is the retro-goth night.” Lord Carfax quickly paid for their drinks as they arrived.

“Ah, I don't know much about Goth. Sorry.”

“You're not Goth?” Lord Carfax looked a little shocked. “But your clothes! Your hair!”

“I'm pretty much a rocker chick. I usually hang with the metalheads,”

she confided.

“I see.” He looked a little disappointed, but tapped the edge of his wine glass against her shot glass anyway. “Well, at least you came here and I was able to meet you and enjoy your beauty.”

Giving him a bemused look, she downed her vodka and enjoyed the burn all the way down.

“Thanks. I just felt like getting out and meeting people,” she said to him after a beat.

“Oh, I am so glad you did. You are by far the most lovely woman in the club. Delectable.” He grinned and licked a fang.

She blinked slowly. She wasn't sure if they were real or not. If they were fake, they were a masterpiece of craftsmanship. “Nice teeth.”

“The better to bite you.” Lord Carfax chuckled and sipped more of his wine.

“So you fancy yourself a vampire?”

“My lady, I am a vampire,” he responded and pretended to take a little bite out of her neck.

She could hear his teeth chink together, then he drew away smiling.

“Ah, I see.”

“I do enjoy an occasional bite,” he confided. “And you do look tasty.”

Arching an eyebrow, she looked at his clothing, then back into his face. She could see now that he was wearing base and a bit of powder.

“So...if you're a vampire, why are you dressed like you are? Wouldn't you want to blend in so you could get your prey?”

“Oh, no, dear lady, I want to embrace the time period from which I came. And by coming to this club, I can. Besides, I am a seducer, not a monster. I am a hunter of lovely throats and delicate limbs.”

She lifted her other eyebrow and motioned for another shot. “I see.

So, vampires like to hang out in old fashioned clothes in Goth bars and pick up women for blood?”

“I'm sure your blood must be the most divine elixir,” Lord Carfax purred leaning toward her.

A short laugh next to her drew Amaliya's gaze to a man next to her.

He wasn't any taller than her, five foot seven possibly, and he had short brownish hair that was a little on the messy side. Dressed in black jeans and a dress shirt that wasn't tucked in, he looked obscenely normal compared to Lord Carfax. He was drinking what smelled like Jack Daniels and his keen hazel eyes regarded her with bemusement.

“Hey, he thinks my blood should taste good,” she said, and re-crossed her legs.

“I just don't think a real vampire would be dressed like that and hitting on you, that's all,” the man answered her, and sipped more of his drink.

“So what would a real vampire be doing?” she asked him. She leaned her elbows on the bar and gaze at him curiously.

Lord Carfax skirted around her, realizing he had lost her attention.

“Telling you of your great beauty and desiring to see you under the stars.”

“That's a good one,” the other man said. He paid for Amaliya's new shot of vodka.

Giving him a silent salute, Amaliya downed it, and smiled. “He speaks pretty.”

“He speaks rubbish,” the newcomer said, and winked. He really didn't look like the sort that would hang out in a Goth club, but then again, she wasn't really sure what Goth was anyway.

“Look here,” Lord Carfax said in a voice that didn't sound so European and cultured now. “I am having a conversation with her and you need to fuck off.”

“Why don't you take your fake fangs and bugger off?” The man had a light Irish inflection to his voice.

Amaliya arched both eyebrows. She signaled for another drink. She turned around on her stool so she could lean back against the bar, her elbows propped up on it. It made her cleavage and legs look outstanding.

Lord Carfax frowned deeply and appealed to Amaliya with his eyes.

“Please, my lady, let us retire to a table where we can be free of this insolent peasant.”

A light touch on her arm drew her attention to the newcomer with the pretty hazel eyes. He lightly drew his finger across her skin and gave her the most alluring look. Her skin tingled where he had touched her and she smiled as she made up her mind.

“Um, I'd rather stay with the peasant,” Amaliya answered and swung around to put her back to the vampire wannabe. The fangs were fake, as was the accent, and she felt bitterly disappointed. At least she could spend a few minutes flirting with the new guy. He might be good to eat. She was getting hungrier.

An angry snort was followed by a tirade of swear words, and then the frock coated man stomped off.

“He was amusing.” Amaliya said, and downed her new shot.

Again, the drink was paid for by the young man sitting next to her.

He tucked his money clip away in his jeans and picked up his new drink. “He's a real bloodletter. He hurt a girl pretty bad a few months ago, but she didn't press charges.”

“Seriously?” She looked over at Carfax. “Takes the vampire stuff too seriously, huh?”

“Not all vampire officiandos are bloodletters, but he is.” The man shrugged. “We don't care much for each other.”

“Well, he does try awfully hard,” Amaliya decided. “I bet some girls fall for it.”

“That's why he doesn't like me. I've stopped him on more than one occasion.”

“He's what gives Goths a bad name.”

“I don't care much for stereotypes anyway.” He graced her with a slight smile.

“Thanks for rescuing me. I'm Liya, by the way.” She extended her hand to him and was glad she had painted her nails.

He took it briefly and his skin was slightly cool to her touch. “Cian.”

“Huh? Key Inn? What?”

“Cian. It's Irish.”

“Oh,” she blushed slightly. “Nice name.”

“What are you doing in Austin?” he asked softly.

“I'm visiting. Having fun. Wait. How did you know-”

“I haven't seen you here before.” His gaze was steady as he took in her features and seemed to be reading her very thoughts. “I figured you just moved here or are passing through. Which is it?”

“I don't know yet,” she said vaguely. She began to feel uneasy. Great.

She probably got rid of wanna be vampire boy just to deal with serial killer man. “I'm figuring it out as I go along.”

“Really?”

He was definitely giving her the chills now. She nodded. “Yes, I am.

Anyway, nice meeting you, Cian. Maybe I'll see you around.”

Sliding off her chair, she headed across the club as quick as she could without giving herself away as a vampire. She was almost to the door when it dawned on her that she had nothing to fear. She could drain Cian dry and he couldn't stop her. Maybe it was good if he did follow her. She was getting a lot hungrier.

Stepping outside, she was hit by a blast of balmy air. She walked casually down the street hoping Cian would follow. If she remembered correctly, there was an alley nearby. She could duck down there and lure him after her if he was really going to give pursuit. Of course, the homeless would probably be tucked into the back doorways of the clubs. Maybe she could snag one of them if he didn't follow. She was getting hungry enough not to care if the person was dirty or smelly.

Turning the corner, she strolled toward I-35. Sensing she was being followed, she turned to see Cian on the sidewalk about ten feet behind her. Fighting down her unreasonable fear, she cut across the street and moved toward a more shadowed area. She could overtake him in the darkness, feed, and be done with this terrible need. Despite all the noise from the surrounding clubs and the nearby interstate, she could hear his footsteps behind her.