617


   I pull a black cigarette from a silver case and light it, delighting more in the crackling sound the cloves create than in the flavour.  "I'm hungry," I say to my friend as she exhales blue smoke from her normal cigarette.  "Really, really hungry."
   "I'll feed ya when we get home," she says.
   "I'm hungry /now/," I say.  I shove my cigarette at my friend and walk back into the building.  I look around again, and see the only person I know is the girl I used to know.  I growl quietly, and fix my eyes on a redheaded girl, pale and freckled and talking with her friends.
   "You can't just go up to someone and say 'Hi, can I drink your blood?'" my friend says behind me, pressing the stubbed-out remains of the clove cigarette into my hand.  She follows my gaze.  "Even if you think she's hot.  You'll get thrown out."
   "I'm not going to," I say.  I watch the redheaded girl as I move back toward Our Couch, the couch my friend claimed early in the night.
   "I'm gonna go dance," my friend calls after me.
   I wave a hand as I sit down.  I sit on my feet, and tug a notebook from my bag.  I watch the girl, sketch her awkwardly, with a mechanical pencil, on the lined paper.  She looks at me once, pauses, looks away.  I keep sketching, erasing and retracing her jawline.  I'm horrible at jawlines.  She looks up at me twice more, and eventually I set my pencil down and just stare at her.  I lower my filter shield, check her energy.  It is fairly normalized: nothing more than faint agitation at life and enjoyment in the music.  I smile.
   The girl looks up at me again, and I stare back.  She turns to her friends once more, says something, stands.  She walks toward me and I watch her.  I turn my notebook over, set it beside me.
   "You're watching me," the girl says.
   "I was sketching you."
   "Why?"
   I tilt my head.  "Because you're pretty."
   The girl blinks.  "Thank you.  Can I see?"
   "It's not any good," I say, handing her the notebook.  "I'm a photographer for preference."
   The girl grins, handing the notebook back.  "You're right, it's no good.  Mind if I sit down?"
   "Not at all," I say, and I drag my bag off the couch and onto the floor at my feet.
   The girl sits beside me, and I take a breath:  she smells of vanilla perfume, good stuff, not cheap.  "You're wearing sunglasses," she tells me.
   "I am," I agree.
   "Why?"
   "Because I'm a vampire," I say.
   The girl grins and tilts her head, exposes her neck to me.  "Prove it."
   I make a snrrking noise.  "Okay.  But not here.  You have any blood-bourne diseases?"
   "No," she says, and her eyes sparkle.  "And I'm a virgin."
   "Walk with me to the diner around the corner," I say, shoving my notebook into my bag.  "If they see me cutting here, they'll throw us out.  The diner guy knows me."
   "Cut?  You won't bite?  Awww," says the girl, standing as I do.
   "I can if you want," I say, "but it would hurt like hell."
   The girl laughs.  "I gotta tell my friends, I'll be right back."
   I nod, and she leaves me.  I scan the dancefloor and catch my friend's eye.  She quirks her eyebrows at me and I point at the redheaded girl.  She looks at the girl, grins hugely and gives me a thumbs-up before turning away.