714


   I step outside, and the redheaded girl follows me a moment later.  I notice that she is only slightly taller than me; this is unusual, even in this Appalachian town of poor nutrition and inbreeding.
   "So..." says the redheaded girl, as we walk away from the pool of light that is the club's outdoor space, what it calls the Oval.  "You're a vampire."
   "Yes," I say, kicking a rock and smiling as it skitters across the sidewalk.
   "How do I know you're not going to kill me?" the girl asks.
   "You don't," I say, shuddering slightly as a bearded man in a blue worksuit passes close to us, stumbling as he goes; I'd forgotten to raise my shields again, and his energy was knotted a thousand times over, vicious reds and yellows, and he smelled strongly of motor oil and alcohol.
   The girl laughs at that, and I smile.  It is probably best that she not believe me.  A gothling who wants to play is probably safer than someone who really understands.  We walk, and as we walk the girl begins to sing wordlessly, quietly, to herself and to the air.  I repress the urge to squeak, or to hug her, or even do a happy dance.  I don't want her to stop singing.
   We walk under streetlights spaced surprisingly far apart, and she continues to sing.  I let down my shields completely, and gasp as the surrounding energy envelopes me: the area is old, and not only do I feel the residual energy from the people who have walked here, but also that of the land that was ripped up to make the street and lay the foundations for the houses.  This is not exactly tormented energy, but it is confused, and I don't much like the feel of it.  I let it all wash over me like cold, and then I focus on the girl.  She sings in pinks and purples, and her personal energy swirls blue, extending a foot from her body.  I want to step into that sphere, but feel now would not be the time; I can wait until I'm feeding from her.
   We come to the diner, a storefront place showing the only lights on the block.  I put up a quick shield, blocking everything but background energy.  "Here," I say, and step forward to open the door.
   "Smells good," says the girl, moving past me, leaving a trail of vanilla and warmth.
   "Yes," I murmur, taking a deep breath as I follow her over the threshold.  The place is nearly empty, save the man behind the counter and a table of off-duty EMTs in one corner.
   "Heya," says the man behind the counter, grinning broadly at me.  "Haven't seen you in a while.  Aren't you supposed to be invited in?"
   "Not when the owner belongs to you," I say, grinning back.  "Didn't you notice those marks on your throat this morning?"
   The man laughs, and waves his spatula at the redheaded girl.  "A glass of wine for the pretty young lady?"
   "I don't drink," she says, glancing at me, quirking an eyebrow, no doubt surprised by the offer of alcohol in a restaurant; this is a dry county.  "I'll take a Coke, though."
   "Sure thing," says the man.  "And for you, my queen?"
   "Water," I say.  "We'll be in booth eleven."
   "As always," says the man as he turns to get our drinks.
   We walk to the back of the diner, away from the EMTs.  Booth eleven is on the back wall, near the kitchen and far from the front door.  I watch the girl slide into the booth, close enough again for me to smell her perfume.  I sit opposite her, shoving my bag against the wall.
   "Can I see your eyes?" the girl asks, resting her elbows on the table, her chin on her fists.
   I unclip the sunglasses from my prescription glasses, and look across the table.
   The girl leans forward and regards my eyes with intense scrutiny.
   "They're brown," she says at last, sounding vaguely disappointed.
   "What did you expect?" I ask, replacing the sunglasses.
   "I dunno," says the girl.  "Red, maybe.  Purple.  At least ice blue."