Isla, Alone in a Crowd

Okay, well, that was both wine glasses down the hatch and still no Greg. What the heck? That interrogation was going well. I thought. Britney wouldn't have given him more than a kiss on the cheek without my feminine touch.

Shit, it was cold. I hugged myself, wiggling my butt deeper into the booth. See? I listened. I stayed put. Instead of getting my jam on in the dancing crowd I was freezing my tits off alone at this table. Where was that skinny vamp at? Or, you know, at least a server so I could get another drink. Maybe some cocktail shrimp.

Scanning the crowd from here proved useless. Lights flashed. Bodies swayed. The music was so loud I could feel my eyeballs vibrating.

"Evening."

My knees banged the table. "Son of a witch!"

The vamp that approached me tsked. I knew he was a vamp cause, well, the club was full of them. Plus, my chills reached teeth chattering intensity when his eyes roamed by body, a little too liberally for my liking. He was attractive, I'll give him that. Taller than Greg, brunette, Mediterranean bronzed skin, curly chest hair visible through his open shirt because apparently the laws of vampire fashion ignore dressing for the weather.

"Such fiery language," he said, voice velvety smooth and vaguely sounding like he was doing a poor Gomez Addams impression. "Need a drink to cool it down?"

He placed an anti-freeze-shade-of-blue cocktail on the table.

"I'm with someone."

The vamp stepped closer, taking a big ole whiff of the air above my head. I cringed. The booth was small and I couldn't physically press myself any farther out of his reach.

"I've always thought lies were unbecoming of a lady, but playing hard to get is cute. I'm Leo."

"Piss off, Leonard."

"Hey bitch," said Leo, his accent fading. "Got a problem with nice guys? Cause I can be real mean if that's what you're into. Look at your neckline? Don't tell me you aren't game."

"That how you sweettalked her?"

Leo bared his fangs. A thin string of saliva fell into one of my empty wine glasses. "Who?"

A gaunt woman loomed over Leo's shoulder. Her opulent gown torn to shreds, floating about her like she was underwater. Cheeks hollow. Eyes sunken. A bright red waterfall of blood poured from her torn neck, dissolving into mist as it surged to the ground around her bare feet.

"You know, gaunt, corset. Uh, like, yea tall," I said, leveling my hand with the ghostly woman.

Her attention—grey, angry, haunted eyes—snapped to me. She jabbed a finger at Leo's back.

"Please. Please tell my master I didn't leave her. Harriet didn't leave her. I was taken. He stole me!"

Shit. What's it Greg said last night? I've been made.

"I was taken! He stole me!"

"Yeah, heard you the first time," I said to her.

"Tell my master I didn't leave her. Harriet didn't leave her. I was taken! He stole me!"

"Oh, pixie dust, you're one of those."

"Please. Please tell my master I didn't leave her. Harriet didn't leave her. I was taken! He stole me! Please—"

"One of what?" Leo grumbled. "What are you blathering about?"

"A screamer. Harriet," I said, rubbing my temple with my free hand. She wailed. Louder than this bass could ever hope to drop but, of course, I was the only one who could hear the ghost. Perks of being a necromancer, I guess. "Harriet. You poached her from another vamp, yeah? She's still pissed about that, by the way."

"How the fuck—"

If Leo finished that sentence, eh, I wasn't really paying attention. As he backed off, Harriet wedged herself between him and the table, shrieking at the top of her incorporeal lungs: "You stole me! You stole me! You stole me!"

Yeeesh. What a way to afterlife.

See? You see? This is why I warded my apartment. Why I didn't want any untethered spirits passing through the veil into my turf without permission. No unsupervised spookies allowed in Casa de Madame Margherita and good shit ghosts sure could be loud.

Leo left me. Harriet left with him. Good.

She was probably a real babe, in life. Pity her now. Screaming into her murderer's face didn't seem to give Leo so much as a sinus headache. She'll probably spend the rest of eternity yelling into that void. Hate to say it, but I was just as glad to see her go as I was to see him. I ain't got time for her sob story.

I looked out into the crowd, searching for any signs of Greg again. But the throng of dancing bodies was thick and overlapped and... crap. How many of the dancers in this vampire bar were already dead? There that guy, with the rollerblades, his arm phased right through the person with the purple bob. And another woman, a real deal flapper with a gash in her chest, did the Charleston across four occupied tables.

It's a vamp bar¸ girlfriend, of course it's absolutely brimming with ghosts.

Okay, maybe, if I stayed cool, ordered another drink, waited for Greg, none of the other haunters would notice me. I hoped. I mean, wow, there was a lot of dead people partying it up in this place.

Listen, there're ghosts everywhere. All the time. Whether you, or even I, notice them or not. Philly was just old (I mean, you know, for the States). It had been the East Coast hub of supernatural society since the double whammy of witch trials and blizzards made everyone get the heck out of New England. New York was too crowded with humans. Further south got too sunny for vamps. Philly, somehow, was just right. So yeah, everywhere, was haunted.

Who was I to judge murder baggage in a vampire club anyway? I'm the convicted necro-felon sitting here, watching the crowd, getting checked out by some other bulky vamp now.

Wait, I recognized him. The bouncer from downstairs. Kurt? Curtis.

Beside Curtis stood Leo. The latter dramatically pointed over the crowd in my direction. Like a dog off the leash, Curtis barreled his way through the crowd toward my table.

Nards.