It was an ordinary Friday and he looked perfectly normal, I noticed, with his black hair tied into a neat braid reaching to his shoulder blades and warm brown eyes beneath thick, bushy, black eyebrows. A light ghost of five o'clock shadow graced his strong jawline and his skin glowed like new-fallen snow. He twisted his braid around his fingers as he concentrated on his notebook, but whether he was writing or drawing, I wasn't sure.
His clothes were simple, just a black tee shirt, jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, but the way he wore them suggested he'd be more comfortable in a long cape, tall boots, and a poet shirt. I watched him behind the guise of reading a book, watching through my sunglasses in the hot afternoon sunshine. He was sitting at a table in the shade, but I didn't want to get any closer and reveal my presence.
He did not leave for quite a while. Finally, at dusk, he packed up his belongings and left the park, his sweatshirt sagging around his wiry frame. I followed him inconspicuously, driving in my car. I was out to kill Xavier Rynne because he was not, after all, an ordinary twenty-one-year-old, but a vampire and I, twenty-year-old Celine de Beauvoire, was a vampire slayer.
I had been watching this latest target for a few days, sensing his waiting blood lust. He'd killed a human only once, I could tell, and that had been by accident. Still, the young man was dangerous and I had to put the community at ease before they discovered the truth.
Xavier tossed his keys down on a table in his front hall and walked through the kitchen, grabbing a can of chicken blood from his refrigerator and settling in front of his computer. He then proceeded to instant-message for a few hours, and I watched him set up plans through a pair of ordinary binoculars.
I watched until he started changing, then I looked away, more for my own sake than his, and turned back a few minutes later. He was wearing black pants and a blood red button-front shirt over a silky black tee shirt with a pair of snazzy black shoes. I knew he was heading to a club that evening, one that was frequented by others of his kind, so the moment I knew what he was wearing, I drove off in my car to return home.
Quickly, I dressed in a red skirt, a short black kimono, and my favorite tall black boots, which were criss-crossed with red leather, then I ran to get into my car and practically shot into the downtown of the city where the club was located.
The moment I walked up to the club, I noticed Xavier standing in line. I waited for a few people to fill in between him and me, then filed in with the others out for the night. Xavier's first move was to get a drink at the bar. I knew he was drinking only for his own pleasure since the beverage would do nothing to slake his thirst.
I sidled up next to him and ordered the same beverage, sipping the sweet concoction. "Are you a regular here?" he asked me suavely.
"Somewhat. Why do you ask?" I replied, equally smooth, equally cool. Xavier just smiled confidently.
"You ordered that drink with authority, like you're a woman who knows what she wants," Xavier replied, leaning on the bar on one elbow. "That's a stiff drink, takes a strong stomach to keep it down."
"Well I do know what I want and I can hold my liquor," I replied though I'd never had a drink in public before. Though I was really twenty, all my records recorded me as a year older than I was so I could have all the rights of an adult. This was crucial to my profession and the lies didn't bother me too much.
"Would you like to dance?" Xavier asked the moment I set my drink down. I nodded and accepted his outstretched hand. Xavier turned me around and we danced for a while before he asked, "So, my mysterious dance partner, are you going to tell me your name?"
"Tell me yours first and I may consider it," I replied cryptically, a smile on my face as we danced.
"It's Xavier," he said over the music. "Xavier Rynne." He twirled me under his arm and asked, "So? Your turn."
I laughed and, before I could think about an alias, I told him, "I'm Celine de Beauvoire." I felt my heart skip a beat; I was a relatively well-known slayer and if Xavier knew who I was, that would ruin everything.
However, my cover remained intact because he simply replied, "I like your name. Are you French?" I nodded as the song changed to a slow one.
"You?" I asked, smiling as we danced. I had him right where I needed him if I were going to kill him, but as I felt the hilt of my knife slip into my hand, I resheathed the blade at my hip, deciding to milk information from the vampire if I could.
"Gaelic to a fault," he laughed. I smiled as though I was having the time of my life as we whirled around the floor. Finally, I decided it was late and that I wanted to go home, so we exchanged screen names, email addresses, and cell phone numbers before parting.
