Perspective

The sounds of hedonistic abandon became louder and more distinct as we continued our way northwest along Toulouse Street. We stopped at the corner of Toulouse and Royal to buy highly feathered, decorative masks. We bought them not for disguise, but for the fun and spirit of the Mardi Gras decadence.

Ladislao chose a mask covered entirely with peacock feathers, he put it on and turned his head this way and that. A riot of colors flashed with every movement. I chose a mask of black and maroon feathers, with gold sequins glued around the eyes. I don’t recall Ladislao paying the merchant for the masks, but I don’t remember the merchant raising alarm at our departure with them either.

Even though we were having a grand time, I was becoming more ravenous with each passing moment. Each person that walked by was like a traveling buffet; each one an entrée. I could smell their blood and its unique qualities, each one calling me differently.

I looked to Ladislao in confusion, silently begging him to show me how to proceed. He gave my arm a squeeze and ushered me to follow him. I followed through seemingly endless throngs of people careful not to lose touch with my guide.

We finally came to stop at a corner bar on Bourbon street. The neon sign in the window boasted 4 drinks for the price of one. There was some other tourist standing on the bar singing tunelessly into a microphone while swinging her shirt over her head in circles. My sharpened senses allowed me to see the waves of heat radiating from her swaying body. I knew that if she were to stop signing, she would probably pass out.

I sensed rather than saw Ladislao move to a shadowed interior corner of the bar. He wore an indulgent smirk upon his face that bore a strong resemblance to a character in a movie I saw what seemed like a century ago. He looked at home and regal in the dark corner booth, mask and eyes flashing when the cheap disco lights reached that far.

I made my way to the booth…sliding in beside him to the left and waited to be instructed. He merely looked at me, speaking volumes with naught but his half closed eyes. He wanted me to use my instincts, that they alone would lead me to the prize. His confidence empowered me. I removed the cloak and mask, and made my way to the crowded dance floor. It was there that I found my first meal.

She had to be no more than twenty years old, out with her friends on a road trip from college. She’d been drinking and I detected the faint but familiar scent of an herbal party favor. She was a vision on the 1970s reborn, gossamer hanky top, hip-hugger flare leg jeans with a macramé belt, and open toed hemp wedgies. She had skipped more than a few meals to get here, a pseudo-Mecca to partake in one of the greatest examples of pagan abandon still widely accepted in the modern world.

I honed in on her essence as I watched her body twist and turn and undulate, riding the tempo. She was fluid and grace personified. I directed thoughts and images to her. In a blink, I was next to her, breathing her in, following her dance, drawing her attention. She was so easily influenced, so free…. ‘This is almost too easy,’ I thought.

I probed her mind, looking for the right button to push. It took a few tries but I found it….she had a thing for old horror movies. Perfect. I proceeded to plant images of Ladislao and I wrapped in fanged passion into her head. Then subtly replaced my image with hers. Her dance became even more seductive and trance like. I began dancing behind her, gently steering her toward the shadowy booth. I whispered for her to follow me and took her hand.

She saw Ladislao and nearly pushed me over to get to the booth. I did a little mental dance at her reaction. I recovered quickly and followed her. I sat down next to her, ensure that she was sitting between me and my beloved.

Ladislao wasted no time in the seduction of her. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her hair back. He kissed her so deeply that I nearly felt it. I began softly tracing the lines of her shoulder and neck and trailing my fingers down her right arm. I placed my hand on top of hers and laced our fingers, bringing her wrist to my lips. I could taste her pulse at its fever pitch. I spared one glance at Ladislao kissing her senseless, and bit into her wrist.

Her life-force flooded my mouth in an instant. I could feel her arousal and taste her hunger to be claimed. As if on cue, Ladislao began trailing kisses down her neck to her breasts straining against the thinness of her shirt. He brought her to climax without having to go any further.

I drank but for a few moments and released her. My senses were humming from her earlier indulgences as well as from her release. I licked her wrist to close the wounds, healing them almost instantly, leaving no trace of injury.