Current working title for the first book is "In the Blood"
Completion in 2025
Scroll down for the Prologue and first two chapters
More details to come soon
WARNING!
CONTENT GUIDANCE: This novel explores aspects of psychology and mental health
and contains depictions of self-harm and suicide. Please read with care.
If you or someone you know is having problems with thoughts of suicide,
please seek professional help. In the US please dial 988.
Prologue
June 6th 2023
Today is my 150th birthday. It's been over a hundred years since I've actually seen the sun without aid of a UV filter, but thanks to the gift, I can recall every moment of it whenever I want.
That's not what I want today.
Today I am going to see the sun in all it's fiery brilliance one more time. One FINAL time.
I lost my goddess long ago, at least that's what it feels like for me, but not long before she left me, she told me it was but the blink of an eye in the time she had been on this earth. She never did tell me how old she really was in all that time. It makes me wonder how well I really knew her.
But she's gone now. The loneliness has never left me. God, if he's completely omniscient like the priests claim, knows I have tried to fill that empty hole with other things in the many years afterward. There has always been the ache in my heart since that time. Maybe because she was my true love. Maybe it's because of the way the Gift has enhanced my memory. Maybe because she was the one that gave me the Gift. If it is the latter, and the unending grief is common with the loss of a maker, it would explain why I have met so few of our kind.
Out of habit, I put my cellphone on the charger. I remove my charcoal gray pinstripe suit and hang it on the side of the closet where I put my clothes that need dry-cleaned and then remove the rest of my clothes and toss them in the hamper. I want everything to look normal aside from the pile of ash I will leave. I take a long hot shower to cleanse the UV protectants that I normally use to guard against the sun, carefully scrubbing all trace of them from my skin. Also washing out the gray spray that I have been using in my hair and beard to help disguise my age, or lack thereof. I finish the shower and as I stand there letting the water droplets fall off my body I can feel each one individually release from my skin, falling to the gray and black marble floor. I increase my speed and savor the feeling to give me something to recall when the UV rays cause me to burn and the pain starts. When all that is left is the few persistent drops, I grab my towel and wipe them off. After hanging the towel back on its hook, I take a long look in the mirror and marvel at how the Gift has preserved me. Without the gray color added to my hair and beard, or the tinted UV protectants on my skin, I look like a pale ghost of the man I was 125 years ago when I was given the Gift.
I bought this condo overlooking the Las Vegas Strip to the East years ago, in preparation for this moment. I can see the glow of the coming sunrise now, the night sky slowly transitioning to lighter shades of blue and the stars gradually fading from view. It will still be about an hour before the direct rays of the sun start to filter in through the windows, so I take the time to tidy up what few things are in disarray so that whoever eventually comes in to check on me only finds the pile of ash on the granite tiles in front of the window. I laugh a little thinking on that, wondering if I'll be chocked up as another case of spontaneous human combustion like many of our kind.
I have often thought about which would be better, whether to turn off the UV filter before the sun rises, and let the rays hit my head first and then slowly creep down my body, or let the sun rise before I turn off the filter and let it all hit me at once. In these last moments I decide on the latter to get it done faster and to assure the complete destruction of my body. My reasoning is that if I let the sun rise without the filters on, the sun will hit my head first and if I lose reason, the instincts of my body will kick in to preserve me and pull me from the suns rays. I can't risk the chance my regeneration will activate and I will come back.
5:23 A.M. now and I can see the edges of the sun starting to peek over Lone Mountain and I know it will not be long now. The blue skies in the east gradually transitioning to yellow. For a long time I hated and feared the sun, but now it is like I am welcoming back an old friend. One last warm embrace to say goodbye.
It is now 5:35 A.M. As the rays of the sun start to glow on my entire body I use the voice controls, “Vera, turn off the UV filters.” She responds a confirmation. I see my skin begin to glow briefly and the pain starts to hit me. It begins as an itching. I start to recall the feeling of the water dripping off my body to try and shut it out, but the itching becomes a burning, and I look at my skin and see it turning from the pale white to pink and then red quickly.
How curious, the last time I saw one of our kind burn in the sun, he had quickly turned to black and with a quick puff of flame he was reduced to ash. It must be that my survival instincts have activated my speed. I thought this might be a possibility, and I again focus on the memory of the water dripping off my body.
I feel my skin tightening as the outer layers become hotter and drives out the moisture. I look at my hands as they turn from crimson to burgundy in color. Out of the corner of my eye I see the clock and it shows 5:40 A.M. Wait a minute, that can't be right, I should be ash by now. I call out to the smart controls, “Vera, verify all UV filters are turned off.” But it doesn't come out right.
She returns, “Command not understood, please repeat.”
My lips and tongue are burnt enough that my speech is coming out garbled. Great, I screwed something up and I will have to endure much more pain than anticipated.
I look down at my hands again and they are turning a crispy black, then I feel the moisture cooking out of my eyeballs and I start to lose vision. I resist every instinct to crawl into shade and instead collapse on the floor continuing to let the sun destroy me.
The pain is all encompassing now. I try to focus on any memory that I can recall, and I remember Ana holding me in her arms, calling my name, before I lose consciousness.
That is an ending. Because it also a beginning.
Chapter One
December 9th 1889
I start the day like I have most days for the past eight years now. Waking to the sounds of Big Ben chiming midnight, and the drunkards from the nearby taverns making their way to their beds.
It's Mom's birthday today, and it's been more than two years since she died. I say a quick prayer to her and tell her I miss her, then quickly dress and make my way downstairs to stoke up the fire in the oven to prepare for the days baking. That is by far the best thing about living above our little bakery on Cornhill, is that in the coldest days of winter, we never have to worry about freezing.
I can hear Rabbi making his way home by the distinctive click of his cane along with his voice carrying on in conversation with the barkeep that is getting him home safely. That means he won't be here before the challah goes in the oven.
After I stoke the fires, I get a quick quiche in the oven for breakfast with ham from last night's supper along with some onion and mushrooms. Then I start the mixing of the doughs for the day, the honey sweetened white bread that has made our bakery famous amongst the nobles and other gentry, then the wheat, and next the pumpernickel rye that is adored by the working class for their lunchtime sandwiches. After cleaning the mixing area of the pumpernickel, I pull the quiche from the oven, and like clockwork that is when my father comes downstairs. “Mornin' Jimmy.”
“Mornin' Dad. I just pulled breakfast out of the oven.”
“Fantastic, where are we at?” he asks.
“I got the ovens stoked and the white, wheat and rye are rising on the table, just like usual.” I give him an impish grin.
“Ataboy!”
We quickly devour the fluffy eggs with ham, onion and mushrooms, then get to work on the seasonal items.
I start on the dough we use for the hot cross buns, and the candied fruit loaves. Dad starts mixing the sweetened egg dough for the challah. “I don't think Rabbi will be here in time to bless it before it goes in the oven. Maybe we should wait.”
“Why?” he asks me.
“I'm sure I heard him making his way home as I woke up.”
“That's alright, when he does show up, I'll give him his twopence, like always, and if any of his followers ask, he will tell them he blessed it, like always.”
“That's not right dad, he should do the work properly to earn his pay like we do.”
He gave me a concerned look. “That's the way the world works sometimes Jimmy, but remember, we don't believe in God the way he does, and since in my opinion, he is just saying some nice words in exchange for us being able to sell one of our breads for more than we would normally be able to, we are just paying him a small amount of the profit to be able to do that.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but if he is going to collect money from us, he could at least be here on time.”
He comes over to me, hugs me, then ruffles my dark brown hair. “You've got a good honest heart my son. I hope that never changes.”
After we get the breads done, we start working on the tarts, pastries and cakes. Dad had me take over the decorating of the sweets a few years ago after mom got sick with pneumonia. After mom died, many single women, usually spinsters and widows, would come by and flirt with dad. He would give them the same excuses every time, that he wasn't ready to love yet again, or that I didn't need another mother, depending on which angle they were using.
Mom had been in the convent, training to become a nun, until she met Dad and fell in love with him. When her parents found out, they ostracized her, and demonized Dad for stealing their guarantee into heaven, as they put it, so I never really knew them. Mom's training taught her to write and read. She loved to read and passed that onto me. My favorite books were those by Jules Verne and the fantastic adventures of his characters around the world or deep under the seas. Dad had a good head for math and taught me all I needed to know in the bakery. He said economics and finances are best taught in real world applications.
Dad lets me try out new things when it comes to the pastries. Today I am focused intently on a small chocolate cake with a whipped white icing. I make it with two layers and candied strawberries in the middle soaked in rum to soften them again. I drizzle on a chocolate ganache and then add more of the whipped icing made into roses with candied strawberry slices at their centers to decorate it. Just as I finish with it, dad says, “I think you've spent enough time on that one, Jimmy.”
I see the first rays of dawn starting to come up. “Yeah, sorry, Dad.”
We continue with our work until after the sun rises and customers start coming into the store. Mrs. McGuillicutty is first in the door like every Monday, getting her usual loaf of the pumpernickel rye for her husband's lunches and a small tart for herself. Our little secret.
A little after eight o'clock, I hear the distinctive clicking of the brass tip of his cane hitting the stone as Rabbi Goldzwieg comes in and he still looks a bit bleary eyed. Dad escorts the rabbi to the back so he can say his words in Hebrew and pay him his money. When they return, Dad looks at me and says, “Jimmy, I think it's about time you load up the cart, and head to the market.”
“Alright, dad.”
“Oh, and Jimmy, from now on, whatever we get for selling the breads comes back to the bakery. What you get for the cakes and other sweets on the cart is yours. It's about time you started getting some money of your own, and take that chocolate one you worked so hard on.”
“Really?! Thanks Dad!” I load up the cart with the usual assortment of breads and treats, and I take extra care of the small chocolate cake with candied strawberries. I honestly thought Dad was going to insist the cake go in the front window.
I carefully push the cart the dozen blocks over the cobblestones from the bakery to my usual spot in the market. Gwen is already there in her spot, next to me, with her flowers. Her usual collection of yellow, white and red roses, along with the seasonal addition of poinsettias and some mistletoe.
Gwen is almost a year younger than me. She was named after Lady Gwenevere from the Arthurian legends and we have been friends for about five years now, since we have both been coming to the market for our parents. She is pretty today with her upturned nose, shoulder length blond hair and the cornflower blue dress her mother made. Over a year ago we became a little more than friends, every so often sneaking off to a quiet place after we are done for the day. We both know it can't be anything more since she is now betrothed to the second son of a wealthy textile manufacturer, and I accept that.
She looks at my cart. “Oh, my! That cake with the strawberries looks amazing! That was your mom's favorite, right?”
I feel a slight pang of sorrow. “Yeah, today is her birthday, and I guess I made it out of habit.”
The rest of the morning we both see many of our regular customers, and by noon I only have about a third of my stock left including the cake. “Gwen, it's my turn to get lunch. Would you like turkey or roast beef today?”
“If you're gonna buy the meat from Marcus like usual, he's got a good bit of corned beef there, and I just happened to have a fresh pot of my mom's mustard that you like so much.”
“You've got it!” Gwen keeps an eye on my cart for me, she knows my usual prices. I make my way through the other carts and stalls over to see Marcus. He's a good ten years or so older than me and a big hulk of a man. I get a few good slices of the corned beef, and then stop for a couple apples from Mrs. Butterfield.
On the way back, I notice a woman stopped at my cart talking to Gwen. She is strikingly beautiful with creamy pale skin, straight black hair the color of ravens wings going down to the middle of her back, and big brown eyes. She is wearing an expensive dress of crimson velvet with white lace and gold buttons that leaves very little to my imagination as to her toned but very womanly figure, black boots with a slight heel and gold clasps, white satin gloves, and holding a parasol of matching velvet and lace. Just looking at her visage I feel my heart racing with desire.
Gwen quickly grabs my arm and pulls me over, at the same time relieving me of the apples and corned beef. “James, I'm glad your back, this lady was just admiring your sweets, and asked about that cake, the one you made for your mom, and I wasn't quite sure how much you wanted to sell it for.”
“Well goodness, if you made it for your mother, I couldn't buy it then.” She has a slight accent that I can't quite place.
I am still awestruck by her beauty and I stammer a little at first. “N N N No, it's fine, the cake is for sale. You see today is my mother's birthday, and this was her favorite, but she passed a couple years ago.”
“Oh, my dear. James, right?”
“Yes, milady.” I feel it's quite obvious I am staring at her.
“Well, James, if this is something you made to honor your mother, then I simply must have it, and I insist on paying you two crowns for it.”
“Two crowns?!?! I'm sorry, milady, I couldn't accept such a large sum.”
“Nonsense. It would be my honor to reward you handsomely for something you have obviously put so much of your heart into.” Faster than I notice she produces five florins, a half-crown and a crown and presses them into my hand. I can feel my heart pounding as the satin of her gloves touches my skin. I can't tell if it is fear or excitement that I am feeling.
“Yes milady. If you insist.” I give her a sheepish grin as I quickly pocket the coins and proceed to boxing up the cake for her. While I am boxing up the cake, I feel an odd breeze, causing me to shiver and I manage to knick my finger on the box.
She reaches out quickly and grabs my hand with surprising strength, pulling my finger into her mouth and licks the blood. “You should be more careful James.”
The satin of her gloves along with the moistness of her mouth on my skin sends a tingling feeling through my body and I quickly pull my hand away. “It's all right, milady, I wouldn't want you to get any of my blood on your white gloves.” I notice the bleeding has stopped and there is no trace of the knick on my finger.
“Well, it looks as if it was just superficial. And no more of this 'Milady' rubbish, my name is Anastasia von Lilith, but I want us to be friends, and like my friends, you may call me Ana. Now would you tell me a little more of your mother, so I can know about the woman that drives your heart and creativity?” She reaches up to caress my cheek as I hand the box to her, and it causes me to shiver again slightly.
“Yes, mil....er Ana. My dad could talk on and on about her, but she was a kind and spiritual woman with a gentle soul. She had long brown hair similar in color to mine, and she's the one that taught me reading and writing. Starting with the Bible, of course, but she let me read anything that interested me.”
“Oh, you can read as well?! How wonderful, and do you know any other languages?” She moves closer to me and I detect hints of cinnamon along with a floral note.
I feel my pulse quicken even more. “I know how to read French, but I can't speak it very well. It's the best way I can read the works of Jules Verne.”
“Ah so you have read some of Jules stories, wonderful, aren't they?! Which has been your favorite?”
“From the Earth to the Moon, but I'm sorry Ana, you speak as if you know him personally.”
“But I do, and I would love to introduce you to him someday. For now though, I must take my leave, and if this cake is half as delicious as it looks, I will not visit any baker in London except you.” And with that, she quickly whirls around and exits the market, into an expensive carriage of shiny brass and polished dark woods that is waiting for her.
After the carriage is safely gone, “Two pounds for a cake you would charge a couple shillings for?!?!” Gwen exclaimed. “And by the way she was takin' an interest in you, I thought she was about to grab you by your manhood and lead you off into her carriage.” I can hear the jealousy in her voice.
“And what if she did? It's not like I'm the one who's already betrothed!” I respond out of anger.
Gwen is obviously hurt by that. “You know my father arranged it. I've only met the bloke a couple times, and he ain't nothin' to look at.” Giving me a scowl and turning away.
“I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me. Now would you grab that mustard?” I take out my knife and start cutting some of the rye for our sandwiches. We eat our lunch in silence with both of us in a somber mood after that.
We don't speak to each other again for a while. When Big Ben rings two, I pack up my cart and get ready to head back to the bakery and home. I can still taste the corned beef and think about the two crowns I received from Ana. I figure Dad would like some of that corned beef, and I quickly run over to Marcus as he is getting ready to leave for the day too. “Hey, Marcus! Before you go, do you have any of that corned beef left?”
At first he looks annoyed, but then he realizes it means more money for him, and less weight to cart back to his father's shop. “I still have a couple pounds left, yeah.”
“How much for the rest of it?” I ask.
“You're sure?” He ponders for a moment. “I'll give you the rest of it for four shillings.” He probably thought that was most of my take for the day, which he would normally be right.
“If you throw in two of the big pickles, you've got a deal.” Dad would be proud of me for at least attempting to negotiate more.
“Sounds good.” He smiles and grabs the already bundled corned beef, then hands it to me. Marcus quickly extracts a couple pickles from the large jar and wraps them in wax lined butcher paper as well.
After he hands me the pickles, “See you tomorrow, Marcus!” I shout, and proceed back to my cart.
Gwen is just finishing with her cart. From here she will head to one of the busier intersections in town to sell off what she has left. Preying on the men that need to make up with their wives for an argument, or that feel guilty for the time they spent with their mistresses over the weekend. “See you tomorrow, James.”
“Sure, Gwen.” I give her a smile.
She comes over and gives me a quick hug. “Sorry for provoking you earlier, I was feeling a bit jealous.”
“I'm sorry too, and I understand. Good luck with the rest of your day.”
When I get back to the bakery, I see most of our offerings for the day have been sold. Dad smiles at me when he sees me, but I can see the sadness in his eyes. “An upper class lady paid me way too much for Mom's cake, so I brought home a good piece of corned beef for dinner.”
“Yeah? I knew you made that cake to honor your mom. That was why I had you take it. It hurt too much for me to look at. And if I put in the window, I would see it all day. I'm glad you sold it, I was afraid you were going to give it to Gwen or somethin' silly like that.”
Looking a little sheepish. “I was going to share it with her after lunch, but the lady insisted on paying me two crowns for it!”
Dad lets out a good laugh. “No wonder you brought back your favorite for dinner. Let's see it.”
I toss the paper wrapped package to him. “I'll grab a couple potatoes and some carrots from the pantry.”
Chapter Two
January 5th 1942
“Name?” the corporal reviewing my enlistment documents and medical inspections asks, making sure he has the right recruit in front of him.
“James Grey, sir.” I gave a smirk, calling someone less than half my age 'Sir' was a little comical to me still. I knew I passed all my physical testing, the tough part for me was making sure I didn't do too well, so as not to draw too much attention.
“Date of birth?”
“June 6th 1913.” That was the date on my birth certificate that I'm currently using. When we came to the U.S. Ana paid for quality documents to give us new identities with the same name. She showed me that with the right amount of money greasing the right palms we could create the proper paper trail. She got birth certificates of stillborn children, had the death certificates destroyed, and then had adoption records created with the proper name change filed as well. She explained we needed to do this every 20 years to have the proper paperwork in place for when we grew too old for our current identity. It usually means we have two in place at any time. She also has two or three false identities with different names set up for us as well, just passport and driver's license made by a quality forger. She said in case someone learns the truth.
“Well, Grey, you seem perfectly fit for duty. The doctor did take note of your sensitivity to sunburns, so you'll be shipping off to Fort Dix for Basic training.”
“Where's that sir?
“New Jersey. Shorter daylight hours for you during basic this time of year. It will be cold, but you're used to that here in New York. Also means you'll probably end up in the Infantry.”
“Thank you sir.” Perfect, I would much rather be out on my feet where I can take advantage of my speed, instead of stuck inside a tank or something like that where I'm a sitting target.
The corporal finishes writing a few more things on my paperwork. “Bring three changes of civilian clothes. You have two days before your train leaves. If you're late, you'll be starting boot with a couple days in the stockade. Time and platform are on the outside cover of your paperwork, and be on time. You can read?”
“Yes sir, I won't be late, you have my word.”
“Good, I wouldn't want to have to order a couple MPs to track you down as a deserter. Alright, dismissed.” And with that, I snap him a salute similar to what I've seen in some of the movies and grab my umbrella that I carried here. I'm glad the recruitment centers are open late enough so I can avoid the sun. The clocks at the train station are showing almost Eight P.M. now. I take the train back to our neighborhood in the Bronx and quickly make my way back to our apartment.
As I climb up the stairs to our apartment, I can hear Ana is listening to Mamie Smith again. She has been feeling very melancholy since I told her of my decision to join the war. I open the door and see her sitting at the kitchen table with her eyes closed, lost in thought, as she often does when she is alone. Her beautiful black hair pulled back into a pony-tail.
I walk over behind her and wrap my arms around her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. She turns her head in time so her lips meet mine, and we hold the kiss for a long time. When we finally break the kiss, “I really wish you would change your mind about joining the war.”
“I know my love, but we have had this discussion already, and I have my signed enlistment forms here. With the new war in the Pacific and stories of the atrocities being committed by the Germans again, I can't sit idly by. Besides, you've taught me how to protect myself from the sun properly, and with my powers, I can do a lot of good, I'll survive, and I'll be able to satisfy my cravings without drawing any attention.”
She rolls her eyes at me briefly, “Yes my darling, I forget how at your age, you still feel the hunger.” I have had the Gift for over forty years already and she still treats me like a child when we talk of it. There are still many things she hasn't told me, but I know not to press her on the issue.
We will be together for a long time to come, so I have to talk rationally about it so as not to anger her. “Remember my love, I have only enlisted for a year, and that is not such a long time for us. Also Ghost comes back to New York in a few days, so I know you're in safe hands while I'm gone.” I grab her by the hand and guide her to stand in front of me so I can give her a proper embrace. My hands slowly moving down her back as we kiss again. I still feel that tingle of excitement like the day we first met.
“You're right darling, your time is still but a blink of an eye for me.” She moves me down to the rug on the living room floor and we proceed to make love all through the night and well into the next day. The Gift enhances our stamina as well as our senses, so we are both repeatedly able to reach tantric levels of pleasure as described in the Kama Sutra book she gave me years ago.
We also share each other's blood a few times during the night, making us feel as though we are truly connected, sharing the pleasures of both our bodies at the same time. Each time we drink from the other simultaneously, a level of bonding like nothing else on this earth consumes us and we feel as if we are one. We are both still entangled in each others arms when I fall asleep.
* * *
I wake up in bed and alone. Curious, I don't remember moving to the bed. I can recall every detail of the night up until I fell asleep in her arms, but not how I ended up in the bed.
Looking at the clock, it is almost three in the afternoon. I actually slept over seven hours. I haven't slept that long since before Ana gave me the Gift. Quickly searching the apartment, Ana is not here. I find a note at the kitchen table.
“James-
Last night was wonderful.
I am meeting up with an old friend.
I want to take you out your last night before you go.
Meet us for drinks at Lenox Lounge about 10.”
I take a long hot shower, enjoying the sensations of the water crashing into me and then cascading down my body. I towel myself dry, and then apply a pomade to my hair. Pulling on a clean pair of boxers and an undershirt, I then move to the kitchen and make a batch of fresh biscuits so Ana has some after I leave tomorrow. I cut the butter into tiny cubes and work it into the flour before I add the other dry ingredients. I form the mixture into a bowl on the counter and pour one cup of buttermilk into it. I quickly combine everything, roll the dough out and fold it over many times to create the layers that Ana loves to slowly peel off as she eats them. After I pull them from the oven, I devour one myself to check the quality and decide to make an omelet with ham and Swiss cheese garnished with fresh chives. I want a fresh memory of a good meal to use when I am consuming the lousy food while I'm in the war, so I take my time enjoying the folded eggs with the saltiness of the ham, and creaminess of the cheese along with a couple more biscuits.
After cleaning up, I get dressed in the royal blue zoot suit with gray pin stripes that Ana had tailored for me so I look sharp for the jazz clubs. I wear the black shirt with black suspenders, and finish my outfit with the matching blue wide brimmed hat with gray ribbon stripe and blue leather shoes.
When I finish getting dressed up, the sun is already down. I laugh a little. I feel like the wolf in the Merrie Melodies cartoons when I am wearing this zoot suit. I exit our apartment building and make my way to the subway so I can meet Ana in Harlem.
By the time I arrive at Lenox Lounge, it's almost ten o'clock. I head in to get us a table, and tip the maître d' five bucks to make sure we have one of the more secluded tables along the perimeter. The cocktail waitress arrives shortly after I sit down, and I order a gin and tonic.
Just after my drink arrives, I see Ana walk in looking as elegant as ever. She is wearing her silver satin dress that goes down to her ankles with a slit going most of the way back up her right leg. She is wearing black stockings with high heel shoes and a small clutch matching her silver dress. She has a silver mesh highlighting her jet black hair which is pulled up tonight. Around her neck is the silver necklace with the deep blue star sapphire pendant that I chose for her after we moved to America.
Beside her is an attractive redhead, hair down to her shoulders, wearing a black sequined dress going down to the middle of her thighs, black stockings and shiny black heels.
Ana notices me right away, and they both make their way to our table. She leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Darling, this is Samara. Samara, this is James, and if you touch him without my permission, I will drain you dry.” With that, she lets out a little laugh like she was joking, but with the look in Samara's eyes you could tell Ana was only half joking.
Ana sits next to me and her arm instantly slips around mine. Samara sits on the opposite side “James, I am glad to meet you finally. If you drew Ana's eye, you must definitely be someone special.”
Hearing it from someone else brings a big grin to my face, “That's what she tells me.” I lean back playing it cool.
Ana orders her usual rum and Coke, and Samara orders a brandy on the rocks. After the cocktail waitress has left us I ask, “So Ana mentioned you were OLD friends, how long have you known her?”
“Several hundred years now.” she replies glibly.
“Holy hell! Sometimes I must seem but a baby to both of you.”
“Not at all. You will see as you get older, once a person reaches maturity, age is immaterial. In fact, having someone from a different century is helpful in understanding the new technologies. Look at how the automobile has changed things recently. Ana told me how you love to drive.” She smirks.
I smile again. “It's true, I enjoy getting behind the wheel of my '38 Buick convertible.”
“Maybe after you get back from the war, you can take me for a drive.” She looks quickly to Ana for a nod of approval.
Ana rolls her eyes at her and then smiles and nods. “Just promise me you will always protect him as I would.”
“Of course, which brings me to why I am here. Ana told me that you insist on fighting the Nazis, and she wanted you to have some better protection from the sun.” From her black handbag Samara withdraws a couple jars of what looks to be skin cream, and then a small rectangular plastic container with two bulbous sections on each side. “The jars contain a new skin protectant. You only need to apply a very thin coating to your skin, it won't be removed unless you use soap or scrub it off, and one jar should last you a month if you are only applying it to exposed areas such as the face and hands. So, it's much more durable than the skin protectants you have been using. There is also a tint added to hide how pale we can become when we haven't fed. The other container holds lenses that will protect your eyes. They have been painted to match your blue eye color, but the shaded part covering your pupils will limit your vision a bit. These were the best I could come up with on such short notice. I will send four more jars and a new set of lenses in about a month to your APO. After that just let Ana know when you think you will need more, and she will inform me.”
I transfer the jars and the container with the lenses to pockets of my jacket. “Most appreciated.”
We sit and continue with the small talk for another hour while we consume a couple more rounds, and when Samara stands up to go, I kiss her hand and thank her, then escort her out the door and into a cab. When I return inside, Ana has another drink waiting for me. “You have always been such a gentleman.”
“Thank you, my love.” We spend another hour drinking and listening to the jazz before we decide to go home to our apartment.
A few blocks from our apartment, we are accosted by a young Latino with a knife. We let him direct us into an alleyway, letting him think we will be easy targets. “Drop your wallet and the lady's jewels and nobody gets hurt.”
Ana and I both look at each other, and I respond to the punk, “I'll tell you what, that knife, with the twine holding the hilt together, looks like you paid all of two-bits for it from some shady dealer on a corner. I'll pay you twenty dollars for it, and you can walk away with your life.”
“So you think you're a tough guy, huh?! Well tough guy, I was just going to fleece you, quick like, but I guess I need to teach you a lesson and leave you with a nice scar to remember me for next time.” He takes a more defensive posture and starts inching towards me.
Before he knows what happens, I am holding his left arm outstretched, and Ana is holding his right. Ana effortlessly grabs the knife from his hand and quickly slashes his throat. The blood starts as a thin line across his neck but quickly starts gushing out, and I am quick to drink up as much of it as I can.
Ana stops me before I drink too much. Just a couple pints. We don't want to make it obvious he was drained out when his body is found. She takes a handkerchief from her clutch and wipes the handle of the knife before dropping it next to the body now lying on the ground.
Once we arrive at our apartment, we proceed directly to the bed. Leaving our clothes strewn across the floor in a trail from the door, we are in each others arms again for the rest of the night.
© Copyright by Nicholas D. Miller. All rights reserved. 2023
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