Poetry & Blood Ch. 11

Laura

Emma snored softly in Laura's lap. Laura sat up in bed, stroking Emma's hair, thinking. She couldn't sleep, not after what she'd seen. She had work to do. She had problems to solve. Nikki was trapped. She was treated like cattle, maybe worse. Laura couldn't save her now, but she didn't know when she would be able to or how. Laura had some new powers, something strange was changing in her. It had been happening slowly at first, ever since the first Muse Session perhaps, but since her time with Marcilla and Emma, things had been happening faster. First it was her lust and achiness, then Nikki and other women, and then her hunger took over. She couldn't resist looking at Claire, and now she wouldn't be able to resist touching Claire.

And of course, there was the blood and the power.

She didn't know her limitations. She didn't even know how to control it. What she knew was that she wanted more. The question was how to get it. She knew now that she didn't want Marcilla to devour her. She didn't pray for death. She saw what that looked like in Nikki. It was one thing to have hot, bloody sex, but it was something else entirely to be taken over, to be nothing. Laura hated when Emma invaded her mind. She hated when Marcilla told her what to do and forced her to obey. No, she didn't want to serve Marcilla.

She wanted to rule like Marcilla. She could be persuaded to rule along with her. Perhaps if Camille begged, if she got on her knees and admitted that she was weak, that she was afraid to rule, afraid to bite, to drink. Maybe then Laura could rule beside her. But that felt unlikely. Camille didn't even hunt anymore. All she did was feed off Nikki, forgetting her nature, forgetting the joy of taking and ruling.

There were several problems, and all of them swirled around in Laura's head. It felt like writing a story to her. She knew the ending she wanted, and she knew the beginning. Now it was about creating a logical connection of events. It was time for character development. How to approach the climax? How to reach a satisfying conclusion?

Laura wanted to rule like Marcilla. Did she need to become a vampire to do that? It felt like the reasonable conclusion, but how could she do that in this house undetected? If she became a vampire, surely Marcilla would know. Laura couldn't hunt without drawing attention to herself. Besides, she had some power now. Maybe it was enough? Laura wasn't sure.

She looked down at Emma, asleep in her arms. Emma, her other fallen huntress. Emma could be tempted to feed, but she would never do it on her own. She didn't bite Laura, not ever. Every time Laura would have to make the cut, to start the process. She was so childlike, so pure. Emma reminded Laura of a fey creature, of an elf, barely part of this world. Laura was sure that one day she would wake up and Emma would be gone on the wind, looking for some orchard, wanting to speak with the trees or catch the moon.

She doubted Emma would ever bite her and turn her. She didn't dare press the issue with her. Emma seemed to regard vampirism as a secret shame, a terrible burden. She wouldn't willingly pass that on to Laura, and Laura doubted she was strong enough to force Emma to do it against her will.

No. She needed power, and it wasn't going to come from Emma. Emma was a tool in her hand. She could be persuaded to help her, like with Nikki, but she was also a liability, like with Nikki. She couldn't use her publicly, and if Camille found out they were together, it could be the end of everything. Laura would use her sparingly.

Laura also wanted to free Nikki. Of course, if she ruled the house, she could free Nikki easily. That was probably the only way. If they ran away together, could they escape the wrath of Camille with her fortune? Would Angelica show up one night with Jacques and force them back to Camille to be destroyed or chained? No. It was too risky. Nikki would have to wait. It was the right thing to do, though Laura could still see the horrified look on Nikki's face as she gagged her.

Without any public allies, without access to Camille or the Muse Sessions, but with limited power over vampires and some power over humans, what could Laura do? She twirled a strand of Emma's short blond hair around her finger. What could she do?

If she couldn't conquer the vampires, she would have to work backwards. Both Camille and Emma were dependent on humans for food and service. That was their weakness. She could start with those that knew Camille the least, those with the least loyalty to her. Abby, the new girl reading poetry during the Muse Sessions, would be a great start, but her room was close to Angelica and Miss Lancaster. That would be difficult. Laura needed someone else, someone who could get into the Muse Sessions. But who?

The idea came to her later that day as she was working, reading over the same droll line of text and falling asleep. She dozed off for a bit, and when she caught her drooping head, she had it. She needed an ally in the house, why not bring one in?

Laura hopped up and crossed over to the phone by her bed. She buzzed the line for Angelica and held her breath.

"What?" snapped Angelica.

"Hello to you too," said Laura. "Isn't part of your job to be courteous?"

"Isn't part of your job to help Miss Kontalban?"

Laura sighed. It wouldn't help if she pissed Angelica off. She needed to give her the moral high ground. "Does that mean I'm still not permitted to be at the Muse Sessions?"

Laura could almost hear Angelica's smile. "You were told until further notice. Have you received further notice?"

"No, but -"

"Then you are not currently welcome at the Muse Sessions, no."

"Fine," huffed Laura, pretending to be frustrated. "I had a question, can you answer it or should I go to Miss Lancaster?"

"Miss Lancaster is out of town currently."

"Perfect, so you're the one I need to speak with."

"What do you want?" sighed Angelica. Laura gripped the phone tightly. She could not wait to remove this woman.

"I was wondering where Nikki went?"

"Who?"

"Nikki, curvy redhead that worked as a maid along with you. She left a few weeks ago, I think you all said was sick?"

There was a long pause from Angelica, and Laura smiled. "She was sick," said Angelica slowly, "but she has since quit."

"That's too bad," said Laura through a wide smile. "I preferred her."

"Well, she's gone now. Is that all?"

"Did she say why she quit?"

"No. I assume it was health related."

"Ah," said Laura. "Have you found a replacement for her? Or are you doing twice as much work?" A little bit of flattery could help with the next part.

"I am taking on extra responsibilities for the time being, yes."

"Is Miss Kontalban seeking a replacement for Nikki? That'd be great to take some of the burden off your shoulders."

"We are seeking to fill the position, yes."

"Perfect. Thanks," said Laura as she hung up. Laura took out her phone and began to text Claire.

************

Claire

Claire took her phone out of her pocket and checked it. It was a text from Laura: "Free tonight?"

Claire felt a jolt of energy surge through her. She had expected Laura to contact her earlier. She'd needed Laura to contact her earlier. For the past few days, every time her phone vibrated since that night at the club, she checked it, hoping it was best friend. Sometimes she'd feel a phantom vibration, swearing that she'd just got a message, but she would check her phone and the screen would be blank.

Claire didn't entirely remember their night at the club. She woke up hungover and miserable in her bed. She was alone, but her panties and skirt were soaked. She clearly had some type of good time, but the details were fuzzy. Laura said she didn't feel good and took Claire home, but that didn't explain the obvious indicators of lust.

And of course, there was the bite mark. Not playful or seductive, but hard enough to draw blood. Already, it had healed, but Claire found herself rubbing it absentmindedly whenever her mind wandered. How did she get it? Who gave it to her? She hoped Laura had the answers she needed, but this was the first text she got from her friend since dropping her off.

"Absolutely," texted Claire back.

"Your place? 8?"

"Please," said Claire.

The conversation went cold after that, and immediately Claire went into a storm of preparation. Her room was a shit show, which was a casualty of unemployment. Most days were spent half-heartedly looking for a job and watching Netflix in her pajamas. Her apartment was a graveyard of empty glasses and takeout boxes. She needed a shower like Africa needs food, and she needed to find something to wear. Something that can be taken off easily and makes someone beg to fuck her, but not something as obvious as lingerie and thigh high boots. It was a dilemma.

Claire looked in the mirror trying different outfits, one after the other. On a whim, she grabbed the red cloak from Halloween a few years ago and put that on with nothing else beneath it. She stared at her reflection: so obviously covered and obviously bare. She appreciated her beauty, but as she looked at the cloak, her mind wandered back to her reoccuring dream, the one that started the night after the club.

They all started the same: a long dark hallway. She was always in an old building, like the kind of place where Laura worked now. The walls were wood and decorated with tapestries and paintings, but Claire could never make out the details. It was too dark, only lit by a few scattered candles making tiny puddles of light. Down it walked a dark figure, in a thick purple cloak. As she stepped, Claire could see that she was naked underneath the cloak. With each step, her pale skin peeked out like a slice of silver. The candlelight would catch it but could not warm it. The figure was feminine, her soft legs and round hips danced out of the heavy fabric, drawing Claire's eyes. The hallway darkened; the shadows grew towards the figure. It was as though her cloak repelled the light in the room, or perhaps drank the dark.

Claire never moved as the figure approached. She never ran. Each night she had the same dream. Each night she stayed in place, letting the cloak and pale skin slink towards her. She held her breath, listening for a voice, a hiss, anything to let her know if she should run, but nothing came. As she waited and watched, a strange melody rang throughout the hallway. It was slow and unnatural, not like any instrument Claire had heard before. Behind it was a rhythm, a pulse, like the blood slamming against her veins could be heard all around her. As she listened, as she watched darkness gather in front of her, she found herself dancing. Her hands went above her head and her hips swayed from side to side. She closed her eyes, suddenly unconcerned with the figure approaching her.

Outside the dream, Claire the dreamer watched Claire the dreamed, and she shouted at herself. She knew that Claire should not dance. Claire should run. Something was wrong with this figure, this hallway, this darkness, and this music. But Claire in the dream had no cares in the world. She swayed her hips, twisted her hands, bent her knees, and danced freely as the darkness moved towards her.

As Claire danced, she felt the warmth leave her body. The darkness wrapped around her and the light fled. She felt her clothing fall away from her body as though cut. Her heart beat faster, and the music in the hallway became louder. She danced faster, grinding her hips, pulsing her pelvis, giving herself away. She stuck out her hand, two fingers in front of her, and then felt all the warmth in the hallway, all the light, center on that point. Her fingers felt pressure building on them and then wetness. She held her fingers in place, feeling the pressure shift around them, the wetness building, but she kept dancing.

Darkness smothered her. She was frozen, practically shivering, but she kept dancing. She danced for the warmth she needed and the warmth pressing against her fingers. As she froze, her fingers burned. She felt the darkness pressing down on her, creeping up her body until it reached her shoulders, her neck. There it coalesced, pressing down on her right shoulder, pressing until it was biting, biting until it was stabbing.

It was as though the fire in her fingers was suddenly in her shoulder, as though there was darkness everywhere but a searing light coming out of two tiny wounds in her shoulder. Claire's eyes flew open from the pain, and she saw a glimpse of the dark figure before her. Her eyes were shadowed, her eyebrows thick, her hair long and curly. Her lips were colored purple, and her sharp green eyes looked through Claire entirely, through her skin to her veins. She looked sickly and hungry, but dangerous and feral. She smiled at Claire, showing two long and white fangs. She was beautiful and ancient. She was primal and unrelenting. She was captivating and death all at once.

She was Laura.

And then, she was gone. Each night Claire woke up touching the mark on her neck. It was the same spot from her dream, the same mark that appeared after the night at the club, her night with Laura, the dark goddess of her dreams.

Claire never gave credence to dreams before. They were fun. They were silly. They were adorably impossible in every way. That was their point, right? But then she had the same dream the next night, and the next night after that. Each night she dreamed of Laura. Each night she woke up rubbing the mark on her neck, where it met the shoulder.

Needless to say, Claire had a thousand questions for Laura when she arrived. Until then, she continued getting ready: cleaning, showering, shaving, drying, makeup, hair, and then wardrobe. She want with something classic: a short skirt, a white lace shirt over a white lace bra. She decided on a black thong for panties. She wanted to look sexy if Laura wanted to see her that way, but not slutty if Laura didn't think of her that way. To top it off, her favorite black thigh high leather boots. Those tipped the look into the dominatrix slutty side, but Claire couldn't help herself. She had legs for days; you show those babies off if you got 'em.

The apartment was clean. Her hair was down over her shoulders, wavy but not curly. Her makeup was done, simple with nothing dramatic in the eyes or lips, almost a nude look. She skipped dinner because she was too nervous to eat. She spent the last hour trying to sit still on the couch, but then getting up and pacing nervously around the room. She didn't know what she would say to Laura. What would she ask her? She needed to know what happened that night at the club. She needed details about the mark on her neck and how she got it. Maybe, if Laura didn't have any answers, she should tell her about her dream. Should she mention seeing Laura under the purple cloak? No. That was nonsense.

Her phone shook her out of the confusion. Laura was outside. Claire buzzed her in and continued her pacing, straightening out her skirt every ten seconds. There was a knock at the door, and Claire pounced to open it.

Laura was in the doorway, holding a brown paper bag in her arms and smiling wildly. "Brought frozen yogurt," she said, shaking the bag. "As a peace offering."

"I love it," said Claire, smiling despite herself and stepping aside so Laura could come in. Laura moved to the kitchen counter and put the bag down. She began taking the yogurt out, taking off lids, and stabbing the frozen goodness with plastic spoons.

"Why a peace offering?" asked Claire.

"Well," said Laura, handing the styrofoam cup to Claire. It was chocolate and strawberry, a delightful combination. "I felt bad for how our night out ended, and then for not calling before. Forgive me?"

"If it gets me yogurt every time, then yes. Forgiven indeed." They both smiled and dug in. Claire moved to the couch, and Laura followed. A silence fell on them. Claire didn't know what to say, where to begin. Instead of talking, she ate her frozen yogurt slowly and looked over Laura.

Her friend was not the dark goddess of her dream. The face was right, but everything else was wrong. Laura's hair was relatively short, barely going past her shoulders. It was a little curly, but not nearly as kinky as the woman in her dream. Laura's eyes were blue; the goddess's eyes were green. Laura wore black, thick-rimmed glasses; the goddess didn't. Laura's eyebrows were thin and plucked, not bushy like the woman in the cloak. Laura was short, not tall and intimidating. She was lithe and less curvaceous than the goddess as well. Claire tried to reason it out, tried to make exceptions and create explanations. Perhaps she was remembering the dream wrong? It was as though the woman in her dream had the face of Laura, the essence of Laura, but all the wrong features. She felt a wave of disappointment come over her as she watched her friend eat frozen yogurt, awkwardly smiling at her. Laura was goofy. She was shy. She was awkward. She was no primal huntress of the night. She wasn't darkness incarnate.

Laura was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants for crying out loud. She was quintessential innocence. She blushed if you mentioned the idea of humans having genitalia or the very notion of reproduction, let alone reproductive acts.

"What's wrong?" asked Laura. "Did I get the flavors wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"You have a furrowed brow." Laura pointed to Claire's brow with her spoon. "That says different."

"Well, it's just." Claire sighed. "It's just that I can't remember the night at the club. So, I have no idea what you're apologizing for." Claire pulled back her top at the neck, revealing her mark. "Unless it's this."

"Oooh," said Laura, leaning forward to inspect Claire's neck closer. "Is that a bite mark?"

"I think so."

"You got that the night of the club?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't remember what happened?" asked Laura.

"Not at all."

"Jeeze." Laura chewed on her lip, as though trying to find a way to explain something difficult or depressing. Claire's heart sank. Maybe whatever happened was much worse than she could have imagined.

"Well," said Laura. She stood up, walking away from the couch. "Jeeze, I have to come out twice," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"I told you about my job, but that doesn't really matter." Laura paced around the room. She put her frozen yogurt down on the countertop and went back to walking around the room, putting the back of her hand on her forehead. "Jeeze. This sucks."

"It was something you needed to apologize for?" asked Claire. Laura was scaring her. She wanted to grab her small friend by the shoulders and hold her still, but she was afraid Laura would retreat if she approached.

"Well, apologizing for doing all that and then going silent on you," said Laura.

"What did you tell me?"

"Shit," muttered Laura. Then, all in a burst, she turned and approached Claire. "I'm gay. That's what I told you. Jesus." Laura huffed, turned from Claire, and paced away. The back of her hand went back to her forehead, and she continued pacing around the room.

"You're gay?" asked Claire.

"Yes. There's a longer story, but telling it twice is like putting the tooth back in my mouth before ripping it out all over again."

"That's graphic," said Claire, smiling. "Is that all?"

"Is that all? Yes, that's quite everything," said Laura, getting hysterical. "Nothing too big or crazy, just gay Laura. Everything is fine except Laura is gay."

"You know I'm bi," said Claire. "Did you think I'd have a problem with it?"

"No, but it's fine if you're bi," said Laura, extending her hand in Claire's direction, as though presenting her to the world. "But me being gay is entirely different."