Page 73 of The Tenth Muse

The clothes Maggieprocured for us, regrettably, were effective. No one gave us so much as a second glance as we made our way downstairs and out the door of our lodgings. The streets smelled of cow shit and sweat, but the alluring thrum of blood was everywhere and my mouth watered despite my disgust. The man my love dragged into the saloon with us was fair-haired and had muddy hazel eyes with heavy, thick lids. I am uncertain what she said to him, but with only a couple sentences exchanged, he clapped her on the back and strode purposefully alongside her into the establishment, his hand drifting lower as they walked. I don’t think he had noticed yet that we are not men; his eyes darting around the room too quickly. Maybe he was a pickpocket or some kind of snake oil salesman. Whatever he was, it would, of course, soon be over for him.

Maggie and I have been doing this a long while. Measures of time have begun to be unreliable for me as the years pass in scores, but I know she’s been with me for at least twenty. We know one another well, I can identify each of her smiles, the angle of her chin, the position of her brows. Her full lips were pressed thin, and I knew she found the man’s demeanorabhorrent. She chose him for his clean clothing and the way his hair was recently trimmed and smelled of pomade rather than grime. It was a kindness toward me and my particularities, which I appreciate, but he was not one she would have chosen for herself. My Maggie likes men who look like they can put up a fight. She delights in taking down brawny, hulking creatures with more muscle than brains. Her small frame and wide mahogany eyes make her appear so young, so timid, but she is by far the more vicious of the two of us. That wild, irrepressible spark of malice is why I chose her in the first place.

A small band played too loudly in the cramped space. Clinking glass, clouds of tobacco smoke, the shouting of men and a terrible barking dog surrounded me and overloaded my senses to a degree that made my stomach lurch. But I trailed after my love as she wound through the mass of people and made her way toward the rear wall. Early on in our partnership, we learned that nobody ever questions a body in a bar. It is impossibly easy to slip into a seat beside someone, whisper seduction into their ear, and then drain them dry without anyone noticing. Humans love to fuck, and alcohol does nothing if not make them more lascivious.

We did not garner a single glance as I slid onto a wooden bench, pulling a small table in front of me, and Marguerite tugged the man down beside me. “Gon’ fetch a bottle of rye,” she said in her best impression of an American man, and I stifled a laugh at how ridiculous she sounded. “This here’s my associate Mr Barker, Murray. He’ll give you the lowdown on the opportunity I mentioned.”

My eyes widened and then narrowed. I am not one for improvisation, and we had engaged in precisely zero conversations about what scheme she had concocted. But the man, Murray’s, excitement got the best of him and he did the work for me. “So what I gotta do to get on that train?” he asked,voice fast and low. “I been wantin’ to get to California, and yer fella says you’re in good with one of them farmers growin’ that new fruit from Brazil.”

Ah, yes. The couple we met on the train. I nodded, hoping he would continue, and I didn’t have to find out how poor my impersonation of an American man would be. Fortunately, Maggie stepped from behind two men arguing with guns drawn, brandishing a bottle of liquor and two tin cups. The band grew louder and the bawdy shouts of dancing girls were answered with whistles and clapping from men who crowded around them. The timing could not have been more perfect. One of the few positive attributes of this place, and if our journey was any indication, of the West as a whole, is that it seems relations between men are generally accepted.

Back in London, such things are done under cover of night and in whispers. Here, I’ve seen men kiss one another around campfires and travel together with little regard for who might witness their activities. Even if they weren’t distracted by the dancing girls, they would pay no mind to the masculine illusion of Maggie and me in close contact back here. It truly is a perfect cover.

My love took a seat on Murray’s other side, pouring him a cup of alcohol so pungent it made my eyes water, and leaned in close. “So, you two figure out what we’re doin’?” He took the cup and emptied it in a single swallow, grimacing and coughing like a man with consumption. But before he could reply, she poured him another and pushed it into his hand with a feline grin. My own lips tipped up at the corners when I caught sight of the crimson sparkle in her eyes as she compelled him to drink it without a single word. His movements were jerky, like some sort of automaton, as he tipped the glass into his open mouth.

She struck like an adder, so swiftly that no mortal could even perceive the motion. In a fraction of a second, her fangssank into his neck, piercing the pulsing artery with scalpel-sharp precision. Her hat slipped down and concealed her beautiful face—it's a pity, I do so love to watch her in these moments, pupils blown with Sybaritic bliss, cheeks growing rosier with each deep pull of thick human blood. Thin, pale fingers fluttered against Murray’s chest as he began to slump forward slightly and lose his pallor. When she lifted her head from him, licking her vermillion lips, I grew immediately slick between the thighs. I wanted to tongue the blood from her mouth, pull her over my lap and fuck her in this saloon, but the scent of him filled the air between us and my own fangs elongated.

I have much more control than my Maggie after all my many decades spent as a drinker of blood, so I took my time adjusting him to lean my direction. My eyes met my love’s and I hummed beneath my breath at the sheer desire swirling in the deep brown and ruby depths of them. I kept her gaze as I dropped my own mouth to the space between his neck and shoulder. If her cruel nature stokes the flames of my attraction, the strength of my abilities turns hers into a full-scale blaze. His collarbone snapped between my jaws and I pushed down, entering the artery below with ease. The saline, metallic tang coated my tongue and flowed into my ravenous mouth as my lips curved up into a cruel smile.

four

. . .

November 22, 1870

Marguerite

Every time I feed,it is as though I am experiencing my very first rising dawn. The world around me brightens, becoming infinitely more detailed. My nerves alight with thrumming ecstasy and my mind becomes instantly alacritous. If that were not enough, I had the honor of sitting beside Luci. I would have slaughtered every man in this saloon to fuck her on the rough dirt floor if she would had me. Her eyes went wholly black as she dragged the remaining blood from the body. The man was a fucking imbecile, it was entirely too easy to ply him with promises of riches to be won in California. But at last, he had gone completely white, his eyes sunken deeply into their sockets.

Luciana dropped the desiccated corpse and its skull smacked against the table as it slid to the ground with a quiet thud. Her eyes glowed in the dim bar room. I’m still amazed every time I see her like that. She could never,everbe mistaken as human. Her fangs remained extended, glinting like polished glass. Not a single drop of blood marred her face; she was perfect—lips blushing scarlet and begging to be kissed. Not even her silly costume dulled the air of royalty that surrounded her likeinvisible incandescence. “Marguerite,” she growled, and I went molten.

My voice came out breathy and quivering. “Yes, my lady?”

“Would you like to play a game?” A black curl had fallen from beneath her hat, and a clumsy patron shouldering it caused it to blow across her face momentarily. She tucked it behind her ear and smiled wickedly.

“Of course I would. You know I love games.”

The shell of my ear vibrated with her voice, suddenly so close I could taste her perfume. “Catch me.”

She was gone. My enhanced senses, sharper than any living human, still can’t conceptualize her speed; my eyes did not even blink, and she had vanished from this room. Of all the abilities I have gained as a blood drinker, my favorite is strength. Hers is speed. I was after her in a flash, scenting her on the air like a hound. I tossed the hat aside, letting my chignon unravel, and the pale yellow of my long hair caught the moonlight as it streamed behind me. Trousers are most excellent to run in, and a laugh bubbled up my throat at the unfettered happiness I felt, racing across ice-crusted dry grass and thorny brush. I caught a breath of almond blossoms and turned, following my instincts into the unbroken darkness of the landscape, darting into bare-limbed trees and across a tiny stream. I felt, for a moment, alive—and it was as brilliant as the sun.

A whisper from behind had me spinning mid-air, boots skidding into the dirt and eyes scanning my surroundings. I love the game, hunting the hunter. Luci is faster and more cunning than me, but she loves the chase, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “So close.”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” I murmured into the black, and was rewarded with her deliciously low laughter.

A branch snapped and I leapt for it, hands outstretched, finding only cold air. Fingers trailed over my lower back and Ifought the urge to follow them. She was playing with me but I have learned at least a few of her tricks. Instead, I pivoted away from the touch and came face-to-face with solid black eyes and full, red lips. Her shirt had come unbuttoned and the swell of her breasts spilled over her corset, set against the severe line of sharp collarbones. Her icy fingers grabbed hold of my throat, lifting me up so my feet kicked at nothing, and I moaned toward the star-flecked sky.

“I win,” she spoke into my own bosom—level with her face. I let my legs scissor in the open air one more time, knowing how much she loves to see me struggle like a snared rabbit, and then she let go. I landed in her lap somehow, and her hand found the buttons of my trousers. She deftly maneuvered the closure and the pants slid down my hips. The tight-fitting wool drawers I wore beneath were damp between my thighs, and the frigid wind felt like a bolt of lightning against my sensitive skin. The drawers, too, were pulled from my ass and I shimmied them down my legs and kicked them off clumsily.

When she pulled me over her face, my head tipped back at the first long, precise drag of her tongue. My knees disrupted the half-frozen dirt, and I felt strands of her hair snap beneath me. Her cheeks were framed by my thighs, ruinous, looking up at me from beneath my little puff of blonde curls. The black had begun to recede at the edges, reverting to the deep-water blue I love so much. And then her tongue was on me again and I was lost—lost to sensation and pleasure and the wild unrestrained need that binds us together like pages and pages of handwritten poetry.

I sank onto her mouth, feeling the length of her fangs as they helped to spread me wide for her. She kept her head angled so the points pricked my inner thighs while her tongue circled the throbbing pearl at the center of my petals. My hips rocked, picking up speed as I let my eyelids flutter closed and took my own nipples between my cold fingertips, squeezing to the pointof pain. Luci’s voice whispered in my head, its low rasp winding through my thoughts in the way that only a Creator’s can.Open your eyes, Marguerite,she commanded, and I was bound to comply by the very cells of her blood that flow through my veins. They snapped open and my gaze was pulled to hers like the tide to the shore. My hands slammed into the ground as the swell of my climax began to crash over me. Frozen blades of brittle grass and sharp-edged stones cut into my palms, but I just dug my fingers into the earth, tangled with strands of my love’s coal black hair. Just as it crested, and my entire body began to spark with prickling heat, I felt the subtle shift of her face, and her fangs plunged into my thigh.

I shattered into a million shards of glass, all glittering with the light of the moon and the endless swath of stars overhead. She gulped my blood hungrily, and with each swallowed mouthful I came again and again and again. By the time she licked the wounds clean, healing the two small punctures with her kiss, I was coated in a sheen of pale pink sweat. I moved on hand and knee until our faces were level and collapsed against her, still quivering every few seconds. Luci’s arms wrapped around me and my cheek rested in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, breathing her in as I came back down.

“I shall never tire of tasting the moment your blood changes,” she murmured against my hair. “It’s like champagne when you come.”

I laughed softly, reaching up to push pink-stained flaxen hair from my face. “Well, I shall never adjust to sweating blood—so I suppose we both have a long future of expected unexpectedness.”

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