Foreboding

chapter 2

The lights were blinding, flashing electric blue and neon green, dancing around the black marble walls of the nightclub, crisscrossing over the moving bodies that pressed against each other and swayed in motion to the music. The constant 'thud thud thud' of the speakers could've made a baby's ears bleed, blowing their brains. Women in skimpy leather took acid and cocaine in the bathrooms; men dropped pills into drinks, date rape drugs. This wasn't the kind of scene Hail hung out in, and she was tempted to leave until some man in his mid 40s put on a Bullet For My Valentine song, Temper Temper. People's bodies danced and jumped in unison, screaming out in joy, the drugs had gotten to their heads, making them like even the songs they soberly loathed.

Sitting at the bar, sipping on a Vodka Martini was Hail. In a red silk dress that was too short to bend over innocently in, with black tights and suspenders to hold them up, her shoes were blood red platforms, and her usually tied up black hair was curled and left out, flowing down to her waist. There was a kind of bewitching beauty about her, so enchanting and dark, hardly anyone human dared mess with her, there was a power about her, sensed from meters away. Which was why it didn't entirely surprise her when Michael came and sat beside her, wearing his usual black leather coat, studded with silver spikes, heavy doc martens for shoes and army camouflage pants. Michael was a tall, ruminating man with shoulder length black hair and sharp features.

"Why here?" Was the first thing he said to her, looking both bored and disgusted as he buttoned his jacket up, hiding the smallest red blood-splatters on his white shirt.

"Why white?" Hail asked, a small mischievous smirk taking place upon her blood red lips.

"Sometimes, Hail," Michael sighed heavily, "I'm not sure whether that's lipstick you're wearing, or just the stained blood of your enemies."

She would've blushed, liking the idea of that, and loving Michael's content hatred snakiness towards her, she replied simply, "Of course! It's the blood of my enemies, I wear them upon my lips, after a kiss goodbye."

He scoffed, and as much as he found her ideas amusing he didn't play on them, not like she wanted. That was the catch with Hail, never give her what she wants or you'll never see her again. "So tell me, why here? Isn't it a bit crowded?"

"Exactly," Hail purred, leaning in closer to Michael, close enough to taste the blood in his breath, "Private places are too exposed, but here," her eyes scanned the room, "There's so much going on, it's so intimate, no one knows what to listen to or what to think."

"Hail, darling, when I'm around you I never know what to think, anyway," Michael purred, his voice deep like the typical Dracula act, his Transylvanian accent didn't help either.

Hail could only grin, showing off her clean white teeth, the canines a little more prominent than your average human's. Taking another sip of her drink before pursing her bloody red lips together and humming in her brooding tone, "I need to ask a favor of you, Michael, something . . . Pretty big."

For just over a second Michael looked as though he was about to say something perverted and cheeky in reply, however, he didn't. Instead he watched Hail closely, perhaps hoping for some sign of discomfort, of a give-away to a wound or something. No one- no vampire- merely called upon Michael's help on such short notice, not without dying or shriveling up in pain. There must've been something secretive, something direly important that had forced Hail to call upon him on a Friday night, to the most disgusting, human populated part of town. Adjusting the hem of his coat, Michael prepared himself with a clear of his throat, coughing slightly, "What, may I ask, is the problem?"

Hail didn't hesitate, she didn't even need to take a deep breath before starting, instead she blurted out abruptly, "I need the cure."

His initial reaction was to laugh, that doubled over sides hurting kind of laugh, the hysterical laughter he hardly uttered nowadays. He knew better, though, never laugh at Hail's accusations, questions, or predictions, for in the end she'll be the one laughing. Michael, skeptical as he was, raised a thick eyebrow and inquired, "What leads you to think there is one? Been reading children's bedtime stories have you?"