Whiter Shade of Pale

Abby made a quick scan for taxis but didn't see any, so she concentrated instead on hiding her discomfort. She wasn't used to chatting with lunatics. Well, not this kind, anyway. "All what?" she asked.

Geoff stood abruptly and pressed the change back into her palm. "Dalila kills people," he said flatly. "Here, you dropped this."

Abby burst into startled laughter. "She what?"

"She kills people. She killed one today. A woman walked into that apartment six hours ago, and she never left. I was out here the whole time, watching, and she never left. Dalila probably wanted to look good for you." He scrubbed at his forehead, grimacing. He looked completely exhausted. "It's the color, you see. That's why she became a model, so she could explain all the changes away as wigs, or make-up, or...what color was her hair?" he suddenly demanded.

"Dark brown," Abby answered, not quite sure why it mattered. She was having a little trouble following the thread of Geoff's delusions. Probably everyone did...well, everyone but Geoff.

She must have said something wrong, though, because his face fell again. "Not auburn?" he asked hopefully.

"No, it was much darker than that. Almost like mine." Abby twirled a strand between her fingers. "Well, mine before I had it frosted." She smiled absently to herself, remembering the mischievous expression on Dalila's face as she suggested it, right before--Abby's smile turned into a frown and she cut the thought off quickly. Better to deal with Crazy Geoff than to deal with that.

"Oh," Geoff said. He looked dismayed for a moment but recovered. "She must be saving her for later, then. I don't actually know how often she feeds. All the lore is wrong, you see. Everyone thinks it's about blood, but that's a corruption of the original concept; she steals...essence. They're not pale because they're bloodless. I'm a dermatologist. I know what that looks like. They're pale because she's stolen their vibrancy. Everything that makes them them."

Abby put one hand on her hip. She saw where this was going, and just because she could trace the thread of Geoff's delusion now, that didn't make it any less delusional. "So you're saying Dalila's a vampire," she frowned, no longer bothering to hide her irritation. Where were all the damn cabs, anyway? Maybe this lunatic had paid off the drivers before he accosted her. No, wait, now she was beginning to think like him.

Geoff was so caught up in the drama, though, that he didn't seem to notice her words. He just put his hand on her shoulder and said, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but...Dalila's a vamp--" He broke off as his ears finally caught up with his brain. He opened his mouth, blinked, closed his mouth, and opened it again. "Well, I suppose if you want to be completely technical about it; then, yes, Dalila is a vampire."

"Great." Abby reached out the hand with the change again. "Nice knowing you, Geoff, but I have to get going. It's a long walk back to my apartment."

"Wait!" He snatched her hand before she could withdraw it and gripped it tight in both of his. Then he gave her that look again, the one that had made her gasp. This time it just froze her in her tracks, but that was all he needed. "I had a patient once," Geoff said. "A beautiful woman with deep gold hair, green eyes, and just the very lightest sprinkling of chronic acne. Her name was Alice."

Abby had no reply to that, so she paused a moment longer.

"Alice was a caterer," Geoff continued, his voice growing softer and more earnest by the syllable. "She worked a lot of celebrity functions, and when she came to see me for her monthly treatments, she'd tell me about them. That's how I heard about Dalila." The hand holding Abby's began to tremble. "Alice was only too proud to brag about sleeping with a famous model. She thought it would shock me, but I was more surprised by the changes in her appearance. She'd lost all pigmentation practically overnight--not just her skin, but her hair, her eyes...she was drained. Literally and metaphorically drained." He sighed. "That was the last I ever saw of her."

Abby saw her chance. "I'm sorry," she murmured, extricating her fingers as gently as she could. "I can see how much you're hurting, Geoff, but really, it's time you talked to someone about it. Someone who specializes in helping people like you."

The doctor's face hardened. "I'm not crazy," he snapped. "Here, just let me show you--" He rummaged in a pocket, and Abby was suddenly frightened again. What if he had a weapon? She stepped back and prepared to run. But when Geoff's hand came out again, it held only a simple compact mirror, not much different from her own. "See?" he said, snapping it open and thrusting it into her face.

Abby sighed, then took a good, long look at herself. "Sorry, Geoff," she said, "but my reflection's still right there. I haven't turned into one of the undead."

Geoff shook his head in exasperation. "Of course you're not undead. But you're a lot closer to dead than you were when you went in there! Can't you see it, girl? Can't you see how much she's taken from you already? Your hair was black before!"

Abby eyed him coldly. By this point, she was right out of sympathy. "I told you I had it frosted."

"And your eyes?" he shot back. "Your skin? How did she lighten them, eh?"

Abby closed the compact. "My eyes have always been hazel, and my skin has always been pale for an Indian. There's a little English in my ancestry." She tossed the mirror back to Geoff, then raised her arm to signal a cab that had just rounded the corner. "Nice knowing you, Doctor Coen, but I really do have to be going."

She slipped into the taxi and slammed the door closed, almost on Geoff's hand. He pulled it back just in time, then banged a fist against the window. "Alice never touched a cigarette before she met Dalila," he called as the taxi began to accelerate. He chased after it, shouting louder as he fell behind. "Two weeks later, her house burned down! They said she was smoking in bed, but--" The cab sped up, and Geoff increased the pace of his story to match. "Alice is dead! You're next!"

Then the taxi rounded the corner, and Abby was free of him at last.

*****

Except that she wasn't. Abby might have escaped the physical Geoff, but his words stuck in her mind all night long. She thought about them during the argument with Carly, when her comment that "It was a draining shoot" touched off a nasty fight with startling speed. She thought about them during the icy silence that followed over dinner, and she thought about them while lying in bed and trying not to feel like she was alone. "Alice is dead. You're next."

It couldn't be true. Abby knew it deep in her heart; she saw it in the darkness of Dalila's eyes when they looked her over, that sense of owning something treasured. (Perhaps literally, Abby thought, remembering with guilty arousal the things Dalila had done with a leather choker and a length of cord.) Dalila wanted Abby to be hers forever, so she couldn't want her dead, could she? No. That wouldn't make sense.

With a sudden shock, Abby realized she was only arguing against the second half of Geoff's accusations. She hadn't questioned the idea that Dalila might be responsible for someone else's death. And now that she thought about it...Abby pictured those dark eyes again, the hints of cruelty around their edges when she smiled. It was easy for Abby to believe that Dalila wouldn't hurt her. It was a lot harder to convince herself that Dalila wasn't a murderer.

And a vampire? Was that just Geoff's crazy talk? She opened her eyes and studied her skin, barely visible in the darkened room. But it was visible. She could think of times when she and Carly had made love by moonlight, Abby's body invisible while Carly's practically glowed....Abby choked back a sob, the burden of guilt suddenly overwhelming. Heidi Klum hadn't tempted her, so why had Dalila? What was it about those eyes that made her go all weak inside and--Geoff's absurd claim came back to her yet again. "Dalila is a vampire." In the darkness, it didn't seem so crazy.

But darkness bled into morning, and Abby's mind still swirled with unanswerable questions and undeniable exhaustion. Her only consolation was that she knew now what she had to do, if she ever wanted enough peace of mind to sleep again: She had to go back to Dalila's place. She had get the answers she needed, and then she had to break up with the woman.

It took her almost an hour and a half to get back to SoHo, but Abby wasn't willing to wait for rush hour to end. She had to do this now.

The same operator was manning the elevator today, and he looked neither surprised nor curious to see her again so soon. He simply delivered her to the penthouse and the care of a stone-faced woman who led Abby down long, winding halls to a door she hadn't seen yesterday. Steam leaked through the crack between wood and floor, and Abby heard splashing sounds from within. "Uh uh," she whispered, mostly to herself, as the servant opened the door and ushered her into Dalila's powder room.

The model was lounging in a sunken tub large enough for three. She smiled coyly as Abby entered, then flicked a tuft of suds at her. "Well, now, Abby Desai. What an entirely unexpected surprise. A welcome surprise, but entirely unexpected."

She didn't have to wink as she said it. Abby knew, the moment she shuffled inside, that Dalila had fully expected her to return today. No, wait, that wasn't quite right. Abby's eyes met Dalila's, glittering through the steam as she watched her guest work the knots from her mind. Dalila had--Abby's mouth dropped open--Dalila had commanded her to return today. And she'd obeyed, all the while convinced that she'd made the decision on her own.

Dalila nodded as though she could read her victim's thoughts. And, hell, maybe she could. Abby wanted to run, but her legs seem to belong to someone else. She could neither feel them nor move them, not until Dalila crooked a finger at her. "Come closer, pet. I don't--" Dalila chuckled. "I don't bite."

Abby felt almost like a deer in headlights, except that headlights didn't pull. Her brain had been stunned into immobility, but her legs carried her steadily toward Dalila, and the throb between those legs kept time with her footsteps.

"Closer," Dalila whispered again, and Abby knelt without having to be told. She leaned out across the water towards Dalila, her loose hair dangling in the suds, and her eyes dropped naturally downward. Through a gap in the foam, she caught a glimpse of Dalila's pubic hair, so much darker than Abby's own hair, now. The sight forced a feeble realization into her brain: Dalila had stolen Abby's color, her vibrancy.

And she'd stolen Carly's too, Abby realized, her thoughts stirring sluggishly to life. But Dalila had only drained Carly to keep her from fighting for Abby, not because Dalila really wanted her. It was so clear, now that it was too late for Abby to make any use of the knowledge. Right from the start, Dalila had had only one prize in mind. She just needed to go through Carly to get to it. Abby tried to summon outrage at the thought that she'd been fought over like a trophy, but all she felt was dreamy passivity. If she was a trophy, she was one that already rested on Dalila's mantel. And Carly was--Carly was disappearing back into the fog. Gone. Meaningless. She belonged to another life.

Dalila lifted one hand from the water and reached toward Abby's lips. Abby could already imagine the taste of her skin, running with bathwater, but Dalila's fingers stopped just a fraction of an inch away. "You had something you wanted to talk to me about. Didn't you?"

Abby's eyes--her whole world--focused on those paling fingertips. She wondered how long it would take before the color faded completely, leaving them as ivory-white as when she'd first Dalila. Silence hung in the air between them, tangible as steam, and at last Abby had to speak just to break it. "I...I met a man," she said. "He told me...." Abruptly she trailed into silence, the words too bloated with strangeness to clear her throat.

Dalila didn't move her hand. Abby couldn't move her head. "He told you about me," her owner said; and the things she didn't say spoke volumes. "If I were to tell you it was all true, would that make any difference now?"

"...no." Abby's voice was half-whisper, half-sob. Her knees ached where they pressed against the porcelain, but she couldn't imagine standing anymore. Her clothes clung to her skin in the humid air, and she ached to tear them off.

"Because you want this." The bubbles were breaking up, revealing Dalila's body as slowly and enticingly as any strip-tease. "You want me. And that's all that matters now. Isn't that right, pet?"

"...yes." Abby knew that was the wrong answer; she knew that she only said it because Dalila's control was too strong to resist. But it didn't matter to her, not now. Not with those beautiful fingers still dripping with water, so close to her lips...

"Then prove it to me, pet." Dalila smiled triumphantly. "You know what to do."

For a moment, Abby remained frozen. Then even her helplessness collapsed in the face of Dalila's infinite strength, and she leaned in to nuzzle Dalila's hand with her mouth. Abby tasted the water as it trickled down her chin, and she imagined it leaving white streaks behind.

In those last few instants before thought vanished again, she knew with all her heart that it was all worth it, just to be owned by Dalila.

*****

The trophy that had once been a woman named Abby Desai stood at the window, staring out at the fading sun. She had no particular interest in the sight; she stood there because her Mistress had posed her there, and that was that. Her eyes wandered across the facade of the building opposite her, then down to the street below. Crowds of pedestrians milled along the sidewalk, skirting a few last remnants of snow.

One person, however, stood perfectly still. Abby felt her attention drawn to this woman, and she knew that it was her Mistress' doing, so she allowed her gaze to linger. The object of her attention was tall and angular, with long brown hair and an expression that might have been pinched if Abby could have seen it more clearly. Her eyes seemed to be focused on Dalila's penthouse, perhaps upon this very window.

The woman was Carly D'Antonio.

Abby studied her for a moment, idly wondering whether Carly could see her up here, idly wondering if Carly could recognize her. She thought that was unlikely, considering her new appearance. Her gaze shifted to her own reflection in the window, glimmering like a ghost against the fading sky. So pale, so perfect, so passive. Everything Mistress wished her to be. She nodded, very slightly, then turned away from the world outside. Dalila was here waiting for her. Nothing else mattered.

Her Mistress lounged on a divan, nude, her skin richly bronzed with Abby's hues. She beckoned her newest acquisition forward, and Abby settled to her knees beside her. "Just a few drops left," Dalila purred, brushing her fingertip along Abby's lips. "But they'll fade soon enough. It's time you had your own first drink." At that, she pouted slightly. "Pity it will change your flavor for me, but I've already had the best of that, anyway. And even an inferior vintage will have its charms, filtered through your beauty."

Abby only vaguely understood the words; her mind sorted out the commands from her Mistress and discarded the rest as irrelevant. She hungered for...something, the same thing that Mistress had taken from her...but she knew, deep in her winter-white heart, that it would never replace what she'd lost. Everything that once made her a free-willed human being had been absorbed by Dalila's touch, and now she was merely a vessel for her Mistress to drink from. Dalila would command her to feed, and she would do so--but only as a slave, refilling her wineskin just to offer it once more to her Mistress. Taking enough essence to free herself required willpower, and that was something Abby no longer possessed. It was a paradox that would enthrall her forever. How wonderful, Abby thought.

Then she heard the scraping sound.

Dalila must have heard it, too, but she must not think it important as she didn't turn to look. Abby wouldn't have seen anything, either, if she hadn't already been facing in that direction. But behind Mistress' hand she noticed another hand, much further away. It was outside one of the windows on that wall, fumbling for a way to open it. Abby watched bemusedly as the hand struggled, trying to find a way to unlock the catch from the outside. Eventually it dawned on her that this was something her Mistress would want to know about.

That was right around the time the hand gave up on the catch and decided to smash the window instead. Dalila turned at the sound of the breaking glass, even as Geoff's face and body joined his hand at the window. He unlatched it and pulled it upwards.

Mistress rolled languidly to face him, not bothering to conceal her nudity. "Ah, Doctor...Combs, was it?" Her dark eyes glittered merrily. "The fire escape is such an unwieldy way to make your way up four floors. You could have asked for me in the lobby."

"It's Coen," Geoff answered. His mouth was set in a thin, determined line, and he dropped a backpack on the floor beside him. "Besides, I hardly think your flunkies would have let me in. Not with a bag of vampire-killing supplies."

Dalila smirked. "Did you bring the holy water this time? Or the crucifix? Or perhaps another wooden stake, like you tried to use on Lucien?"

Geoff's eyes watered momentarily. "That would have worked if I hadn't gotten it wedged in between his ribs!" He pulled a piece of sharpened wood from his backpack, then reached for the hammer with his other hand. Unfortunately, it was half-buried under a pile of stakes and wouldn't come free easily. "This is the end for you!" he shouted as he struggled. "You won't take another..." His gaze turned to Abby, kneeling beside Dalila, and his face fell. "I'm too late, aren't I?"

"Yes," Dalila sighed, "and thank goodness for that! You know, Geoff, you were fairly amusing at first, but when you tried to snatch away the tastiest treat I'd found in the last seventy years, you went too far. Doctor Coen, I regret to inform you that you are no longer amusing. At all."

"Glad to hear it," Geoff snapped. He jerked once more at the hammer and this time it sprang free. Stakes rattled across the floor.

Abby felt the tiniest twinge of worry, but it faded when she remembered that Dalila was infallible. Sure enough, Mistress laid a hand on Abby's shoulder and said, "Darling, be a good little pet and step between me and my guest." Abby obeyed, but not quite blindly, because Dalila wanted her to notice the anguished indecision on Geoff's face.

"There now, Dr. Coen," Mistress purred. "Let's see how effective you are at not being amusing. Just how hardened a vampire killer are you? Hardened enough to go through poor little Ms. Desai to get to me?"

Geoff's face twisted, and he shifted his grip on the hammer and stake. "I'll do what I have to," he husked. "The girl's lost now, anyway. If I kill her, it just sets her free, right?"

"If you say so," Dalila chuckled. "Abby, dear, Dr. Coen intends to murder me. But you won't let him, will you?"

"No, Mistress," Abby murmured. This was the first time she'd spoken since Dalila took her, and she was thrilled to note that her voice was every bit as colorless as her skin.

"Good slave. Walk towards him, then. Slowly, unless he attacks. Then you may kill him."

Abby padded across the floorboards, barely hearing her own footfalls over Geoff's ragged gasps. He had begun to sweat, and she made a mental note to hold on tightly when she laid hands on him. Something moved in the corners of her vision, but all her attention was focused on Mistress's attacker, so she ignored the distraction. Such an obedient slave, she told herself, and smiled a little.