Outsider (17 page)

“Will you have a drink?” More an order than
an invitation. “They do a mean Alexandra here.”

A third glass was waiting next to theirs on
the black wooden coffee table in the middle of the alcove.

Alexandra, Joy mused. Could this cocktail of
white creamy colour have been named after the empress of Russia
executed in 1918 at Ekaterinberg by the Bolsheviks? She remembered
Alexandra had a sweet blood and noticed Uta was making
conversation, innocent chitchat to establish a connection. Joy’s
eyes met hers and started weaving her mesmerizing spell. Jemima
said something and Joy looked at her, politely, eyes
mesmerizing.

* * * * * * * *

When they got up together to walk to the
ladies’ room, Joy heard the melodious clicking of Jemima’s heels.
She also noticed the slits on each side of the dress, open up the
length of each leg. The smell of their blood playfully tantalized
her senses.

Walking through the door and entering the
powder room gilded with Egyptian inspiration, Joy wondered since
when was she so civilized to her preys. The mirror-covered walls
sent them back their reflections and Joy noticed the excitement
colouring Uta's face. They filed into one of the spacious stalls,
Jemima first, followed by Joy, and then Uta who locked the door
behind them, and leant against it, ready for the show.

Since when was she so civilized to her
preys……. Joy wondered, her lips locking with Jemima’s, her hands
reaching under the dark red satin, her fingers sliding up the soft
skin. She had not killed since her first taste of Sid’s menstrual
blood, since her first night with Sid……. Her tongue reaching for
Jemima’s, her body indifferent to Jemima’s hands, she felt fire
burning inside herself, a fire that had no interest in the game
with Uta and Jemima, a fire breathlessly burning for Sid.

She decided that sex with Jemima was not
something she cared much for and thus, it was time to feed. Her
lips left Jemima’s, her hands left the warm skin, she moved one
step back, a cold stare in her eyes. She felt a sudden hate and
anger towards Jemima and Uta. Because they were not Sid, because
she could not feed on Sid, she was not allowed to feed on Sid. O,
the sweet fantasy of Sid’s blood night after night after night…….
Jemima slowly pushed the dress off her shoulders, let it gently
slide down her skin and gather around her silent heels. Joy pushed
the perfectly curvaceous body against the wall, to straddle the
toilet seat. Her fangs sank into a breast –somewhere no one would
notice once covered up with the satin dress–, deep enough to draw
blood. This life force tasted nice enough to Joy’s tongue, but it
was not what she truly desired. The mesmerized Jemima was smiling
blissfully, unaware of the feeding, feeling other sensations,
pleasures she desired and relished.

Joy turned to Uta, still licking blood on her
lips. The equally mesmerized Uta unbuttoned her shirt, revealing
white, small breasts. Joy went for the throat.

* * * * * * *

The vampire walked out of the ladies’ room
and rediscovered the bar, composed but impatient.

She stopped abruptly in the middle of her
stride. Something, or someone, was watching her. She looked around,
scanning the high walls; her eyes detailing the women behind the
bar, so focused on their task of the moment, jugulars offered; the
patrons, busy with their own desires, deeply ensconced in the
privacy of their alcoves. A waitress passed her, carrying an
overcrowded tray.

Joy could definitely feel a presence,
something other, something like herself, but more powerful,
something deliberately divulging itself, something playing with
her. Fingers of fear attempted to tiptoe down her spine, she
refused to acknowledge them.

A quick movement drew her attention to the
exit. Her eyes caught the back of a client leaving. Spiky dark
hair. The familiar frame of a scarecrow…….

And just like that, the mocking presence
disappeared, leaving Joy to wonder uncomfortably. Maybe it was just
a dream, but vampires don't dream.

* * * * * * *

Sid didn’t look up from the sheets of paper
she was busily covering with words and ideas. She didn’t hear a
sound, but she inquired:

“Did you have a nice dinner?”

“Not bad,” the vampire answered, her facial
expression unreadable. “But I wouldn’t mind some dessert.”

The writer drew up an eyebrow, still crossing
her T’s and dotting her I’s. She felt Joy’s fingers gently tracing
the nape of her neck, and liked the sensation.

INTERLUDE:
FLIGHT OF THE
GRIFFIN
(by courtesy of the author Sid Wasgo)

“
All cats are balloons. All cats are
petunias. All cats are mangold-wurzels. All cats are yin enough.
All cats guide me.” (Ursula K. Leguin)

The healer was studying the innards of the
dead bird brought by the sulky cat. A bird bigger than the cat. She
gently dipped an index finger in the cooling blood and sucked on
it, thoughtfully, before smiling lightly. The Davenport was about
to be needed; the survival of the Other World would weigh on her
shoulders. What was it like, the healer mused, to not have the
choice and not know it.

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

It was a quiet midnight and the man had been
following her since the bottom of Coldharbour Lane, Jo had no doubt
about it. She decided to bring the situation to a head and settle
it there and then, standing in front of a shop window crammed with
second-hand clothes. As sure as rain in London, the well-dressed
man (flawless fawn suit and matching tie) addressed her. His
request (yes, he was polite) was not even a surprise, she had heard
it already a few times in Camberwell and Peckham. Despite her
mannish outfits, her leather wear, the self-inflicted scars
blatantly lined-up on her forearms, her bleached hair shaved almost
too close to the skull, her pierced eyebrow and the deliberately
aggressive tattoo on her right upper arm. Men couldn't see what was
so obvious to women.

The man had no girlfriend, was desperate for
sex and would pay good money for an intimate moment of her time.
She didn't even faze out. She replied with calm and lack of care
that, no, she wasn't interested. His insistence left her cold. He
eventually gave up and walked away. Jo wasn't judgmental, even if
she couldn't understand why men couldn't or wouldn't service
themselves.

She arrived at the house she shared with four
like-minded women and noticed a cat dozing on the low wall, soaking
the moonlight. It looked like any normal tabby cat, even if it had
no collar. So, why would Jo think it otherwise? Because she was
schizophrenic. Upon recognition, the cat opened its eyes, stretched
lazily its limbs one by one, and eventually gave her its attention.
She smiled to its sulkiness. Cats from the Other World were always
sulking. She briefly wondered if she needed to take anything for
the upcoming trip and discarded the colour-coded tablets prescribed
by the psychiatrist. She wasn't even talking to her "voices"
anymore, she had had an argument with these invisible people,
whoever they were, and they hadn't talked to each other for about a
week.

The cat jumped off the wall with satisfaction
and guided her through the invisible gap, the door between their
two worlds, an almost unnoticeable ripple in the night air.

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

The Davenport was no stranger to the Other
World. Her first visit had been totally accidental. She had
followed through a "gap" the cat borrowed by a Tigerman because at
the time she was responsible for this cat. She didn't know much
about the Tigermen. They didn't mingle with other people in the
Other World and as far as general knowledge went, they were all
male. She had then stayed with the Cat People, who were all female,
and made a few friends. In further visits she had met the people
with pointed ears, who looked like the Elves portrayed in "The Lord
Of The Rings", and simply called themselves the People. They were
very androgynous-looking with their hairless faces, long manes and
unisex clothing. Empathy being a general phenomenon in the whole of
the Other World, communication was generally characterized by a
lack of misunderstanding. For example, a general understatement was
that cats were at home, everywhere, in every house and with
everyone. No one seemed to mind.

"Anyone I should especially talk to?" Jo
asked the cat.

The cat shrugged carelessly. It had done its
part, now it just wanted to lounge in the sun. Typical attitude of
a cat in any world. I should know better, Jo thought. Exactly, the
cat seemed to reply. Yes, empathy meant that watching your
emotional flows would make life easier for everyone. Jo was
generally good at it.

"Here she is, the Davenport, back to the
Other World again, and standing, as tall as reality, in the middle
of our town."

Jo turned around to face the speaker, having
recognized the mocking tone of the moody healer, and seer, of the
People. Alkor's slanted eyes were as dark as dark could be, as dark
as her shiny hair that she always kept behind her back, pointed
ears poking through the strands. High cheekbones and pale chocolate
skin. Her facial expression a permanent challenge. Time and time
again, Jo felt the same amazement for the pure features of the
People. Standing a pace aside from the healer, was Telmar, who,
when necessary, acted as elder. His skin was pale, his hair shone
under the sun, his eyes blazed a unique aquamarine and his manners
were friendlier.

"Welcome back to the Other World,
Davenport."

Telmar bore a smile on his lips and
seriousness in his eyes. Jo Davenport could sense fate and prophesy
weaving in the air.

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

They could have sent her to hell with a
smile, and she knew it. But she would have gone nonetheless, just
for the sheer fun of it. Today they were merely asking her to climb
a few mountains and rescue a Griffin, saving the Other World in the
process. What was it with this people that they needed her to
rescue them, why couldn't they do it themselves? Ah, yes, the
portents, the traditions. At least, it was entertaining. Or sort
of. Jo didn't mind a challenge every now and then; it sounded to
her that this Griffin had a tendency to get into a spot of trouble
every couple of centuries, -a definite regular pattern-, requiring
immediate rescue. Or the Other World would disintegrate. This time,
it was up to the Davenport. The Davenport had listened carefully,
heard about the previous heroes who bravely acted according to the
prophecies. She eventually inquired:

"And what became of them?"

Telmar's smile took a rigid turn; Alkor's
eyes kept their usual hint of amusement. She replied with no
ripples in her well-guarded emotions:

"They were never seen again."

Within the following hour Jo Davenport left
their village for the long walk out of the green valley, up the
rocky mountains where wild goats would look at her, cocking their
heads to one side with curiosity and wolves would keep a stone's
throw away, uninterested. Nights were never too cold and days never
too hot in the Other World. She would sleep on beds of dry grass,
using gigantic rocks as comforting pillows. The many nearby narrow
streams of clear water would sing her lullabies.

The first night she slept dreamlessly. The
second night the Griffin appeared to her in a vision. It had the
head, the wings and the majesty of a golden eagle, the body, the
tail and the pride of a mighty lion. Its green eyes shone with a
compelling quality. The third night she arrived near the cave where
the Griffin mournfully laid. She could sense the pulsing waves of
distress, radiating with resignation.

She thoughts the Griffin would have learned
by now: it gets stuck somewhere and the People send a human to its
rescue. Or was she a willing sacrifice? She had no resentment. She
suddenly missed her "voices", these invisible people she used to
converse with at great length. Her change of emotions spread around
and the distress was replaced by curiosity and intrigue. A dense
cloud of bats suddenly flew out of a cave she hadn't noticed in the
newly fallen darkness.

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

Back at the village of the People, the healer
had gone into a trance, and with refrained anxiety, was following
the Davenport's every step, envying her calm. In Alkor's spirit
vision, the cave was illuminated with light brighter than
daylight.

Jo walked along a dark corridor for a few
minutes, never stumbling, senses alert. Alkor wondered if the woman
could sense her watching. Jo eventually arrived to a great opening
and stopped, just short of falling into a sudden depression. A few
feet down, under the open night sky, -she could see the stars
twinkling high above-, the Griffin was lying on a bed of dirt,
feeling sorry for itself. Grief and sadness pervaded the great
cave. The Griffin was crying over the death of her dead lover (the
previous hero who had never come back).

So, this was the big secret of the Other
World 's survival, Jo and Alkor thought simultaneously. The Griffin
had gone there to die. Again.

The Griffin looked at Jo, contemplated her
thoughtfully for a minute. Her deep sadness slowly washed away.
When the woman bore into the Griffin's eyes, she saw pure love. The
mighty creature was radiating with pure love. So intensely that it
was compelling. With a female quality she couldn't explain. The
People had referred to the Griffin as "it" because they didn't know
and it didn't matter to them. Eyes growing with tenderness, the
fickle Griffin spoke and said softly, almost wishing upon the
stars:

"Will you come and live with me?"