Kitty's Greatest Hits

She licked the wound she’d made to hasten its healing. He might notice the marks and believe them to be insect bites. He would never know she’d been here.

His body radiated the heat of spent desire. She lay close to him, gathering as much of it as she could into herself. She now felt hot—vivid and alive. She could feel his blood traveling through her, keeping her alive.

Stroking his hair, admiring the lazy smile he wore, she whispered to him. “You won’t remember me. You won’t remember what happened tonight. You had a nice dream, that’s all. A vivid dream.”

“Emma,” he murmured, flexing toward her for more. Almost, her resolve broke. Almost, she saw that pulsing artery in his neck and went to drink again.

But she continued, “If you see me again, you won’t know me. Your life will go on as if you never knew me. Go to sleep. You’ll sleep very well tonight.”

She brushed his hair with her fingers, and a moment later he was snoring gently. She pulled a blanket over him. Kissed his forehead.

Straightening her bra, buttoning her blouse, she left the room. Made sure all the lights were off. Locked the door on her way out.

She walked home. It was the deepest, stillest hour of night, or early morning. Streetlights turned colors but no cars waited at intersections. No voices drifted from bars and all the storefronts were dark. A cold mist hung in the air, ghostlike. Emma felt that she swam through it.

The stillest part of night, and she had never felt more awake, more alive. Every pore felt the touch of air around her. Warm blood flowed in her veins, firing her heart. She walked without fear along dark streets, secure in the feeling that the world had paused to notice her passage through it.

* * *

She entered Alette’s townhouse through the kitchen door in back rather than the through the front door, because she’d always come in through the back in her student days when she studied in Alette’s library and paid for school by being Alette’s part-time housekeeper. That had all changed. Those days—nights—were finished. But she’d never stop using the back door.

“Emma?” Alette called from the parlor.

Self-conscious, Emma followed the voice and found Alette in her favorite chair in the corner, reading a book. Emma tried not to feel like a kid sneaking home after a night of mischief.

Alette replaced a bookmark and set the book aside. “Well?”

Her unnecessary coat wrapped around her, hands folded before her, Emma stood before the mistress of the house. Almost, she reverted to the teenager’s response: “Fine, okay, whatever.” Monosyllables and a fast exit.

But she felt herself smile broadly, happily. “It was good.”

“And the gentleman?”

“He won’t remember me.”

“Good,” Alette said, and smiled. “Welcome to the Family, my dear.”

* * *

She went back to the bar once more, a week later. Sitting at the bar, she traced condensation on the outside of a glass of gin and tonic on the rocks. She hadn’t sipped, only tasted, drawing a lone breath so she could take in the scent of it.

The door opened, bringing with it a cold draft and a crowd of college students. Chris was among them, laughing at someone’s joke, blond hair tousled. He walked right by her on his way to the pool tables. Flashed her a hurried smile when he caught her watching him. Didn’t spare her another glance, in the way of two strangers passing in a crowded bar.

Smiling wryly to herself, Emma left her drink at the bar and went out to walk in the night.

YOU’RE ON THE AIR

Jake leaned his elbows on the counter by the cash register and stared out over vacant aisles. His shoulders were bunched, his back slouched. This was way bad for his posture. Like he cared.

The store had been empty for hours. Half an hour ago somebody had pulled up to the gas pumps outside and paid by credit card. Really, they didn’t need him here minding things. Put a vending machine outside for the stoners and the store would make a profit.

Then again, it was just as well they hired him for the graveyard shift. What else would he do for money?

Graveyard shift. That was funny.

He didn’t do much these days. Slept during daylight hours, got up, grabbed a bite, came to work. Went home and was asleep again by dawn. He hadn’t seen the sun in … he couldn’t remember how long it had been. He only had these glaring white fluorescent bulbs. They hummed like insects.

The radio, a beat-up model sitting on the shelf behind him, crammed between cartons of cigarettes, scratched a folk rock song, which faded, and a voice cut in.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Midnight Hour. This is Kitty Norville, your ever-cheerful hostess.”

Oh, score. It was Friday. He’d forgotten. He turned up the volume. This was his favorite show.

“Tonight it’s all vampires, and all calls. I want to hear from you…”

* * *

Jake couldn’t understand why anyone would want to become a vampire. And yet, they called into Kitty’s show all the time. Wannabes. They had no clue.

“I’m ageless,” said the underage caller breathlessly. “Ageless as the grave.”

“Okay, this is not the kinderbat poetry hour,” Kitty said, which made Jake laugh, which was the reason he listened to the show. “You’ll want—oh, I don’t know—public access television for that.”

“Whoa, what a wicked cool idea,” the kid said.

If that ever happened, Jake would find the kid and beat the crap out of him himself. Thankfully, Kitty switched calls. “Please, someone with sense call me so we can discuss Byron or something. Next caller, hello.”

“I knew him, you know.”

Jake perked up. That cool assurance in a voice usually meant a vampire. A real one.

“Knew who?”

“Lord Byron, of course.”

“Really,” Kitty drawled, clearly disbelieving. “You know, there are about as many vampires who say they knew Byron as there are reincarnation freaks who say they were Cleopatra in a past life. Which would mean Byron had, like, hundreds of obnoxious simpering twits trailing after him wherever he went. When he really only had Keats and Shelley.”

The guy huffed. “How very droll.”

“I’m sorry, you just hit one of my buttons, you know?”

“You’ve never considered that perhaps one of those vampires who say they knew Byron might be right?”

The call went on for a few more moments, and Jake’s attention faded. He was thinking about what he wanted to say to this guy. More than anything he wanted to talk to another vampire—a powerful one, a reasonable one. Someone who could explain to him what was supposed to be so great about being a vampire. There had to be more to it than beating up winos who didn’t even notice the parasites on their necks, all for a pint of stolen blood.

He’d changed—he could feel this humming in his muscles, like he ought to be stronger. Like if he tilted his head a little bit he ought to be able to see into other dimensions. So maybe he did have powers, but what was he supposed to do with them when he spent all his time hiding? He never talked to anyone anymore except to say, Here’s your change.

There had to be a way to dig out of this hole he was in.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Destiny,” the vampire said.

What the hell did that even mean, Jake thought.