Outsider (18 page)

It was an overwhelming invitation, pervading
the climbing walls of the depression, but strangely enough Jo was
not feeling totally affected. Yes, if felt very sweet and very
compelling, but her heart somehow had other desires. The Davenport
wondered how to say no gently. She could sense the Griffin was not
used to refusal. Silence and compassion proved eloquent enough. The
Griffin was a gentle creature behind the veneer of her fierce
looks. She lowered her gaze. They were still surrounded by the
powerful emotion.

"What will you do now? Where will you go?"
The Davenport asked.

The Griffin fidgeted for a minute, drawing
circles in the dirt with a front claw, still contemplating a
mournful death but not so sure about it anymore, before
answering:

"I guess I could go back to the Mountains of
the North, where other griffins live." Thinking this would be as
good as any a place to fall into oblivion. Or maybe rekindle the
bonding with her own kind. When had she seen another griffin
lately? Scribbling some more in the dirt, she added with wistful
resignation: "Do you need a lift?"

And they flew from the south, claiming the
blue sky as theirs, gliding effortlessly along the wind streams.
Mountains disappeared behind them, and when the valley eventually
appeared many feet below, it was high noon. And when they arrived
in sight of the village, they saw people looking up at them, waving
happily. The Griffin was alive; the Other World had been saved once
again.

The Griffin landed gracefully in the middle
of the main square in a midst of cheers and joyful cries. The
Griffin was alive, the Other World would go on forever again, and
the Davenport was back. For the first time ever, a People's hero
had come back from this dangerous rescue mission.

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

After the departure of the Griffin, the
People started to celebrate: food appeared on the main square,
musicians started playing and people radiated with rejoice. The air
felt thick with almost palpable happiness. Telmar gave the
Davenport a tankard of the local brew. A few cats left the square,
shoulders shivering with contempt. Jo looked around, scanned the
joyful crowd and found who she was looking for nonchalantly
lounging against a wall: Alkor. Her gaze met Jo's with the
customary mockery. There was a smile on the healer's face. Not the
light smile, but one an inch broader than any Jo had ever seen.

"Common courtesy dictates that we never
drain the lifeblood of anyone to whom we've been formally
introduced." (Cassandra in "Stolen" by Kelley Armstrong)

The benefit had already been happening for a
few hours by the time Sid's beloved Eliminator stopped outside the
noisy pub and Sid killed the engine. Joy freed her black and white
mohican from the crash helmet and gracefully dismounted the
mechanical beast. Sid pushed her bike round the corner where a few
like-minded machines were already gathered.

The night was still very young even if the
sun had set almost more than two hours ago. Sid had insisted on
arriving together on the bike. Sometimes she needed to feel in
charge. Joy didn't mind; control was never an issue for her.

Music and the din of a crowd were blasting
out the doors. Sid hesitated. Joy grabbed her by a leather-clad
shoulder and dragged her across the threshold. Melissa Etheridge
hit Sid's eardrums.
"If I could have my way, I'd be sleeping in
the alley, on a couch, with a friend, and a bottle of gin…….."
Sid knew that, if Joy could have her way, she would feed on one of
the many dykes crowding the pub. Joy could have her way anyway she
likes, but Joy fed before meeting with Sid most of the time now.
And it was just as well because, while Sid didn't mind Joy feeding
on her menstrual blood, she felt uncomfortable with Joy's
seduce-and-feed routine.

They both started looking around after their
obligatory stop at the cash table, where two twenty-something
lesbians were smiling all they could at every newcomer. They don't
know anything about depression, I envy them, Sid thought, smiling
her polite smile, and noticing them noticing Joy in her gothic
outfit. Joy snubbed them; the scent of their blood felt wrong.

On their left, punters looking like they
meant business, muscles too thin to bulge as in their fantasy
lives, played pool, badly, but were having fun.

The light was just this shade of almost
bright threatening to go dim. Lesbians in couples or groups of four
or five, a few rare men ("men as guest"). Sid noticed the cropped
tops; the made-up faces; some mini-skirts; some leg-hugging jeans;
the masculine-looking dykes –or more exactly trying to look
masculine–, staring at her, evaluating her with a frown of their
eyebrows. Then, they would look at Joy and their lips would
slightly curl up at one corner. Only the women behind the bar
looked genuine to Sid. They were there every day; they had nothing
to prove.

A splash of multi-coloured hair flashed in
the throng, triggering a smile on Joy's face. The hair was matched
with colourful make-up and an array of piercings, and was talking
with gothic-trademark, long black hair and striking black
eyeliner.

"I am feeling hungry," Joy declared for Sid's
benefit, hunger brightly colouring her voice.

"I thought you had already fed."

"Yes, but they look so delicious."

"Where?" Sid questioned, trying not to sound
worried and doing a good job at it. After a contemplative silence
dominated by a minor k.d. lang number, she enquired: "Do you ever
feed on people you've been introduced to?"

Joy frowned and eyed Sid up: "No. Kelley
Armstrong would call it common courtesy. Haven't you read her
werewolf novels?"

Sid smiled –she had read the reference
literature–, grabbed Joy's hand and dragged the frowning vampire
through the packed crowd, zeroing on the potential preys.

"Sid!" The multi-coloured mohican exclaimed
while the long, black hair smiled at the newcomer.

"Hi, there!" Sid hugged Jessie with some
usual chitchat:

"How are you? I haven't seen you for eons.
Good to see you, too, Stacee!"

Stacee, with double E, smiled again at Sid,
and then at Joy, who had erased her frown and overwritten it with a
social smile, but was now seething inside.

"Have you met my friend Joy?" Sid smiled,
rather pleased with herself, and gestured towards the vampire. Then
her hand waved at her friends. "Joy, this is Jessie. If you want a
tattoo, she is the woman to trust. And this is Stacee." She
wondered if vampires socialized or even had any inclinations to
socialize. What was a vampire's life, or unlife, about? Did they
have a purpose, or was their destiny to aimlessly wander the
planet?

A guitar strumming swung out of the speakers.
Quickly, a voice caught up with it and started riding the rhythm
tinged with jazzy echoes and blues undertones. Elizabeth Ashtead
was wooing the audience to quietness and attention. Sid wished she
had been the one on stage. What was it like again? Her memory, gone
rusty with not learning songs anymore, seemed to have lost this
relevant information. Sid had retired, and no one knew.

The song was about trilbies and romance, and
the crowd liked it. Sid was watching people and Joy was watching
Sid. She had a theory about the writer.

* * * * * * *

"Anyone for a drink?" Stacee suddenly
offered, flashing her dazzling smile– one that Sid admired greatly–
to Joy. Jessie requested another gin, Sid opted for a beer and the
vampire asked for a very red Burgundy. Preferably a dark and fruity
red burgundy, one that would pass for blood, if it wasn't for its
bouquet.

Elizabeth's voice had a dark and smoky tinge
that captivated Sid's mind, making her heart beat just for the
moment. Sid didn't mind, as long as she could find a sort of
emotional balance –her prerequisite for sanity–, and strangely so,
her odd connection with the vampire provided her with it.

Jessie and Stacee, rather than resuming their
previous appreciative and depreciative commenting on the female
crowd, focused their attention on the attractive Joy. Joy was
smiling and responding in kind, but non-committally. Their flirting
was an unknowing call to the vampire's fangs, but well behaved, Joy
didn't try to bite. Whose neck would she have targeted first? Sid
could be such……. Sid hadn't noticed her friends' interest; she was
too engrossed in the music.

An almost androgynous butch-dyke deliberately
entered their field of vision, with impeccable timing with the
enthusiastic applause of the audience. Under her black three-piece
suit –a masculine cut–, shirt and blue tie matching her spiky,
sapphire hair, tattoos and muscles hid. The tattoos were Jessie's
work. The muscles were the results of regular hours in several
gyms. She gave bear hugs to the tattooist and the gothic flirt, and
strong handshakes to the writer and the vampire. She was there on
professional business and as ever enjoyed it. As a freelance
reporter she covered many gigs and other events tickling her fancy.
Jessie introduced her to Joy under the name of Frank.

"Like the Frank Chickens," Frank jokingly
offered as an explanation. However, no one knew the Frank Chickens
nowadays.

Sid thought, as every time she had seen
Frank:
She must be wearing a chest-binder to look so
flat-chested.
Sid had considered the chest-binder, too, but she
felt unable to breathe when wearing one.
How does she
breathe?
She had always been too absentminded to question the
blue-haired lesbian.

"How are you coping these days?" Jessie
enquired. Frank had lost her partner to mysterious circumstances. A
mugging doubled with a murder. The police had never found the
culprit, or never cared to. Frank was tough, and bored with
widowhood after nine months of loneliness. Yes, she had loved her
partner greatly and she missed her dramatically, but she was alive
and wanted to feel so. Sid whispered a few relevant details into
Joy's acute ears. Joy had fed on so many preys that she had no idea
she was the unknown murderer. Madison had never connected the dots
with that one.

A fast rhythm subdued their chitchat. For a
few songs, they paid attention to the singer. Jessie was standing
very close to the vampire. Frank's shoulder was in contact with
Stacee's. Sid was still nursing her first beer. Being off
anti-depressants by now, her tastes in alcohol had changed
again.

Just before Elizabeth's last number, while
some enthusiastic fans whistled and the singer talked, Frank leaned
her head closer to Stacee's and whispered:

"Hey Stacee, there is a good goth gig planned
next weekend. I'll be on the guest list. Would you like to be my
plus-one?"

Stacee smiled, an amused light in her eyes,
and replied: "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Frank hesitated, considered, then launched
herself: "Hypothetically, or theoretically, for sheer and devious
curiosity, what would you say, if I was?"

Stacee, her smile steady, answered after a
calculated silence: "I think I would say yes."

"Then, maybe I should. What do you think:
should I?"

* * * * * * *

"Hey, Sid, good to see you!" Terri gave Sid a
big hug and greeted Sid's friends: "Good to see you, everyone!"

"How are you, Sid?" Dawn enquired.

"Can't stay and chat, we're on next! Catch
you later!" Terri interrupted swiftly and the Second Look women
moved on through the tight crowd. Elizabeth Ashtead had finished
the last song of her set and everyone had caught the word ‘vampire’
floating in between verses. A strange and almost sad ballad, the
story of a lost love, a mixture of lust and blood. Joy used this
golden opportunity and launched a conversation on the subject of
her kind.

Of course, the blood drinkers got first
mention.

"Ever heard of psychic vampires?" Joy
eventually enquired innocently, looking directly at Sid, who was
just listening.

"They feed on energy, don't they." Stacee
answered.

The conversation went on. Sid hadn't blinked.
Joy realized the writer had no idea she was one…….

"The problem with psychic vampires, from a
filming point of view, is that they're not very visual, so they
could be tedious." Frank interjected.

"What about special effects?" Sid jumped
in.

"I don't like psychic vampires," Jessie
stated firmly. "They're very……. negative. They drain people from
their energy and are more likely to kill than the blood drinkers."
Sid looked at her quizzically. Jessie amended: "I am talking about
the humans into drinking blood. The immortal kinds are just
legends." She resumed her previous thread: "Psychic vampires are
generally people into witchcraft and black magic."

Joy smiled lightly. Sid was listening on,
gathering information, sentences, storing them just in case. You
never knew; a short story could well come out of it. But why was
Joy staring at her so intently?

"Anyone for another drink?" Jessie offered.
"It's my round. O positive or A negative?"

The group laughed and everyone tried to get
something as red as blood, blackcurrant being a good addition.

"What about you, Stacee?" Joy drew the
conversation back to a semblance of seriousness. "When you think
about vampires, what comes to your mind?"

With laughter in her eyes, the long black
hair answered: "Dark gothic women with pointy teeth." Sid felt
dazzled by the wide smile and silent laughter.

"Frank?" Joy re-directed her attention.

"I'd say I like Anne Rice's vampires best.
Most of them have wisdom acquired through the ages and they keep up
with time. Do I like the idea of vampirism? From a literary point
of view, it appeals to me. Blood-drinking in my daily –and nightly–
life? I'm not sure."