Vermilia by Tanith Lee

Author:Tanith Lee [Lee, Tanith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Having no intention of going back, the next night he hunted among the bars many blocks away from the Gothic building.

He took three women, and each time found he had killed them, which was a nuisance in the matter of disposal. The last one he did not bother to hide, leaving her among the trash cans in an alley. Despite the excess of blood, he felt enervated, and depressed.

The following night he overslept, waking two hours before midnight. This was not unheard of for a vampire. But it was rare.

Vermilia.

He found himself in some nightclub, sipping a mineral water that cost seven dollars, saying her name in his head—the name he had given her.

He kept thinking about what had happened to him, with her. He was pretty sure he had also dreamed of it. Again, vampires did dream. But not much.

He wrote, “I am like some little virgin bride after her first night. I infuriate myself.”

He discovered that now, when he took the blood from his prey, he did not enjoy it so much. At first, desperate for the blood, he had not noticed.

Did he, then, want the blood of Vermilia? Somehow, that thought revolted him. Almost made him, in fact, retch. Why was that? The blood of another vampire could not properly nourish. But, it was not repulsive, or poisonous—

He thought of her leaning to him, and piercing his throat with the peculiar caps she needed because somehow her teeth had grown deformed and useless. He thought of the rhythm beginning, and his head went round.

He bought a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Drank some. Threw up.

The next night, he threw up the blood he had taken from his prey. Twice.

He lay in the dark of his bare room, cursing her.

What was it? What had happened to him? A human might have feared some disease, but he, a vampire, was immune to such diseases. And she, a vampire, would not carry any disease.

The next night, he went to the Gothic building. And in the foyer the TV-doorman turned morosely and said, “Hey, bud, who the hell are you?”

He stood there, made stupid. Never before had he been seen like this, when he had not meant to be.

He mumbled, “Number fifty-one. The lady.”

“Oh, who’s that?”

Who indeed.

“She knows me.”

“OK, bud. No funny stuff. Get outta here.”

He walked out, and there was Vermilia, like in the best movie, dawdling towards him up the street. She wore black tonight, but her mouth was still the proper colour.

“Honey!” she cried. She ran and hugged him. “You look beat.”

They walked by the doorman, who now seemed to see neither of them.

In the elevator she jabbered about some idiotic thing, he did not grasp what she said. Why was he here—with her?

In the apartment, she lit the candles, the incense. He stood coughing and trembling.

“Like a beer?”

“I’d like you to do what you did last time.”

“Oh, sure. But let’s get in the mood.”

He fell down on the sofa. She caressed him. He writhed with need and dragged her mouth to his neck.

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