Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Salsa

Gunwharf, England, 2005

Gideon Hartwright leaned against the bar and watched as the salsa instructor talked the beginners through the basic steps of the dance.

Outside the glass-fronted club, people milled about Gunwharf Quay, heading to and from clubs, restaurants, the cinema, and further out in the harbour itself, a ferry was pulling out to sea like a great white whale.

If Gideon was to step out of the club and walk around the corner, he would see the ongoing construction of what was apparently to be called the Spinnaker Tower, a landmark observation tower that would soar above the quays. He wondered if he'd still be living here when it was finally finished.

"You want another?" the bartender asked, smiling at Gideon beneath her eyelashes as she gestured to his empty glass.

He slid it across the bar to her. "Thank you."

Vampires couldn't drink alcohol, but he blended in better with a drink in his hand, and it was easy enough to fake trips to the toilet so he could pour beers away a little at a time.

The club, formerly the Havana, now rebranded as the Red Pearl, held salsa classes once a week, and each session was split in two. The first hour was for beginners, so they could start learning the basics, while the second hour was for more experienced dancers. When the sessions were over, the club would open properly for anyone who wanted to dance, and the experienced dancers usually stayed for most of the night.

When Gideon had first started coming here, he hadn't intended to dance. The throb of the music and the laughter coming from inside the club had enticed him in, and initially it had just seemed like a good place to hunt. Once the club opened properly, drinks were flowing, inhibitions were down, and it wasn't hard to coax people off to a darkened corner so Gideon could bite them.

But the more he watched the salsa classes, the more it intrigued him. Gideon had never been much of a dancer, but salsa was unlike any kind of dancing he'd ever seen before.

He'd started arriving at the club earlier and earlier, until one night he caught the attention of the instructor, Lisa, who'd invited him to join in, and though his instincts had been to say no, he'd found himself saying yes.

That was five months ago, and Gideon had attended every weekly class since. He told himself that it was still only to hunt for people he could drink from, but the reality was, he enjoyed it. It gave him a chance to interact with people without having to get too close to them. It allowed him to brush up against the edges of a world that he could never fully be a part of.

The bartender handed Gideon a fresh pint, her fingers brushing his, and he gave her what he hoped was a neutral smile.

Nearly thirty years had passed since Gideon had saved Jerry and the others from the burning squat, and in that time he hadn't even kissed another man. That part of himself was sealed away now, a flame long since snuffed out. It might never flare to life again, but that was alright, because at least it would save him the heartache of having to walk away from the people he cared about.

"Gideon," Lisa called, and he looked up to see her beckoning to him. "Do you think you could help me out?"

Leaving his drink on the bar, Gideon approached her.

He was never sure how old Lisa was – streaks of grey threaded through her hair but there wasn't a line on her face, and her body was as lean and flexible as a gymnast.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"I want everyone working in pairs, but I've got an odd number in today. Do you think you could partner up with my newest?" Lisa said.