No, they really don’t exist, and if they did they wouldn’t ~*sparkle*~
“Isaiah Sangria, please.” I glanced up and down the busy street, suddenly paranoid. I didn’t like talking on a public pay phone, but I liked the idea of this call being traced even less. I’d already changed my look in a bathroom at the mall, hoping the incredible number of people would make it hard for anyone tailing me to realize I’d made a change. I hadn’t seen anyone tailing me, but then, I wasn’t really trained to detect a tail. The huge number of Goth teenagers at the mall also made for good cover, as my flame-red, waist-length wig, short black miniskirt and clunky black boot blended right in. I’d never appreciated Twilight until that moment, but for now the craze was working for me.
“Hold one moment,” the husky voice on the other end of the line said. I’m sure she was trying to sound sultry, but ended up just sounding like she smoked four packs a day. Maybe she did. I shifted on my feet again. These boots were bloody uncomfortable.
“This…. is Isaiah Sangria. How… may I be of assistance?” Oh yes, the dramatic pauses. Talking to Isaiah was a exercise in patience. It also made me thirsty.
“Isaiah, dah-ling,” I purred. “This is Isabella Serrano.” Okay, so I was a pepper. Sue me, it was the best I could come up with on the fly, and if the spy world has taught me anything (besides the whole paranoia bit), it’s that hesitation kills. I’d just had Mexican for lunch and it’s what popped into my head.
“Long…. time since I’ve… heard… from you.”
I gritted my teeth, and shifted my weight again. “I’ve been… shall we say… tied up.”
He laughed. “And yet it appears your master tired of you. Are you ready to come back to the flock?”
“Oh, no, she’s still quite enamored of me, but has an out-of-town business trip. I thought I’d take the opportunity to slip away and visit some of my old haunts.”
“Perhaps… we can entice you back, then, my dear.”
“Perhaps.”
“Come by… at ten or so… I’ll let Lucian know to let you in.” He hung up without a good-bye, and I did the same. I had about five hours to kill, so I walked to a local taco stand and picked up lunch. Then I wandered over to the library and browsed through the various sections, ignoring the looks I got from the little old ladies when I picked up knitting books from the craft section. Hey, knitting was cool again – no reason a 20-something Goth chick couldn’t enjoy it!
The library closed at eight and I still had two hours until I could meet with Isaiah. This gave me just enough time to take care of my last chore – stealing a few bags of blood. I felt bad about stealing from a blood bank, and I mentally deducted the amount I would take from my donation tally. Goodbye, five-gallon pin!
I calmly walked into the hospital, slipped into a bathroom and changed into more doctor-ly clothes. I picked the pocket of a passing doctor and grabbed her ID tag, then I simply wandered down to the blood bank and walked in. No one questioned me or even looked up. I wandered through until my eyes lit on a cooler marked ‘Expired – To Be Destroyed’. This was perfect. I mentally added back my four pints and grabbed four bags from the cooler. I shoved them into the pockets of the lab coat and casually left. Again, no one seemed to notice my passing. I went back to the bathroom, changed back into Isabella, stashed the blood in my shoulder bag, and dropped the doctor’s badge on the floor as I left. Then I headed for Isaiah’s place.
I often wonder if vampires were real what sort of house they’d have. For some reason, I always imagine a sleek, ultra-modern condo. Maybe because if I were a vampire, I’d want to buck the stereotype. But Isaiah had gone completely Hollywood, with dark paneling, red velvet curtains, gargoyles, the whole bit. It was more garish than spooky, truth be told. But I’d never been one to visit for the ambiance. Perhaps I should explain.
Last year, I was sent on a pseudo-field assignment in which I was instructed to make contact and extract information from a man known to associate with a minor drug dealer. The idea was to get enough info on the minor dealer to lead us further up the chain. In true beaurocratic fashion, I never did find out what happened in that case, but my part went well enough. Except for the fact that it cost me six pints of blood.
You see, this man I needed to make contact with fancied himself a vampire. And since I couldn’t directly make contact (and tip him off) I had to simply immerse myself in the lifestyle and hope I could ‘casually’ make his acquaintance. This proved surprisingly easy, once I’d gotten myself accepted into the culture with a good back story (yes, except the name bit, I thought I could get away with a single first name, but no…) and donated a pint to the leader. Isaiah then declared I was a rare ‘vintage’ and got several more donations from me before we’d gathered enough information and I could make up a story about acquiring a very private, exclusive master and get the hell out of there.
I was hoping that Isaiah had not changed his mind and several bags of my blood were still on ice in his dungeon, waiting for that ‘special occasion’. Then it would be a simple matter of swapping out the blood I’d stolen from the hospital for mine, and getting out of there without giving up any more of my blood. I’d need as much of it as I could spare later.
I reached the door and was let in once I’d given them my name. The place hadn’t changed a bit, except, perhaps, Isaiah had added just a bit more red velvet. The room was suffocating in it. The only light came from candles flickering on tall candelabras, and the dim interior was thick with smoke from incense and… probably a few other things. That was definitely a change. Before, the club had been on the up-and-up, with consenting adults sharing blood and booze. Now, it had a seedy feeling that made me glad my time here was up, and once I’d retrieved my blood it’d be the last time I had to set foot in this place again. In reality, I should have gotten it back before I left, but the agency hadn’t wanted to spare the manpower, and had cited leaving it there ‘in good faith’ in case I ever needed to go back. I’d chaffed at that at the time, feeling it was wrong to leave such a part of me behind, but now I was glad. It was going to come in very useful.
I threaded my way through the packed crowd, fending off blood-seekers left and right. Most had glassy eyes and slurred their words, whether from drink or something stronger, I didn’t know. Isaiah was still holding court in the same place as always, a roped-off back corner hung with even more draperies. He reclined on an oversized chaise lounge, his face rounder and more corpulent than I remembered. At least he’d never taken my blood directly from me, I’m not sure I could have stomached those rubbery sausage-lips on my skin, no matter how good the cause. His eyes lit up as he say me.
“Isabella… darling! So… nice to see you.” He waved me forward into the small space. The busty blond next to him pouted, but moved out of the way to make room for me. I settled my face into what I hoped was a sultry expression as I choked back a cough.
“It’s been too long,” I purred. It sounded fake and hollow to my own ears, but he seemed to take it at face value.
“I hope… you have time to make a donation while you are here.”
“Have you run through all I left you already?” My heart sank at the thought.
“No… no… you are far too… delectable for that. But… I was considering… using your blood at the ceremony next month, and I need just a pint more… to serve everyone.” I breathed a sigh of relief and tamped down the urge to grab him and shake him every time he paused dramatically. The mental image of me doing just that while shouting ‘Get On With It!’ gave a touch of real emotion to my smile.
“What ceremony is that?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to take them back. Oh god, what if there was some well-known ceremony coming up that I, or rather Isabella, should be well aware of? What had I just done?
“Tsk…. Tsk… It’s not… for you to know.” He winked at me. “Maybe some day… if your master tires of you… and you come back to me… you will know.” His eyes lingered on my chest. “It is… such a shame… you won’t be there in person…”
I barely controlled a shudder. I’d heard a story from a girl last time I was here, from another club she’d been a member of, and if that’s what he was picturing for me I could say for certain it was never going to happen. I was suddenly glad they wouldn’t even be partaking of my blood, but instead some old, expired blood bank blood. This place had definitely changed in the last few months. But I kept my smile in place and simply said, “Maybe some day. But I am more than willing to make a donation for the… refreshment portion of that evening.”
He smiled and waved a hand at me. I got up and went out the back of the enclosure, where a big, burly man guarded a non-descript door. It led, I knew, down to a clean, modern lab with stainless-steel, surgery-quality equipment. And that’s a big part of why I didn’t understand the change in Isaiah. He had been so cautious, so meticulous. He never drank directly from anyone, instead, he tested all the blood donated to him so he wouldn’t get sick. The man was a certifiable germaphobe. So why the rampant, careless drug use? Why the insinuation of intimate contact? What had changed so drastically?
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I was overwhelmed by happiness that I didn’t actually have to donate blood. Gone were the sterilized, blood-center quality needles and tubing. The autoclave sat in the corner, the hinges on its door bent and broken. The floor was sticky with old blood. In the corner, two shapes crouched over each other, moaning and oblivious to my presence. I crossed the room to the big stainless-steel walk-in freezer, glad to see that it was still functioning. I stepped in and started looking for my old blood. It wasn’t as neat and organized as it used to be, but there was still some method to the madness. I’d just found the small stack of bags containing my blood when I heard the freezer door open and two people walked in. I grabbed my bags, slapped the stolen bags in their place, and crouched down behind a stack of cardboard boxes just as the two figured turned down my aisle and headed straight for the shelf containing my blood.
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