Лиза Смит - Bloodlust

She laughed, and I gave her an impromptu twirl. People stared at us. Even though a pianist was playing a jaunty tune in the corner, this wasn’t a room where people danced. Instead, guests drifted from one conversation to the next as they sucked on cigars and gulped down champagne.

“Do you know anyone here?” I asked as we brushed past couple after couple, all clad in finery.

Callie shrugged, the shadow of a frown crossing her face. She glanced around the room. “They all hate Father. They say he’s a Unionist who’s taking advantage of New Orleans with his business. And perhaps he is, but at least his show doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not,” she said, jutting her chin.

I shifted in my seat. Wasn’t that exactly what I was doing? Pretending to be someone I wasn’t? I couldn’t look at her, in case she could see the depths of my lies in my eyes.

A server came by with a tray laden with champagne. I grabbed two glasses.

“Cheers,” I said, handing one to Callie.

As we sipped the bubbling liquid, conversations swirled around us, growing louder and more boisterous with every tray of drinks the waiters brought out to serve. Men’s movements grew more languid, women laughed more readily.

“Is your father ready for the next show?” I asked, forcing a conversational note to my voice.

“I suppose so.”

“Who will the vampire be fighting?”

“I don’t know,” Callie said. “A crocodile, or maybe a tiger. It depends on what Father can get on such short notice. Why?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “I want to place a bet.”

“Father wants something cheap. He’s worried people won’t pony up as much money for another animal fight. It seems the monster’s much stronger than a beast.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to process the information.

“But let’s not talk about work. Tonight is supposed to be fun! Lord knows we don’t have enough of it in our real lives.” Callie’s voice grew melancholy. “Speaking of fun,” she said, pointing to a small crowd moving through a set of double doors at the back of the club, “I think the burlesque show is back there.”

“Shall we?” I asked, offering my arm.

The back room, much smaller than the first one, had numerous wooden tables crammed onto the floor. A stage was set up at the front of the room, and the space was dimly lit by candles. Instead of joining the crush toward the front, Callie and I sat back on a low-slung, red velvet bench beneath a large mirror in the back of the room.

As soon as everyone settled into seats, a master of ceremonies took to the stage. I was surprised to see that he was a man wearing a dinner suit and cape. I’d imagined a burlesque show to be louder, larger than this, with plenty of music and scantily clad women.

“Good evening! As we’ve all heard, we have a vampire in our midst,” he said dramatically.

Audience members tittered nervously. I glanced at Callie out of the corner of my eye. Was this some sort of trap? Did she know what I was? But Callie was leaning forward, as if mesmerized by the man’s words.

The master of ceremonies smiled, drinking in the suspense. “Yes, a vampire. Down at that two-bit circus by the lake.”

Jeers filled the room. Callie hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said her father was infamous in this town. I turned to look at her. Although her cheeks were as red as her hair, she gazed straight ahead, her elbows on her knees.

“And eyewitnesses say Gallagher had to chain his up so it won’t run away. But, here at Madame X’s, our vampire has come to visit all on his own.”

“We can go if you want,” I whispered.

But Callie shook her head and clasped my hand. It felt warm against my cool skin, but this time I didn’t push her away. “No, I want to stay.”

A thin man walked onstage, clad in a black cape. His face was powdered, and thin lines of fake blood were drawn from the corners of his lips. He smiled at the crowd, revealing fake fangs. I shifted in my seat.

“I am a vampire, and you all are my prey! Come to me, my pretties!” he cackled, in an exaggerated voice that made me squirm. The “vampire” stalked around the stage, his teeth bared and his eyes scanning the audience. A woman in a pearl-embroidered gown stood up from a table in the front and walked toward the stage as if in a trance, emitting a low moan with each step.

“The vampire has special eyes that can see through clothing. And this vampire, ladies and gentlemen, likes what he sees!” The master of ceremonies leered at the audience.

At this, the audience applauded enthusiastically.

I glanced at Callie again. Had she known this was a show about vampires?

“But, now, the vampire has his hunger awakened. And what he’ll do to feed the hunger, you won’t believe,” the master of ceremonies said as the vampire onstage waved his hands toward the woman, as if conducting an orchestra. As he did that, a trumpet player began playing a slow, mournful tune. The woman began to move her hips, slowly at first, and then more and more quickly until she looked as though she would topple over.

“Maybe Father should give our vampire dance lessons,” Callie whispered, her breath hot on my cheek.

Then, suddenly, the vampire stopped waving his arms. The music stopped, and so did the woman. The vampire lurched toward her, took hold of the sleeve of her dress, and tore it off, exposing her milky-white arm.

“Do you feel wicked tonight?” the vampire called to the audience, waggling the fabric toward the crowd. Then he tore off the other sleeve.

My stomach turned.

“I ask you, do you feel wicked tonight?” he called again, tossing the fabric into the audience.

The crowd cheered as the dancer continued her gyrations, rubbing her back against the “vampire.” Slowly, she peeled away her clothing, item by item, sending a silk stocking or a slip into the audience until most of her body was on display.

As the music picked up speed, she got closer to becoming entirely nude. At last, she sat in a chair on the stage as the master of ceremonies pulled off the last bit of her top, forcing her to cover herself with her hands.

“As he is a beast from hell, the only way to stop a vampire is with a stake to the heart. But they can also be kept away with a crucifix . . .”

At this, the dancer pantomimed a futile search for pockets that might contain a stake or crucifix.

I slumped in my chair, thinking of my own attacks. Of Alice, of Lavinia, of the nurse whose name I’d never known. There was nothing beautiful or romantic about those attacks. They were quick, bloody, deadly. I’d ended their lives without a second thought, with swift violence and a thirst for more.

“Are you okay?” Callie asked.

For the first time, I realized how tightly I’d been clutching her hand. I loosened my grip, and instantly she snuggled closer to me in my seat. Her blood pumped like sweet music through her body, and the warmth of her body soothed my anger. I relaxed into her, taking in the softness of her voice as she laughed at the play. Callie was warm and soft and so very alive . I wanted this moment to freeze, to last into eternity, with nothing but me and Callie and her beating heart. There was nothing else I needed in that moment, not blood, not power, not DMy body tensed and I sat straight up. What was I doing? Had I forgotten my brother, what I had done to him, so quickly?

I stood up.

“Down in front!” a voice barked a few rows behind me.

“I-I’m sorry. I have to go,” I said, stumbling toward the door.

“Stefan, wait!” she called.

But I kept going until I was on the street, running from the late-night bustle all the way to the riverbank. As I stared down at my reflection in the swirling water, Percy’s words echoed in my head: “You’ll either want to kill her or kiss her, and neither scenario will end well for you.”