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Art in the Blood by P.N. Elrod
Chapter One
HUNGRY AND CARELESS, I'd opened the vein more than necessary and the blood
slipped past my mouth and dribbled down the animal's leg. I shifted my right
hand above the wound and applied pressure, which slowed the flow, and continued
with my meal, siphoning off more than usual because I'd been on short rations
the last few nights. I drank my fill and more, the excess partly due to
curiosity; I wanted to know if I'd swell up like a leech or if I could get away
with fewer feedings per week. The cow didn't mind, she could afford to spare a
quart or moreЧthere'd just be that much less to spill out when they finally
slaughtered her for someone else's dinner.
I drew away, a handkerchief immediately at my lips so as not to spot my clothes,
and tightened the pressure on the leg. It worked, and the bleeding eventually
stopped. My hand looked the same, at leastЧno puffiness there. I wondered how
long it would take for the red to fade from my eyes. The usual time was only a
few minutes, but there was no way to tell. These days I preferred to avoid
useless mirrors and their many complications.
To spare my shoes from farmyard-style damage, I went incorporeal to get out and
flowed past the wood corrals and their complaining occupants. It was a
disorienting state, but I knew the route well and was soon back on the open
street again, doing my best imitation of a normal man out for a walk. My car was
parked less than a block away, but I always varied my route into and out of the
Stockyards. Few people believed in vampires these days, but it never hurt to be
careful.
The first aid to the cow had stained my fingers somewhat, so I took a swing past
Escott's office with a mind to borrow his washroom. His lights were on, which
surprised me, for only yesterday he'd mentioned a dearth of business. I didn't
feel like his company just then and kept walking, but silently wished him luck
as I passed. He detested being idle. A dripping tap in an alley down the street
provided all the cleanup I needed, and I tossed the stained handkerchief into a
trash can. Escott's laundry service, which I shared now, had once asked if his
houseguest suffered from frequent nosebleeds.
The car started up without fuss and I drove aimlessly, turning when the mood
struck me and obeying the stop signals like a good citizen. I pulled up and
parked near the Night-crawler Club up on the north side and pretended it was
only an impulse that took me there, and not some inner need.
They had a new man out front. He looked askance at my ordinary clothes, but let
me in when I asked to see Gordy. The hatcheck girl was not new, I rarely forget
dimples, but she didn't know me from whosis, and put my plain gray fedora next
to the flashier silk toppers with a friendly if impersonal smile.
I knew the place had been raided by the cops at least once since my last visit,
and Gordy had taken the temporary shutdown as an opportunity to redecorate. The
walls were bright with fresh paint, and the tables, chairs, and bandstand were
now shiny black with gleaming chrome trim. The only thing unchanged were the
costumes on the girls, which remained black with silver-sequined spiderwebs
patterned on the happily short skirts. The leggy details were enough to keep me