Amber was poised in a fashion that appeared both intensely comfortable and alluring. Her long legs could be seen, peaking out from behind the large, rosewood desk.
It was hard to say what her face looked like, behind a huge stack of ancient volumes, but every customer in the shop was determined to find out. There was something about her that called to them and beckoned them over. They entered the bookstore, at times not even sure why they had come.
“Welcome,” she greeted the newest entrants, leaning to the side of the books. There were three men, two of whom appeared to be together. Those two leered over at her and she raised a dark, wickedly arched eyebrow at them, daring them to comment. Whispered words were exchanged and they shook their heads, continuing into the depths of the Bloody Quill Bookshop.
“You have to expect some like them when you have a bookshop called The Bloody Quill, don’t you?” the last man to enter said with an apologetic laugh. Amber graced him with a rare smile that highlighted the sharp little dimples in both her cheeks. She stood up, black cotton dress showing off her lithe form in a mockingly wholesome manner.
“That’s what I get for being creative,” she agreed. Amber looked the man over. It was actually quite rare to get a normal customer. This man was young looking, somewhere in mid twenties, with dark red hair and a large white smile that seemed to bring a little sunshine from the outside world into the shadows of Amber’s bookstore. Though she preferred the darkness, his warmth was more appealing than usual.
“Can I help you find something?” she offered, sweeping over to the first row of bookshelves where the least offensive material was kept. Most of the public didn’t want what this bookstore offered. They wanted something that seemed dangerous and enchanting but didn’t quite break outside the socially accepted norms. Amber, reasonably, offered this as well. She aimed to please -herself. Unhappy customers meant complaints and complaints meant disruption that she couldn’t be bothered with.
“Actually, I’m looking for something a little older. I was told you might have it,” he broke in as she prepared to show some of the newer fantasy novels.
“Told by whom?” Amber asked, interest piqued.
“A friend of mine. I’m looking for information, real information, on werewolves.”
A new gleam shone in Amber’s copper eyes that was a mix of caution and ecstasy. She hadn’t had a chance to run her fingers down the age-worn spines of those books in ages. Her favorites lay just to the left of werewolves, though. Perhaps she’d have a chance to visit the vampire section if he was sincere. What was he after them for, after all? The last woman who’d asked after these books had been a major pain in the ass, determined to convince Amber that it was all devil worship and that reading such filth would get her a hot ticket to hell. She was determined not to go through that again. Time for a test.
“We have Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis-,”
“Never mind,” the man said curtly. “I think I’m looking in the wrong place.” He sounded disappointed. As he turned, Amber placed her hand on his arm and he froze as all men did at her touch. Unlike usual, though, she felt frozen as well. It took a moment for her to recover.
“Or we have Moonlight. Its author is unknown but it was written sometime in the Renaissance,” she offered. He turned back, eagerness consuming his features.
"I'm willing to pay-" he started. Amber shook her head. Sharing these books was not something she did for money, obviously. She had black market buyers for the copies she hand made, but the originals were taken out only when she had judged the seeker worthy. There was no test to pass or hurdle to overcome save for Amber's preferences.
“I’ll show you to it.”
The two traveled down dozens of aisles, each one darker and older than the next. Tucked around a corner past a locked, bullet proof glass door was her haven. There were no signs, labels, or any apparent organization, but Amber lead him further and further back until the shelves became dusty and the books looked as though they might crumple into a pile of scraps if they were touched.
“Here it is,” she announced, unconcealed joy in her voice. The book she pulled delicately off a shelf was a dark grey that might once have been black. She set it on a high, wooden table where the two perched on stools.
“If you want to buy it, I’m almost done making a copy. We don’t sell the originals.” The man nodded without really listening. The curling script that danced across the yellowed pages trapped his eyes. The twisted illustrations held both beauty and torture.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. I must ask that you don’t touch any of the other books back here without coming to ask me first.” Amber rose, brushing her dark brown hair away from her flushed, excited face.
“You could stay,” the man offered, looking up at her through eyes the color of twilight. Though she considered it, Amber heard a distant noise that confirmed her need to remain at the front of the shop.
“Hey! We want to buy something!’ one of the earlier customers yelled. Amber couldn’t help but glower at the interruption and pain. Her ears had always been more sensitive than most people’s.
“Sorry! Let me know if you need any more help!” She looked briefly to the section on vampires before she left. The species was vastly under-appreciated.
“How may I help you?” Amber asked without a trace of the smile she’d give the stranger. She slid behind the checkout counter with the two men’s eyes following her every move. They were both large, one fat and one muscle-bound. The first man was bald and gave off a rank smell, tossing a book on the counter.
Amber looked down at the cover. The book had a smutty looking picture with a half naked woman on it. Pigs, Amber thought in a snarl. She wondered briefly what their guts would look like, steaming on the ground. How had they even found that trash in here, she didn't stock it. "Confessions of the Dead and Delicious," she read out loud, much to the pleasure of the two men. Oh, it was a vampire novel, and those she couldn't resist, no matter how badly written they might be
“Is that all for you?” she asked in a low tone, avoiding eye contact. They wanted her to be offended.
“Umm, I guess so,” the fat one sniggered. “That, and one sweet night with you.” His companion laughed and Amber slowly raised her eyes, which now shone in a manner that echoed her name, appearing wild and heated.
“Alright,” she whispered in a sultry voice that surprised both men.
“E-e -excuse me?”
“You heard me. Meet me tonight around ten. I’ll be waiting for you.” She winked and tucked the book back under the counter.
"I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” she purred and the man nodded and walked out in a daze. His friend looked equally bedazzled.
“They didn’t bother you, did they?” the red haired stranger asked as he emerged from the shelves.
“Oh, no,” she assured with a secretive smile. “Wait, what’s that you're holding?" The note of annoyance in her voice snapped the man’s head up from the book he was holding. There was, again, no title on the cover, but Amber would have recognized that blood red color anywhere.
"I said not to touch any of the other books!” she growled, striding over with short, angry steps to snatch the book away. The man looked so shocked that Amber’s expression softened. He was actually rather attractive, in an innocent way. His eyes were wide and heavily lashed, though that was the only soft looking thing about him. He belonged in a cabin somewhere safe and green, away from the vulgarity of humanity.
“I’m sorry! I’m just . . .I didn’t think. I hope I haven’t harmed it.”
Amber cradled it in her arms and checked to make sure it was ok. He’d been careful and nothing was disturbed. She flipped through the bloodstained pages.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry I shouted. This is just my favorite book,” she said quietly.
“About vampires?” he asked, incredulous. Amber flushed.
“They’re a misunderstood race!” she informed him, walking back to the shelf where the book belonged. The stranger followed her, seemingly fascinated by her words.
“In what way are they misunderstood?” he questioned as she slid it carefully back into the gap it had been removed from.
She looked over her shoulder, hair framing the side of her face in a manner she knew drove men wild. “Many fierce beings are judged only on appearances. So they kill the occasional citizen. How do you think the cows feel about McDonalds?"
“I doubt you’d say that if you were the cow,” he said seriously. For a moment they both thought about what he’d just said and then simultaneously broke into laughter. Amber couldn’t take her eyes off his pale neck as he tilted his head back. His pulse was almost visible, strong and hot.
“Hmmm, so I’m a cow, am I?” she asked.
“Not at all! I’m so sorry. I told you I often act and speak without thinking. You’re anything but a cow. You’re lovely!” He paused again, apparently lost for words. Amber did something she hadn’t done for years, then. She blushed.
“I’m Amber, by the way!” she said, holding out her hand to shake. With a half smile, he took it and kissed it instead. Amber laughed again. It felt so good to laugh after years of darkness and anger.
“How noble!” she admired with a wink. “And what may I call you?”
“Connor,” he said. “I’d like to see you again.” My but he moved fast. But she had to stay away from him for his own good, really. She couldn't bear the thought of harming him, a she inevitably would. Yet . . .
“I-“ she stumbled.
“I mean, I’d like to look at this book more, if it’s alright. Can I come back tomorrow?” he corrected. Amber smiled at his attempts to make her more comfortable. What an awkward little puppy he was. She’d just have to be careful not to hurt him. Her bite was much worse than her bark.
“That would be fine. I’ll see you then.”
******
Amber waited outside the bookshop in the alley that ran past it. All of the other shops were closed and emptied, she’d made sure. Her red dress was much shorter than anything she usually wore and the top was cut dangerously low. He would be thrilled to see her.
The ruby that glittered at her neck reflected into her eyes making her look almost demonic as the sloppy man approached. He had actually dressed up, which sent a surge of doubt through Amber. It was too late now.
“H-hello. You look great!” he stammered as he eyed her. "Where do you want to go?”
“I was thinking we could stay here,” she said with a mischievous grin that made the poor man sweat.
“Wouldn’t you rather go somewhere more comfortable? I know a motel down the street,” he offered, gesturing. Amber noticed a band around his ring finger and felt all of her worries melt away. She looked to the moon and relished its soft glow, caressing her skin.
Instead of answering, she beckoned him into the shadows and took his face in her hands. His fingers scrambled, moist and dirty up her leg. Before he could do much else she kissed his neck, sinking sharp, eager teeth into his sweaty skin. His blood was salty and he’d consumed a lot of alcohol, but Amber’s hunger was great enough that she didn't care. His whimpers were a mixture of pain and delight as his life slowly drained away. Amber prepared to truly enjoy the feast when a shadow moved off to her right.
Dropping the man, she ran and pounced at the movement. There was nothing, but her heartbeat refused to slow. She dragged the man off and dumped him in the trash, carefully erasing any evidence from the scene. Pressing a hand to her head, she managed to make it back into the shop and up to her apartment, which lay above it, before her headache roared to life. She hadn’t finished the meal and her body was rebelling. She’d been starved for a kill since last month. She would be grumpy tomorrow.
She shut out all the lights and sat for a time in the window, looking out on the street where she had succumbed to the shameful pleasure that ruled her life. What a horrible juxtaposition of beauty and ugliness she was. It was no wonder she was all alone. She cradled her head in her arms and fell asleep there, with the smell of forest and the sound of running legs filling her dreams.
Sleep had come quickly but the dawn was faster. Amber chose her clothes with much more care than usual, but attempted to hide her reasoning even from her own mind. He was, after all, just a human. But there had been a look when she’d spoken of vampires. A sort of understanding that had given her hope.
Black jeans and a turquoise top accented her dark hair and glowing eyes perfectly. When she came downstairs it was seven. She opened in an hour and a half, but when she glanced at the door she saw a familiar silhouette.
Connor’s hair was such a delicious, dark red that Amber’s mouth watered when she let him in.
“You’re early,” She said with a smile. His face was animated and completely awake.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what I read yesterday. That book is amazing. The Were-culture is so complex!” He chattered on as they went back and spent. This time, Amber stayed and discussed with him as he read.
The two poured through books, equally fascinated as they uncovered things Amber herself had not fully understood.
“When do you open?” Connor asked after some time and a few cups of coffee. The room smelled delicious and Amber couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be.
“Ummm, about an hour ago,” she laughed. They made their way up to the front, this time with a few books that Amber allowed Connor to take up next to her desk. Waiting for her at the door was a police officer, looking irate.
“Can I help you?” She asked after unlocking and opening the door.
“I’m here to investigate the death of Bob Martin, Miss. Do you mind if I come in?” Amber stepped aside and they moved over to a table by her desk, where Connor watched, hesitant.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” Amber said, confused. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He was here with his friend, Tommy Parker.” The officer flashed a photo and Amber nodded.
“Yes, I remember now. He came through, but didn’t buy anything.”
“Mr. Parker said that the two of you arranged to meet later for a date. Mr. Parker was supposed to meet up with you at a motel but when you didn't show he came to "check up" on his friend. He found his body in the trash bin outside your store.” The officer looked disgusted at the thought of what "check up" had probably meant and Amber seethed inwardly, wondering just what the two of them had planned for her last night. Amber affected a surprised and frightened look, though her hands had grown moist. She should never have accepted in front of the man’s friend.
“I can assure you he’s mistaken,” she told the officer in a doubtful tone. “The two of us had very little in common.” The officer had apparently just been considering the same thing, looking again at Bob’s picture and then up at Amber’s well groomed, lovely appearance.
“I see. Unless you have an alibi for last night, however, I'd prefer you to come in for questioning.” The officer raised his gray eyebrows and waited. It was clear that this was routine for him and Amber was at grateful that one again that her natural looks and charm were making her less and less of a suspect.
“She was with me last night,” Connor said suddenly, standing. “We went to a movie at the Carmike.” He offered the two pieces of tickets to the policeman, who accepted them with a look of relief. Amber looked at Connor with a grateful smile.
“Those two men were harassing Amber as soon as they came in.” Connor added.
The policeman left after a few more questions, which Connor pulled off seamlessly. When he left Amber flipped the sign on her door to closed.
“I think I’m going to take the day off," she said tiredly. "Thanks so much for your help. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he said, gazing at her intently. Too intently. Those eyes might swallow her. They looked famished and she had the impression that she was what he had in mind for his main course.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” She asked and in reply Connor leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Fireworks went off inside Amber’s chest and she pressed against him, running her tongue over his teeth as the beast rose within her.
“That was some kiss, wild thing,” Connor gasped, surprised. Amber grinned.
*******
Later that night, when Connor had finally gone and Amber was feeling on top of the world, she caught a glimpse of a man outside her window. The rank smell he gave off was familiar- it was Tommy. She snuck down the fire escape as lightly as a cat and nearly purred with pleasure at what she knew was coming.
“Hello,” she whispered. He hadn’t noticed as she crept behind him, crouched in the alleyway. Before he could rise, She’d destroyed him, feasting as she hadn’t done last night. She ripped his flesh and drained him dry, as he pleaded helplessly, unable to throw her monstrous grip despite his thick build.
“And that’s why you should always be polite,” she admonished his dead body as she threw yet another corpse in the dumpster. But this time no one would look for it until it was far too late. Poor Tommy didn't have any friends left to come looking for him. She began to walk towards the bookstore door when movement caught her eye once again. This time she leapt towards it and pulled a young man from the shadows, tossing him onto the street. Her necklace was torn from her throat as he fell, she heard it clatter to the street but paid no mind.
He scrambled to his knees but Amber knocked him back and leaned over him, hand around his throat.
“Amber!” he exclaimed. In the lamplight, Amber noticed his wide, dusky eyes. Connor.
“You shouldn’t have followed me, Connor!” she cried. The muscles in her fingers twitched as she warred with herself. She hadn’t felt alive for so long before him. It was all over now, though. He knew what she was. His wide, innocent eyes looked up into her face without hatred or disgust, though. There was only fear, and that was a natural feeling for prey.
“What are you going to do, Amber?" he asked quietly. Amber pried her hand off him and turned away. It felt like she’d been burned somewhere far beneath her skin. Everything was hot and raw.
“Get out of here! I’d better not see you again!” She slammed the door of the bookshop. She looked down the rows of books, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. She had so much packing to do.
********
Amber sat behind a dark, mahogany desk. It was nearly time to close and a pile of books concealed her from the customer’s view. There were usually many more customers at her new shop in New York, but right now there was only one.
“Hey hot-legs!” the customer grunted in her direction. Amber just turned away, tracing shapes with her finger into the blood red book she’d been reading for the past hour.
“What can you expect with a bookshop called the Novel Murder?” A voice asked from the doorway. Amber raised her gaze to the man who stood there, red hair a little longer than before. Most surprising, however, was the unconscious customer in his arms. Two puncture marks marred his neck and he looked completely bloodless.
“Connor,” Amber breathed. He flashed a white, toothy grin and held up a small object and a sheet of paper.
“You dropped this the last time I saw you,” he explained, casting the body aside. Amber stood and watched the object he tossed onto her desk. It was a pentagon . . . her pentagon.
"How did you find me?" she asked, leaping up to snatch the necklace away. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. There was once a time when every member of her kind wore one. For obvious reasons the practice had been abandoned as secrecy was paramount to their survival. Time had warped the culture so much that it was once again a safe symbol and went widely unrecognized, though Connor seemed to catch on a bit more quickly.
"It's funny how ubiquitous I can be," he said. "And I had a little help," he admitted, holding up a sheet of paper that had been ripped out of Moonlight. "As long as you have a personal object of the one you're looking for, you can scry for anyone." She suppressed both laughter and a twitch of annoyance at his treatment of her book. When exactly had he accomplished that and how had he known to do it?
"So you're not afraid of me?" she asked, barely daring to hope.
"I’ve always felt that werewolves were more misunderstood than vampires,” he admitted. Amber bit her lip and closed her fingers over the metal of her necklace. He placed his hand over hers.
Why make yourself so easy to identify?
