The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

19

Greg, Hit 'Em One More Time

Three seconds in this place and Isla was already being hissed at. No manners around the undead with that woman.

She gave him a thumbs up.

Fanging hell she was going to get us kicked out.

I shielded my face from the engaged couple and pushed Isla along to the bar.

It was perfectly normal for vampires to bring their human lovers and servants and valets and friends with platelets to places like this. We ain't exactly known for being a shy bunch. Treating your human to a cocktail as you treated yourself to some sips was a sign of both status – look at me I can build a harem too – and commitment – get a good look at my human, bozos, cause they're off-limits. It was still, however, rude to stare.

Even if the two men were evidently enjoying themselves.

The rich scent of blood and the vamp's gentle slurping ignited an itch in my veins. A wave of Cheez Whiz flavored nausea rolled through me. I swallowed back a rising tide of bile.

"Oh pixie dust! Is this place playing Chumba Wumba? Hey, you don't have to push," Isla grumbled, and I realized just how firmly I'd been steering her. I eased up the pressure but could not bring myself to remove my hand from her back. Sue me. My fingers fiddled with a loose bead on her dress, and Isla's pulse quickened, quietly thumping in her smooth, exposed neck. She flipped her hair and threads of orange and mint tangled under my nose.

I shouldn't have encouraged her. She was a person of interest. I didn't have a clear head to do this job with her around.

But, dang it, here we were. Cause despite all the perfectly sane and logical reasons as to why I should have called her a cab downstairs, the loudest thought in my head was "golly gee, wouldn't getting a drink with her be fun" and suddenly my whole body ached with the kind of longing that made you stupid. It been ages since I had real fun.

I pulled stool out at the bar, taking her hand as she slipped onto it, not really paying attention to me at all. Her eyes were everywhere, reading the scene. Bar was full of vamps, many with their bloodbags, and other creatures out for a nightcap.

Just down the bar was a vampire woman all done up like a Victorian widow. Her human pets sat obediently in their collars at her feet while she sipped on a straw wound around one of their leashes. She was reading the Inquirer.

I spied a coven of witches, all done up like this was goth Coachella with black roses and feathers woven in their hair, occupying a corner of the lounge. They sat in a copse of sofas toward the back, giggling about love spells around a bubbling cauldron. One wore a typical pointed witch's hat, though in pearly white with a veil trailing down the back, and waved a penis shaped wand. Bachelorette parties, ugh. Dmitri would never have allowed that kind of debauchery in the old days.

A pair of tiny pixies flew over the coven. They zipped into a large-leafed plant near the balcony doors. The leaves shook. That kind of debauchery was always just fine.

Cuddling in a loveseat at the center of the room was another vampire couple feigning polite obliviousness to the naked men to their left. A waiter approached with two young women in tow. They reminded me of Ginger and Mary Ann, one in a lowcut evening gown, one in a midriff revealing skirt and top. The waiter presented each woman like he was handling a bottle of wine. The vampires selected Mary Ann – the curvier of the two – and she promptly took the couple by their cold hands and pranced them off down the hall Isla and I had just come through.