Bathroom Wall
By
Matt R.. Jones, Esq.

  *     *     * 

Part I: Creature of the Night

            Tulin stepped through the doors of the Gas ‘N Go and gave the mortals within a disdainful glance as he strode across the dirty tile floor.  They barely gave him a glance in return, which suited him just fine, because he could barely stand being in their presence, unless it was feeding time.  To him, they were nothing but noisy, filthy, obnoxious cattle which should’ve been kept in pens while his kind ran the world.  How they’d managed to survive for so long without destroying themselves was beyond him, and he longed for the day that things would change, when his kind could emerge from the shadows and claim their rightful place.  One of these days it would happen, and he hoped that he was around to see it, because he couldn’t wait to see the looks on the faces of the cattle whenever the revolution came.

            However, in the meantime, he contented himself with avoiding contact with mortals as much as possible, sticking to the clubs frequented by those like him and never straying outside during the daylight hours.  It wasn’t easy to avoid mortals in a city the size of Los Angeles, which crawled with them like a parasitic infestation, but he managed well enough . . . so long as they didn’t engage him directly, he was fine.  But there had been more than one occasion where a mortal’s mindless “how’s it goin’?” had lead to their demise.  After all, Tulin reasoned, if one wasn’t smart enough to leave a deathbringer well enough alone, they deserved what they got, the weak-minded fools.

            He kept his hands firmly in the pockets of his black leather duster, kept his eyes aimed straight ahead as he moved through the gas station, ignoring the slack-jawed youth manning the counter and the other grimy specimens of humanity milling around looking at magazines and the prepackaged garbage mortals called snacks.  Nobody paid him any mind, since in Los Angeles, thin young men with long black hair and dressed all in black never drew much attention; they were just part of the landscape, which aided him in his concealment.  The mortals’ lack of attention would someday be their downfall.

            Conveniently, the male bathroom was unoccupied, and Tulin slipped inside and moved swiftly, hoping to avoid any unwanted visitors while he took care of business.  Safely under the cold glow of the bathroom’s fluorescent lights, Tulin examined his hands, which were thickly encrusted with dried blood.  He grinned as he looked at the bits of torn flesh under his long, sharp nails: that last one had put up quite a fight.  Didn’t matter, he got her in the end, and he’d taken what he wanted.  He leaned forward and peered at his face in the cracked and dirty mirror, giving himself a fanged grin when he saw that he didn’t have any splashes of dried blood on his face.  He’d gotten to be quite the expert when it came to feeding neatly, and what little he did get on his face he was easily wiped away on his black shirt sleeves.  Nice and neat.  Then he chuckled as he glanced down at his hands.  Well, for the most part.  Nobody was totally perfect, even a vampire.

            He twisted the grubby knobs of the rusty faucet and ran his hands under the lukewarm water, using a little of the chemical-smelling soap to scrub the blood from his hands, making sure he didn’t miss any.  He’d just dropped off the body of his latest meal in an old mine shaft scarcely an hour ago, and after spotting several police cars on the ride back into town, he’d decided it was best to clear up any obvious evidence of wrongdoing, just in case.  Any blood he’d gotten on his clothing was easily concealable since he wore all black, but dried blood on the pale skin of his hands was a bit more suspicious.  He probably should have just licked it off his hands when it was still liquid, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him when he was still in his dreamy post-feeding euphoria.  He mildly scolded himself . . . he needed force himself to remember details like this to save himself trouble in the future.

            After he’d thoroughly washed his hands, pulling up his sleeves to make sure he’d gotten his wrists and forearms clean, he shut the faucet off and wiped his hands dry on his pant legs because the towels looked far too dirty to be touched, much less used.  He started towards the bathroom door, putting his hands back in his pockets, and then he stopped when he felt something cylindrical in one of them.  Frowning in curiosity, he pulled out the object, and then laughed aloud when he saw that it was one of his victim’s fingers!  Now how did that get in there?  He couldn’t totally remember every detail of his feeding, as he’d slipped into the hazy, frenzied bloodlust that always descended when he was killing a filthy mortal, so he wasn’t exactly sure.

Fortunately, all the blood had already drained out of the slender finger, so there was no need to clean up his hands again.  He glanced around the bathroom and found that the big wastebasket was already filled to the brim and then some, so if he wanted to dispose of the finger there, he’d have to bury it amongst the rest of the litter, which didn’t appeal to him at all.  Then he glanced over at the two stalls lining the back wall of the bathroom, his face twisting in disgust at the thought of being inside a gas station bathroom stall, but then he shrugged: beggars couldn’t be choosers, now could they?  Better he have to step inside a bathroom stall than get caught with a severed finger in his pocket, which would open up an entire can of unwanted trouble.  People always got themselves into trouble because they weren’t careful, and he had to try to be as careful as possible, seeing as how the cattle had quite a few laws against the butchering of themselves.  If only they knew what he liked to do in his spare time . . .

He strode over to the stalls, hesitating as he peered into each of them, trying to decide which one was the least noxious.  After a few moments he decided for the right one, as it looked the least offensive, and he stepped in, dropped the finger in the cracked toilet bowl, then lifted up his boot to hit the flush handle.  He’d just washed his hands, and he certainly didn’t want to get either of them dirty again!  Tulin watched the finger swirl around inside the dirty bowl for several seconds before it disappeared into the depths, and he smiled; somehow it seemed symbolic of mortals and their lives in general.

Turning around to exit the stall, he noticed something that actually interested him amongst the misspelled graffiti and poorly-rendered sexual organs scrawled on the stall walls, and he leaned forward to get a better look.  In a decidedly feminine script, it read, “For a good time, call Cassandra P!  Dial 281-7668!”  Tulin smiled.  Well, well, well, it looked as though somebody was already volunteering to be his next victim, right after he’d gotten done with the last one.  He loved it when things flowed together so seamlessly.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his duster, he pulled out a little black leatherbound address book, opened it up, and then carefully copied down the name and number into a blank entry.  He then put a bold checkmark next to the name of Alicia Krenkan, the entry above the new one, as Miss Krenkan had just recently departed this plane of existence.  After double-checking to make sure he got the new name and number correct, he closed the book with a practiced flourish and slipped it back into his coat.

Just as he stepped out of the stall, a big farmer-type wandered into the bathroom, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, and Tulin took that as his cue to depart.  He didn’t spare the man a glance as he glided out the door and quickly exited the entire sorry gas station, leaving it behind for the cattle to play in.

*     *     *

            The next evening, in the dark confines of the basement of the abandoned house by the beach he called his home, Tulin awoke shortly before sundown and pushed the lid of his coffin aside and sat up, feeling refreshed after a good day’s sleep.  He climbed out of the coffin, which rested in alcove towards the back of the basement, replaced the lid, and immediately lit a clove cigarette.  He then turned on the little portable stereo he’d stolen from a previous victim, letting the music of Flock of Seagulls fill the dank basement.  He smiled.  They always managed to fit his mood perfectly.  He stepped over to the threadbare old couch that he’d found in the basement when he and Valek had claimed the house for their own and sat down, letting himself get fully awake before he set about putting the evening in motion.

            He glanced over to the corner of the basement, not far from his coffin, and saw the remains of the puppy he’d been “playing” with last night, before he’d gone to rest for the day.  It hadn’t been able to keep him entertained for very long, as it hadn’t been able to withstand his kind of play for any real length of time, but it had served to give him a nice pre-rest snack to follow up the meal of blood and suffering he’d had earlier.  He made a mental note to himself to go out and find a couple more at either an animal shelter or somewhere else cheap; Valek had introduced him to the practice of using small creatures to obtain emotional sustenance, and he found that it nicely supplemented what he got from mortals.  Not to mention the fact that it enabled him to get a fix much more easily than he could have from a mortal . . . after all, who noticed if puppies, kittens, and similar animals kept disappearing from the streets and animal shelters?  Plus he found their agony, reduced to its most primal form, to be most exquisite and delightfully raw.

            He heard footsteps, then glanced over and saw Valek emerging from his chamber on the other side of the basement, his eyes easily picking out the details of his friend in the dusty shadows.  His tall willowy comrade was clad in his ever-present black cloak, and his long blond hair was perfectly in place, as always, and he smiled at Tulin, who nodded in greeting.  Valek was the one responsible for turning him into a creature of the night, and he always felt a particular fondness for the other vampire, or at least as much affection as a vampire was capable of feeling.  “How did it go last night, my friend?” asked Valek in his honey-smooth voice.

            “Quite well,” replied Tulin, “I made the acquaintance of Miss Krenkan and made a fine meal of her afterwards.”

            “I trust you disposed of the body in a seemly manner?” asked Valek, moving over to the massive antique chair that only he sat in, even when there were gatherings of their kind here.  The elder vampire seemed to be perpetually quizzing him on his methods and doings, but seeing as how he was trying to ensure that Tulin grow to be a proper vampire, it was understandable.

            “Yes, outside of the city, safe from investigating eyes.  I doubt she’ll be found for quite some time, if ever.”

            “Excellent.  And if she ever is discovered, the likelihood of the deed ever being connected to you is nil . . . such are the advantages of living in such a large city, where the cattle are ever struggling amongst themselves and constantly killing each other.  It makes things so much easier for our kind,” said Valek, looking satisfied, as he often did.  “Any new prospects?”

            “As a matter of fact, yes.  I found a number on a bathroom wall last night, and I think I might just give it a call.”  Valek laughed.

            “I wish you luck, my friend,” said the elder vampire.  “Such prospects are always amusing.  It never fails to entertain me how willing mortals are to expose themselves to danger all in their neverending quest for sexual satisfaction.  All I can say is that if they draw the attention of one of us because of their foolishness, it serves them right.”

            Tulin chuckled in agreement.  “Indeed.”  He glanced over at the waning glow behind the tarped-over windows and shrugged.  “Well, no time like the present, eh?”

            “You speak truly, my friend,” said Valek with a knowing smile.

            As Tulin got up off the couch and headed for the stairs leading out of the basement, Valek called out, “Umolo, Festik, and Hilus will be over for a visit tonight, so you might not stay out too long.  Samhain is fast approaching, and we’ll be trying to determine the best sort of sacrifice for this year’s ceremony.  As a fledgling, you might find the process very interesting, as well as gaining experience so that you may take part in future considerations.”

            Tulin respectfully bowed his head to the elder vampire and said, “In that case, I shall endeavor to return swiftly.  I certainly wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

            Valek nodded.  “I didn’t think you would.  Now, off with you, my young friend.  Happy hunting!”

            With a final bow of respect, Tulin swiftly moved up the stairs and headed out into the warm California night.

*     *     *

            “Hello?” answered a saucy voice after several rings, and a little thrill ran through Tulin’s body, as it always did the first time he heard the voice of one he knew was going to be a victim.

            “Is this Miss Cassandra P?” he asked in his smoothest, most seductive voice, using his inherent vampiric charm to its utmost.

            “Hmm, why yes it is,” said the feminine voice, which had just a hint of an accent he couldn’t immediately identify.  “What can I do you for . . . er, do for you?”

            He nearly had to stifle a laugh.  This was going to be easy.  “I came across a bit of information that if I were seeking a good time, I should call you.”

            There was a giggle, and then she asked, “Are you calling numbers from bathroom walls?”

            “Well, I figure that it wouldn’t have been written if it wasn’t meant to be used.”

            Another giggle.  “Hmm, you’re a sharp one, aren’t you?”

            “I try my best.”

            “Mmm, my kind of man,” said the voice, the level of sultriness kicking up a notch.  “And were you hoping to maybe, ummm . . . try your ‘best’ on ‘lil ‘ol me?”

            “If it’s agreeable with you, it’s certainly agreeable with me,” said Tulin, laying on another level of his own charm.

            “Don’t you know what they say about women whose names are written on bathroom walls?” Cassandra P teasingly asked.

            “That’s why I called.”

            There was laughter this time, and she exclaimed, “I think I like you!  And I think I might like a little bit of company tonight, too, seeing as how I’m all alone at home with nobody to keep me entertained.”

            “And is that an invitation?”

            “Would you like it to be?”

            “What do you think?”

            More laughter.  “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.  Want to come over and give Cassandra P a memorable night?”

            Tulin let go with a carefully calculated laugh.  “And may I ask what the P stands for?”

            “What do you think?”

            Another calculated laugh.  “Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?”

            “My mouth tends to be pretty clever, yes.  I’d be happy to show you . . .”

            “Tell me where I need to be to find out, and I might just make an appearance.”

            A few moments later, Tulin was writing the address of Miss Cassandra P down in his leatherbound address book underneath her number, and after she was done giving her location, she said, “Don’t keep me waiting too long . . . my fingers tend to do a lot of walking, and you wouldn’t want them to take care of things before you got here, would you?”

            “Not at all.  I’ll be there soon, rest assured, and you’ll have a night unlike any other.”

            “I hope so, baby,” she said, and then hung up.

            Tulin hung up the payphone located behind the Holy Hot Dogs! shack, down along the beach not far from his and Valek’s house, and looked at the address he’d written down.  He memorized it and mentally figured out where it was relative to his current location, and was pleased to discover that it wasn’t very far away.

            He turned and walked away from the payphone, heading down the sidewalk that ran along the length of the vendor district next to the beach, which was still lively after sundown . . . in some ways even livelier than it was during the day.  The crowded sidewalks were full of people of all shapes, sizes, and descriptions, giving the highly-religious clerks of Holy Hot Dogs! plenty to glare at.  Tulin stifled a laugh, a genuine one this time, at them and their folly of opening a Christian-themed hot dog stand on a stretch of tremendously sinful real estate in a tremendously sinful city.  They had no idea how paper-thin their pitiful beliefs were, and how easily their convictions could be shattered by one such as he, a member of a race of fallen angels damned to a beautifully miserable existence.

            He smiled sardonically at the middle-aged couple running the hot dog stand, smiling as widely as he could without revealing his fangs, and they gave him matching looks of disapproval.  But they quickly moved their attentions to one they found more noxious than him: a tall woman with long black hair that was clad in nothing but a chain-mail bikini, roller skates, and a live boa constrictor, which was contentedly draped around her shoulders.  Typical mortals . . . focusing on meaningless fluff while never really noticing the true threat.  That’s why they were nothing but cattle: while they were busy staring at Amazons on roller skates, his kind was creeping up behind them with fangs bared and ready.

            Paying the clerks of Holy Hot Dogs! no more mind, Tulin easily threaded his way through the throngs of unintelligent mortals, heading towards his car, practically salivating in anticipation of the feast he was to have.  From the sounds of her, this Cassandra P was going to be a pretty fetching catch, and she sounded as though she was quite the tramp at that; he always enjoyed that particular sort.  He greatly enjoyed obliterating their assumptions that they could get anything they wanted simply because of their looks and how easy they were.  The look in their eyes when they realized that he was fully in control of their fate was always tremendous; in a way, feeding from them emotionally was even better than actually drinking their blood.  He couldn’t wait to show Miss Cassandra P how dangerous it was to leave one’s name written on a bathroom wall.

            He unlocked and climbed into his car, giving the legions of cattle roaming the sidewalk unattended no further thought.  They simply weren’t worth it.

*     *     *

            He arrived in Cassandra P’s neighborhood shortly afterwards, parking his aging Ford about a block away from the address he’d been given, exercising the caution that Valek had instilled in him.  It wasn’t much of a neighborhood to speak of, but then again, most of the neighborhoods his victims lived in weren’t, so he wasn’t surprised.  It was a standard lower-class neighborhood: one-story houses with overgrown lawns strewn with toys, car parts, and various other bits of domestic debris, unremarkable in every way.  Tulin walked along the cracked and uneven sidewalk, checking house numbers, looking for number 78, where his quarry awaited.

            The moon shone down overhead, bathing the neighborhood with its cold silvery light, making it look a lot less trashy than it would have in bright sunlight.  He shuddered at the thought of sunlight and kept moving, his eyes open for any potential problems, which were to be expected when one was walking anywhere in L.A. at night.  But apparently everybody was either busy with other pursuits or otherwise conked out in an alcoholic stupor.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle an unwanted mortal troublemaker, but he tried to keep his interactions with mortals as minimal as possible, and dealing with an unwashed scumbag wasn’t high on his list of priorities.  Then again, for all he knew, Cassandra P was an unwashed scumbag; after all, he’d gotten her number from a bathroom wall.  It didn’t much matter, though; it wasn’t like he was actually going to get intimate with her.  At least not intimate in the way that she was expecting.

            After passing by a number of mortal ratholes, he finally spied house number 78, and made a turn onto its crooked concrete walk, heading towards the tired-looking two-story with peeling blue paint and sagging front porch.  He cautiously went up the steps, treading lightly, as it looked like the porch and its roof were ready to collapse inward like a rotten wooden mouth at any moment.

But beyond a few creaks and grumbles, the porch held, and he used the rusty door-knocker, which looked like a possum’s head, of all things.  He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for Cassandra P to answer, and after a few moments, the voice from the phone called out, “Come on in . . . I’m not decent enough to answer the door!”  She wasn’t going to be decent enough to do much of anything here before long, if Tulin had his way.

            He twisted the rusty doorknob and pushed the cracked windowless wooden door open, and stepped into a dark hallway that, fortunately, smelled strongly of cinnamon.  At the very least, his sensitive nose wasn’t going to be assaulted with the fetid smells of squalid mortal dwelling.  He got so tired of that, even if it was part of the process of getting a good meal.  There were times he wished that all of his kind could just round all the mortal cattle up and keep them in pens, forcing them to keep clean and healthy.  Someday, perhaps . . .

            As he shut the door, he saw a living room down the hall ahead of him, washed with a pinkish-red light, and he heard white trash rock ‘n roll playing on the stereo, which fit the tacky surroundings perfectly.  There were cheap beaded curtains hanging from the doorways he could see and rock posters adorning the faded wallpaper, and there was even a bust of Elvis sitting on a little end-table a short distance from the door.  “And where might you be, oh indecent one?” he called out, practiced joviality in his voice, sounding like a jaunty would-be suitor instead of a cold-blooded creature of the night.

            A feminine face, framed with long curly dark hair, peered around the corner and grinned brightly at him as a long-nailed hand reached out and moved the beaded curtain aside.  “Oh, right about here,” she said, then openly looked him up and down, her grin getting larger.  “Hey, you’re actually cute!”

            Tulin started to walk down the hallway towards her, his smile disarming.  “I try my best . . . and I could say the same thing for you.”

            “Thanks, babe!” she said, batting her exotic-looking eyes at him.  “Nice to have somebody besides fat trucker slobs showing up . . . I get a good number of those.  But every now and again, I get someone really nice . . .”

            “Once again, I could say the same thing to you.”  He was quickly closing the distance between them, trying hard not to rush into things too swiftly; he could practically smell her blood, and it was driving him wild.  The edges of his vision, along with his thoughts, began to get hazy as the bloodlust surged through him, filling his veins with a wonderfully hot and insistent fire.

            Cassandra P giggled, and instead of giving him a verbal thank-you, she stepped out from behind the side of the doorway, revealing a body with soft, lush curves that were tightly encased in a white see-thru bra and panties set.  She twirled once like a dancer, showing off a healthy, delightful form that bore absolutely no resemblance to the skinny junkies and overstuffed couch potatoes that usually made up his meals.  It seemed almost a shame to have to mar such a fine specimen of mortal physique, especially as he didn’t often encounter ones like her, but a meal was a meal, and one couldn’t allow a mortal to swoon them with either looks or personality.  Affection and love were for the living, not the undead.

Besides, Tulin thought as his pulse continued to quicken, there was a certain strong attraction to the idea of laying ruin to one as beautiful as this Cassandra P.  It was very godlike in its own way, as a matter of fact.  The thought of splattering her white lingerie with her scarlet blood while she shrieked in agonized horror was enough to push him over the edge, and with a snarl, he bared his fangs and rushed at her.  The look of surprise on her face was one that he wished he could frame forever . . .

Part II: Vampires 

            . . . Though it was nothing compared to the look of shock on his face when her hand shot out and grabbed his throat with a grip like steel.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” she snapped, holding him in place as easily as he would have a toddler.

            He gasped as he clawed at her wrist with his hands, trying to force her to let go, but he may as well have been trying to move a statue.  Though her flesh was soft and warm to the touch, she may as well have had iron for bones, because there was no budging her whatsoever.  The bloodlust in his eyes was now tinged with anger, as well as a growing panic as he discovered that he wasn’t going anywhere unless she wanted him to, and he certainly didn’t look like a happy guy.

Though she was a half-vampire, and not possessing the sheer strength of a full-blooded vampire, Donita, AKA Cassandra P, had several centuries under her belt, and she was no pushover, especially to mortals.  She frowned as she eyed him curiously, raising a fine dark eyebrow at his fangs, then she shook her head and chuckled.  “Oh brother.”

She started to turn her head, and then focused her attention back on him again when he delivered a sharp kick to her knee with one of his booted feet.  Tulin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when she increased the pressure on his throat and lifted him up off the floor about an inch or so, and then they narrowed slightly in rage when she waggled a finger in front of his face and made tsk-tsk sounds.  “No, no, bad boy!  No kicking!”  Donita reached out and flicked him on the end of the nose like she would have a disobedient child, and then laughed at the growling sounds he made as he continued to ineffectively attack her wrist.

While her would-be suitor tried to figure a way out of his predicament, the half-vampire turned her head and called out, “Hey, kitty-Katheryne!  Put that translator doohickey down and come here and look at this goofball!  I got me a funny one this time!”

After a few moments, Katheryne’s slender form stepped through the beaded curtain separating the living room from the adjoining room, her shoulder-length blue-streaked blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail, as it always was when she was working on a project.  Her soft features shifted in curiosity, and then mirth as she absorbed the sight of her lover holding her guest by the neck.  Dressed in blue jeans and a grey tanktop, she slid up next to Donita and put an arm around her waist, then asked, “It’s  a little early for Halloween, isn’t it?”  She nodded to Tulin, “Nice teeth.”  Leaning over and nuzzling at Donita’s neck, she murmured, “Changing gears?  I thought you were going to play with this one a bit if he was good-looking . . . probably the best-looking one you’ve gotten in over a month.”

“Yeah, there was that,” said the brunette, nuzzling Katheryne back while effortlessly holding Tulin aloft.  “But just as I was starting to get fired up, this little peckerhead rushed me, and I don’t think he had very amorous intentions.  Or if they were amorous intentions, they weren’t the kind I’m looking for.  If I wanted that, I’d go waste my time in one of those dumb S&M clubs downtown.”  She turned her attention back towards Tulin and reached out with a finger and tapped at one of his fangs, drawing her finger back at blinding speed when he tried to bite her.  “Easy there, killer!” she laughed, enjoying teasing her guest, whose face was now a deep shade of red.  “So where’d you get ‘em?  Did you save up your cereal box tops and send away for ‘em?”

“Gckak!” was all he could get out.

“Say what?”

“Gckak!”

“Oh, come on!  I know people don’t speak English very well these days, but surely you can come up with better than that!”

Katheryne kissed Donita on the cheek and said, “You’re terrible.”

“Well, can you blame me?  Here I am, all hoping that maybe I’d gotten myself a nice catch, and when he shows up, he’s actually cute, and just when I’m getting ready for a good time, he comes after me like a dog goes after a steak!” groused the brunette, sounding sulky.

“What do expect?  It’s not like the cream of the crop calls up numbers written on bathroom walls . . .”

“I wasn’t expecting the cream of the crop, dammit . . . but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him to charge me!” protested the brunette, not noticing that Tulin was subtly digging around in one of his pockets.

Just as she started to make another snide remark, he whipped out a straight razor and slashed away at Donita’s arm, opening up her dusky skin in several places, causing her bright red blood to spurt from the wounds.  Her grip on his throat lessened slightly, but before he could struggle free, something flung him across the room and slammed him up against the wall, knocking loose a shower of plaster that rained down on his head.  Tulin was barely able to get any air back in his lungs, as the grip on his throat returned much worse than before, accompanied by a sharp crackling sound close to his face.  When he opened his eyes again, he saw that now Katheryne had hold of him, pinning him down against the wall, her eyes blazing with fury and her clenched fist just inches from his face . . . and it looked like electricity was surging all over it.

The blonde said nothing as she held Tulin in place, though the expression of rage on her face and the unnatural way her eyes glowed a brilliant blue said it all.  His straight razor lost in his unexpected flight across the room, he weakly clawed at her wrist, desperately trying to get some air.  But it did him no good, and Katheryne kept increasing the pressure on his throat.  She hissed at him, sounding like a giant cat, and Tulin started to make gurgling screeching sounds when her canines suddenly extended into full-fledged fangs.  But pounding on her wrist had absolutely no effect, and in fact seemed to only make her angrier, as she kept bearing down on him, cutting off his air supply completely.

As his face started to turn purple, Donita moved up behind Katheryne and tugged on her shoulder.  “Easy, lover, easy!  Don’t kill him just yet!”

“He hurt you,” growled Katheryne, her formerly-soft voice sharp with hatred.  “I’m going to hurt him.”

“It’s just a couple flesh wounds, I can heal that kind of thing in no time flat!  It’s nothing, babe!” exclaimed Donita, tugging more insistently as Tulin’s struggles began to get feebler.

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“C’mon, it was my cell phone he called, so he’s my catch!”

“He hurt you,” repeated Katheryne harshly.

“Kitty-Katheryne . . .”

“Ohhhhhh . . . all right,” growled Katheryne, then reached out clamped her crackling hand down on Tulin’s shoulder, giving him a high-voltage charge that shot through his entire body and sent him into convulsions for nearly a minute.  While he was shaking, Katheryne stood back up and glared down at him, while Donita shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“You’re so vindictive sometimes, you know?”

“Serves him right,” the blonde snorted, then took Donita’s hand and looked her arm over.  “Your poor arm . . .” she said, and then started to gently lick the blood from the slash-marks on Donita’s flesh, cleaning the wounds and helping them heal.

The brunette affectionately patted her lover on the cheek and said, “Thanks.”  Then she glanced down at Tulin, who’d stopped trembling and was laying on his side on the floor, gasping raggedly, barely moving.  “Now what shall we do with him?”

“I know what I want to do with him,” replied the blonde, giving Tulin a withering glare, her eyes still softly glowing.

“I know, baby, I know,” said Donita, wrapping her arms around Katheryne’s waist and pressing close to her.  “But I’d like to get some blood for my trouble, and I don’t fancy sucking ash from a charred corpse, which is exactly how he’d be if you had your druthers.”

“Maybe not.”

She kissed Katheryne on the cheek and said, “Probably so.  I know how your pretty little mind works too well.”

“Wellllll . . . maybe.”

Donita laughed, a high and sprightly sound.

“You . . . you’re vampires, like me!” hacked Tulin, holding his aching throat with a hand as he tried to work his way onto his knees.

“Not like you,” hissed Katheryne, “Not at all.”

“Yeah,” agreed Donita, dropping down into a crouch, and then reaching out with her hand to yank on one of his fangs.  It came free in Donita’s fingers, leaving behind a normal-sized canine, and she clucked her tongue as she looked it over. “Not glued very well . . . they usually stick a little better than that.  Not bad quality, though . . . feels like porcelain to me.”  Tulin’s hand went to his mouth, and his skin flushed bright red in humiliation.  “So’d you get fitted for these at the dentist’s, or did you go to one of those goth shops here in town?” Donita asked matter-of-factly.

Tulin looked as though he were about to cry.  Donita flipped the fang back to him, and he barely managed to catch it.  “Mine are better,” said the half-vampire, extending her fangs and giving him a toothy grin.  “Then again, I came by mine naturally.”

Drawing himself up, Tulin said, “I’m strega, not enkidu, so mine didn’t grow.”

“Oh, good grief . . .” muttered Katheryne, shaking her head.

“Say what?” asked Donita, quizzically looking back and forth between the two.

“He’s been reading way too many Nancy Collins books and then mixing it up with his own warped little imagination,” explained Katheryne.  “I’m guessing he thinks he got turned into a vampire through a ceremony instead of by someone like us.”

“You just don’t understand,” growled Tulin, still rubbing at his throat.

“No, you don’t understand, fuckwad!” snapped Donita, jabbing a finger in Tulin’s direction.  “You know what?  You were gonna get laid tonight, buddy-boy!  I was gonna fuck you like you wouldn’t believe, and I guarantee, with almost four centuries to my name, I’ve got experience in doing things that’d blow your fucking mind!  I could fuck you better than any woman you’ve ever been with, though from the looks of it, you haven’t been with too terribly many!  But then you had to go play Dracula and ruin it, didn’t you?  When you called, I told myself that this time, if the guy I’d snagged was cute, I was just gonna give him a good fucking, take a few pints, and then let him go on his merry way.  I usually just jump ‘em when they come in the door and that’s the end of it, but I was feeling magnanimous tonight since I was actually really horny for a guy instead of a girl, but you blew it.  You just screwed up the opportunity for the best fuck of your life!  And I’m damned good, let me tell you!”

“Now she’s mad and horny,” said Katheryne smugly, giving Tulin a fanged grin.  “And I just don’t like you.  So you’re in a lot of trouble.”

“Wait!” screamed Tulin, dropping the loose fang and holding up his hands in protest.  “We shouldn’t be fighting like this!”

Donita put her hands on her shapely hips and asked, “And why not?  As I recall, you charged me, and then cut up my arm.  Not to sound more like a child than I usually do, but you started it.”

He bowed his head low in a gesture of apology and said, “I beg your forgiveness for that.  I didn’t realize that you were one of us, otherwise I wouldn’t have reacted so rashly.”

Katheryne and Donita turned and looked at one another for several moments, and then broke out in laughter.  “’One of us?’  What is this, Freaks?” asked Donita scornfully.  “No, no, no, my ignorant little dipshit, you’re not one of us, and you never will be.  You’re way too stupid for all of that.  What you are is a snack, nothing more, nothing less.”  She glanced over to Katheryne.  “Wanna split him?”

“Definitely.”  Tulin’s face went deathly pale as he gaped at them.

“Paper-rock-scissors for first blood?”

“I want first.”

“But he’s my catch.”

“He shouldn’t have cut you.  I want to chomp him first.”

“But It was nothing!  They’ll be all healed up by tomorrow anyway!” Donita said, holding up her arm, which was now free of blood and only had the red lines of the cuts to show that Tulin had done any damage at all.

“I hold heavy grudges where you’re concerned.”

At that, Donita’s features softened and she gave Katheryne a hug.  “I know, baby.”  After giving the blonde a kiss on the cheek, she said, “You get first.”

“No!  This is ridiculous!  No matter what you may think, we are alike, you and I!  All of us!” Tulin said frantically, holding up his hands as if to ward the two women off.  “I regret my actions, I truly do; I’m only a fledgling, I’m still learning!  If you could speak to my elders, I’m sure they could clear things up!”

The duo looked at one another again, this time raising their eyebrows.  “Elders?” asked Donita.  “Got some geriatric goofs with fanged dentures telling you what to do?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Tulin, calming down a little bit.  “Valek and some of the others have been vampires for a long time now, for years, and they know a great deal more than I do.  I’m sure that if you spoke with them, an agreement could be reached.  As a matter of fact, I’m certain that you could teach us a great deal, and if it’s worship you seek, we can accommodate.  We give sacrifices to the blood-gods on the solstices and other special times.”

Both half-vampires laughed at him again.  “Blood-gods?  What comic books have you been reading?” asked Donita.  “And what kind of sacrifices?  You guys burn copies of Anne Rice books or your collections of Purgatori comics?”

“I’m serious,” he replied.  “Nothing childish like that at all.  We use real sacrifices, like animals and mortals we’ve caught.”

The mirth went out of the half-vampires’ faces and they got deadly silent as they looked at Tulin, their stares turning into harsh glares.  “Animals?” asked Donita sharply.

“Mortals?” snapped Katheryne.

“Of-of course,” stammered Tulin, “The blood-gods demand real blood sacrifices, and suffering along with the blood, so we have to administer the proper torment to our sacrifices as well.  It’s not an easy duty, and only the truly skillful may see to it.  I’m still in the process of learning, and I practice a great deal to properly learn the craft.”

“On what?” asked Donita dangerously, taking a step closer.

Katheryne mirrored her a second later, and her eyes began to glow blue again.

Sensing that he was treading on dangerous ground, Tulin started to back away and said, “I-I’m not going to say any more.  I’m not going to betray my coven.”

Donita looked at Katheryne.  “You want to?  I know you’re not usually down with that kind of thing . . .”

The blonde nodded.  “This time I’ll make an exception.  I really, really don’t like him.”

“Who’d’ve thought someone so sweet could be so ruthless?” cooed Donita, giving Katheryne an affectionate pat on the ass.

“He shouldn’t have fucked with you,” said Katheryne, and before Tulin could react, her arm shot out and snagged him, pulling him close to her in what looked almost like a lover’s embrace.  But there was no love in this embrace, and Tulin let out a little shriek as her ivory fangs slid through the flesh of his neck and let his hot blood loose in her mouth.  But his cries and struggling ceased almost as soon as they began; Katheryne’s experienced mind brushed up against his and threw him into a helpless rapture.  A stronger mind could have resisted, making Katheryne work harder for her meal, but Tulin was a weak sort, a follower, not a leader.  One such as Katheryne could see into his mind as easily as she would read a circuit diagram.  And she didn’t like what she saw, not at all.

After a few minutes of feeding, in which Donita quietly watched, Katheryne flung Tulin to the floor and wiped any stray blood from her lips with the back of her hand, shaking her head as she mentally separated herself from him.  “Stupid, deluded, hateful, sadistic, childish, idiot,” she snarled as she glared down at him.  She then looked at Donita and said, “He’s a serial killer . . . most of them are.  And they torture their victims . . . among other things.  Beasts would be too good a word for them.  I know where they’re at . . . Valek’s having a gathering at the house with Umolo, Festik, and Hilus tonight, as a matter of fact.  Getting ready for Samhain, trying to figure out what they should use as a proper sacrifice.”  She spat out the last word with venom uncharacteristic of her usual gentle manner.

Trembling like a leaf in a windstorm, Tulin put his hand to his wounded neck (Katheryne hadn’t bothered closing up the punctures), and gazed at the blonde in horror as he realized that she had simply taken the information she’d needed from his mind, and he’d been unable to do a thing about it.

Donita nodded, considering this, her expression dark, and then her face lit up as she considered something new.  “Four of ‘em, right?  Hmmm . . .  Why don’t we just give Mary and Pinkie a call, meet up with them, and then go on a little raid?  The two girls have never been in a situation with multiple victims before, so why don’t we teach ‘em some new tricks tonight?  I bet Pinkie especially would love it, since it’d be an opportunity to ruin the nights of several people at once . . . that little bitch’ll be all over it.”

Nodding in agreement, Katheryne said, “Something like that needs to be done.  There’s a lot of them running round, more than just the four I mentioned.  This idiot doesn’t know them all, but I bet Valek or one of the others does.”  She shook her head.  “It’s like a cult, almost.  Callous, hateful, and uncaring . . . the things they do . . . they’re monsters.”

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” said Donita, extending her fangs and moving towards Tulin, who cowered from her, not wanting another fanged violation of his body.

“No,” said Katheryne, reaching out and putting a hand to the brunette’s chest, holding her in place.

“Now what?” asked the half-vampire, looking annoyed.  “For crying out loud, just let me have some of him!”

“No.  I’ll finish him,” the blonde said, her voice grave.

“Why?  I thought we were gonna split him!”

Katheryne turned to Donita and met eyes with her.  “I saw what he was going to do to you,” she said, rage in her voice.

Donita’s eyes widened at that.  “Ohhh . . .”  She was silent for a moment, and then, strong emotion in her words, she murmured, “By the stars, I love you so much.”  She gave Katheryne a long, heartfelt hug, then said, “I’m gonna go get dressed, call up Mary and Pinkie, and get the car ready.  Just toss him down in the basement when you’re done.”

“No problem.”

Before Donita turned to leave the room, she gave Tulin one last look and said, “Boy, aren’t you lucky you didn’t use the other stall, asshole?”  She walked off, shaking her thong-clad backside to let Tulin know what he’d missed out on.

Katheryne watched her go, and then looked at the faux-vampire, whose face was a mask of terror.  “Don’t worry . . . it won’t last long, and it’s better than what you gave Alicia, Kelly, Martha, Therese, and all the others,” she said, her voice soft.  “And far better than what you would’ve given Donita.”

“I can’t help what I am,” whispered Tulin, backing up until he was pressed against the wall Katheryne had slammed him against just a few short minutes before.  “I’m a creature of the night, a vampire like you, just different.  We shouldn’t be at odds like this, there’s so much we could all learn from each other!”

“And what could you teach us?  Different ways to torture puppies, kittens, and people?  How to make excuses for our behavior by playing ‘vampire?’” hissed Katheryne.  “You make me sick.”

“You’re killers, you both are!  You’re going to kill me, and then you and your friends are going to kill Valek and the others!  We’re the same!” screamed Tulin, tears starting to run down his cheeks.

“Just like a serial killer and a hunter are the same?” demanded the blonde, her eyes a bright blue.  “You don’t know anything about respect and life, and the responsibility that comes with taking life. You don’t understand, and you’re not worth explaining it to.  You’re like one of those teenagers that thinks they know everything about the world just because they read Nietzsche, listen to Marilyn Manson, and think pain’s ‘cool’ . . . but who wear their ignorance on their sleeves.  As a matter of fact, you were one of those teenagers.  I know.”

Tulin shuddered at her words and the certainty in her eyes.

“No, you can’t help what you are . . . you’re a victim.  A weak, pathetic victim.  You always have been, and always will be,” said the blonde, and her hands shot out and grabbed Tulin by the shoulders, pulling him close to her.  “And your weakness will never hurt anybody ever again.”

“Wait . . . please!” pleaded Tulin as Katheryne pressed her body to his and extended her fangs.

“That’s just what Alicia said before you sliced out her tongue last night.”  She clenched Tulin so tightly that the sounds of his bones snapping filled the room, and he managed one last cry of agony before Katheryne’s fangs pierced his neck.  Though he didn’t know whether the pain came from his breaking bones or the truth.