"Let me help." She pushed me back, then proceeded down the alley towardState Street .
"Nicole," I called after her. "Stop. This is dangerous."
She kept walking, leaving me to watch as she reached State and stood at the mouth of the alley, figures passing in front of her in both directions.
A tall, muscular young man stopped. She spoke with animation, arms flailing in the air. He nodded. They both turned and moved back up the alley. I quickly secreted myself around a corner and waited until hearing their footsteps, smelling her scent and his, able to hear their conversation thanks to my highly attuned senses - she had told him she could not start her car and had asked if he could lend assistance.
When they reached me, she was holding his hand. Nicole spun away as I pulled him toward me, sank my fangs into his neck and drank the usual amount, careful to maintain my mental screens, for I had no desire to see this fellow's disgusting mental image of copulation with my love. It was over so quickly that it made me wonder if she wanted me to do it again so she could get a better view.
The fellow wobbled a bit, but by the time he had reached State, he appeared steady. I was certain he was still slightly dazed and unsure how he had spent the last few moments.
"That was incredible," she said finally, once words were able to form on her lips. "So fast. No hesitation. No remorse. Savage and sublime at the same time. It was beautiful."
"Perhaps, you are over-romanticizing. It is just the way I feed. If I did not do it in the manner I do, survival would not be possible."
"Yeah, I can see that, but it really was fantastic."
"Ah, but what of the spider, or the shark, or the lion? This is really no different."
"They pale in comparison." She laughed loudly. We emerged from the alley, passersby looking at us, laughing and pointing, obviously suspecting us of some form of lascivious behavior.
"What shall we do now?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.
"How 'bout the Cardinal Bar? I wanna go dancing. Maggie's gonna be there."
Dancing. Suddenly, images of swirling women in white wigs and hoop dresses came to mind. "I am not certain I would know how to dance as today's youth does."
"Don't worry, Al. It's not a question of knowing the ordered steps of a particular dance. It's all infeeling the music and letting your body move by itself. Besides, maybe there'll be vampires there at the Cardinal."
"There are no other vampires inMadison ," I snapped. The words rang too sharply - a lie, a blatant, bold-faced lie, but if Nicole knew the truth, she would want to help, surely placing herself in danger far worse than what she had previously experienced.
Nicole ran a hand vigorously through my hair. "I meant it figuratively. Not real vampires. They just dye their hair black, wear black clothing and don't go out in the sun hardly at all. And they kind of sit back there at the fringes, being above it all."
"How charming." I opened Nicole's door, then my own. "The Cardinal it is."
This old and venerable bar, just off the east side of theCapitol Square , was certainly lovely. Diamond-shaped tiles of black and white marble made up the floor. Carved mahogany molding circumscribed multi-colored, leaded glass windows. More mahogany made up the bar, which had a very nice, cut-glass mirror behind it. Of course, we walked past the mirror quickly, though it has been my experience that bar patrons usually tend not to notice the lack of reflection in such a mirror.
The back room where people danced, however, had none of the charm of the main barroom. It was an absolute assault on the senses, with bright colored lights flashing and strobing and the recorded music - if one could call it that - played at an excruciating volume.
Nicole bounced onto the dance floor, hips gyrating, shoulders twisting, arms flailing like a whirling dervish. She quickly found Maggie and gave her a violent hug as I followed, attempting to "feel" the music, but by Satan's blisters, was this music?
Nicole tried to tell me something. Her lips moved, but I could not discern her words. "What!?" I shouted.
She placed her lips right on my ear. "It's called 'House' or 'Industrial' or sometimes 'Progressive Industrial Noise'."
Indeed. "Industrial Noise" certainly seemed apt. The cacophony of screeches, scrapes, scratches and crashes, all woven atop the pounding