Bad Prophecies (draft 1)

XVII

We arrived in New York City in late February, a surprisingly warm day. My white dress, the one I had worn to tea with Effie's parents, was flowing in the wind as I stood on the top deck at nine in the morning. The sun was already up. Had I known what this was foreshadowing, I might've acted on it.
"America." I muttered under my breath, almost dazed by the landscape before me as the ship came closer to the harbour.
"Sure is." Alex said from behind me.
I clutched my pearls in shock.
"Alexander! You scared me half to death!"
"Sorry, love." He rested his elbows on the railing in front of us. "It's fascinating, thought, isn't it?"
"We've been to America before."
"Supposedly, but you can hardly call Canada the same as the United States."
"How long do you think we'll be here?"
"A while, hopefully. We can get away from the old parental wrath."
"Your mother lives in Quebec."
"So? She'd never come visit us in New York, too fast-paced for her."
"Didn't she live in London for fifty years? During the Industrial Revolution?"
"Well - in her opinion, it doesn't count."
"She is a strange mistress."
"At least she's just a human, we're unnatural as all fuck."
"She is not 'just a human' she is an immortal because she agreed to have the baby of a Demon."
"Oh well."

/

"Are you sure this is what's fashionable?" I said, taking a twirl in the newly fitted dress I was wearing.
We were in a dress designer boutique in Hell's Kitchen. It was approximately seven days after stepping off the ship.
Without looking up from his newspaper, Alex took a drag from his cigar and said through cloudy breath,
"If you're gonna be a flapper, may as well commit to the bit."
"That's not what that means, idiot. Now give me that cigar."
I snatched it from his hand and took a few puffs.
"Well then, what is a flapper, little miss vocabulary?"
"A working class American woman. Last time I checked, I'm none of those."
"Who's to say you're not any one of those?"
"The fact neither of us has worked a day in our life, the fact we're creatures of divinity and therefore have no homeland, the fact we just came here from spending one-hundred and nineteen years in Britain, and my deficiency in genitalia."
"Fair point."
I looked at myself in the mirror again.
The dress was long and shapeless. Thankfully, it fit loosely and had no waist definition, so it still managed to compliment my scrawny, unwomanly shape. I understand than being thin and unwomanly was all the rage in the 20s, but my level of scrawny was childish by comparison to what was considered attractive. It was black, with navy blue embroidery on the lower part of the wrist-length, angel sleeves, and hit at the calf. I was supposed to wear it with one of those Agatha Christie-esque hats in the colour Robin Egg Blue. My knee-length hoisery underneath it was also navy blue.
I felt a little silly wearing it.
"Welcome to America, house of making woman uncomfortable."
"I thought you just said - "
"Shut up, transvestite."
"Says the one who steals my trousers and alters them to fit her."
"Says the one who steals my dresses and wears more makeup than I do."
"Touché."

/

"But why?" I whined, like a small child looking to refuse veggies with dinner.
"Because we're gonna be here for a while, so we need to up our social status."
"But they're gonna realise."
"No, actually."
This statement left me rather puzzled.
"What do you mean 'no'? Are you looking to pull miracles?"
"No, we could, but we won't have to. You see, New York has a very large vampire population."
"How many?"
"Around one hundred. Including The Sire himself."
"The Sire?"
"Yes, the original European Exsanguinator."
"What in Heaven does that mean?"
"Well, you know how there's different species of vampires?"
"Yeah?"
"And you know the standard species of vampire everyone knows about is European, drinks human blood, allergic to the sun, can't eat human food, et cetera?"
"Yeah?"
"That's called the European Exsanguinator."
"What a boring name."
"Not as boring as the energy vampire."
"What are those?"
"Day walkers who are adapted to have normal human features, but never sleep and feed off of humans simply by talking to them."
"Oh, what dumb names!"

So we went to a vampire night club in Manhattan. We had set up our temporary home in Staten Island, so it was just a short boat ride away. And a taxi from the pier.
The bar was called 'Club of The Night'
(What a boring name), and it was situated in Hamilton Heights.
When we walked in, something was off immediately. I felt tense and alarmed like never before.
Alex held my hand, and we went further inside. Momentarily, another man grabbed my wrist and floated up, announcing, "They are not wearing capes! The Virgin has arrived!" His accent was strange and derogatory.
"I'm not a human, you absolute bastard, put me down!"
"That's true," called Alex from below, "she hasn't got a drop of blood in her. I doubt you'd get a good meal out of that."
"Alexander!"
The vampire lowered us down to the ground, "My apologies. Ah, you two must be the cambion and his wife."
"She's more important than me. She's the Nephalem. So it's more like, 'The Nephalem and her husband'."
"Apologies again! I'm a little off today, I'm afraid."
"No worries." I said.
"I'm Simon the Devious, and you are?"
"Kohl Crowley, the Nephalem. This is my husband, Alexander Black, son of Abbadon."
"Welcome! How long have you two been married?"
"About thirty years now, I'm not too old. We're both a hundred nineteen."
"Ah, I see. Come, have a seat, we can chat some more."
He guided us over to a table near the main performing stage.
"Pray tell, where are you from?"
"England." We chimed in unison.
"Well, he's Russian, and I'm not even technically a corporeal being. But we were raised in England." I said in a follow-up.
"That is interesting. Are you holding up well in your new home?"
Alex replied, "I think we're holding up alright."
"Yeah? I hear so many stories of immortals fading away, and it does disturb me."

/

Alright, fine, there were some interesting parts to the alleged roaring twenties. Partying with F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, ghostwriting, going to the talkies for the first time. I'm more fond of the way they do the talkies these days because back then, it was incredibly boring. Films, I think they call them now.
There is a photograph of Alexander and I standing on top of the Empire State Building, holding hands. A lady nearby thought we'd just gotten engaged, given I was wearing my wedding ring that day and Alex wasn't. She congratulated us and kept pushing her buggy. I giggled at the idea. To look so young forever is such a privilege, as it allows you to retain a knowledgeable mindset and experience all the wonders of the youthful experience at once.
Though, our fun came to an end soon.
The recession was set in by twenty-nine.
All went downhill from there.