Violet had worked the cash register for the first two weeks of October, and she had not had a breakdown yet. The first day always felt a bit strange. The whole commercializing-dead-women thing was just off, wasn't it? But then the rent had to be paid and the pantry filled and a few bucks saved for the Roger and Violet Dream Vacation Fund (and would it kill Roger to kick in his share on time?), and here she was, commercializing with the best of them.
First thing in the morning, and again after her lunch break, she found the easiest. When her blood sugar was up, she could get into the spirit and enjoy being part of other people's nice holiday. Now, with the end of her shift creeping closer, that perspective was harder to sustain. She didn't know for sure if the men who didn't get that a smile was just part of the job were more frequent at this hour, but it sure felt that way. Amazing, really, how one could work in a store and see new strangers every day and not feel the tug of temptation or even the appeal of window-shopping. When they weren't the creeps that came with the retail territory, the guys who visited a candy-and-trinket place in Salem were partnered up, gay, or desperate for gifts in honor of almost-forgotten birthdays.
She handed change to the mother who had just bought a decent haul of tchotchkes and truffles. As she wished the departing customers a happy Halloween, the door chime rang and a pair of college girls stepped in. At least, Violet thought, that was the first impression they gave off. The shorter one was in a tweedy outfit, but rather snappy tweeds that made for a bit more put-together look than typical for a college student. She had something of a Meg Murray air going on with her glasses. They were big and overt enough that they warranted the word spectacles. She carried a couple tightly-rolled posters, probably from one of the shops that sold historical and nautical prints. The other, the taller one...
Fuck, maybe everyone is a little bi.
She wore a black nylon rain jacket over a sweater that was red red and V-necked deeply enough to show cleavage that made Violet feel something she wished she could call envy. Until today, she wouldn't have thought that anyone could pull off a choker made out of what looked like bicycle chain, but now she knew her horizons had been limited. The taller woman also wore glasses, a spectacle in a different sense, petite elliptical lenses in dark blue...
And she walked right up to the counter. "Hi," she said, looking Violet up and down in exactly the way that Violet suddenly realized she had looked her over, and oh my god she knows I was checking her out and she just did the same thing to me.
"Hi!" The smile is all part of the job, the smile is... "Can I help you?"
"Do you have anything that's straight-up chocolate? As dark as they go."
"Let's see." Cashier autopilot. In the display case, she found a couple miniature witch hats and a black-cat figurine, molded out of what looked to be the darkest chocolate they sold. She carried them to the counter. The customer leaned over and gave them a whiff like a parfumier.
"That'll do," she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. She tilted her head to indicate her companion, who was browsing the souvenir coffee mugs. "She's very particular." Then she crooked a finger, slid her shades down just slightly, and winked.
It was not until the tall customer had slipped her arm around that of the shorter one and they had walked out of the shop together that Violet felt oxygen return to the room.
"Vi, baby, listen to me—
"No, you listen, for once. Six months, all of six goddamn months since we exchanged our goddamn vows, and you got her pregnant! Pregnant, Roger! You didn't let your eye wander, you shoved your dick in her and nutted like there was no fucking tomorrow."
"Baby, if you could just see—"
"No, Roger. I'm done. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought you would be the happiness that college wasn't. Well, fuck me sideways for thinking that. I'm done. I'm gone."
"Vi—"
* * *
The shakes hit when Violet was a block away from their apartment. Roger's apartment, on the dotted line. And she didn't know anyone in town with spare room. Fuck. Who did she even know who might be home right now? Mandy? Jen? Night had fallen. Who wasn't on this tourist shift? Fuck.
She realized that she had grabbed the coat she hadn't worn since winter, and that there was half a pack of cigarettes in the pocket. Was this the night for just one? She'd worked hard enough to kick, but just one, just tonight?
She had slowed from her mad dash. Now she stopped.
From behind her, back the way of the apartment, she heard laughter. Not a soprano chirp, but definitely a woman's.
The tall girl from the store was standing with Roger, adjusting her choker and smiling.
Fuck.
Violet began walking towards them. "Hey," she called.
The girl standing beside her no-good, sack-of-shit, beat-cop husband dipped her shades and redirected her smile to Violet. Wait, sunglasses at this hour?
As Violet approached, the girl told her, "We were just hoping to ask a local about a good place for dinner."
And then the shorter one, the Meg Murray chick, was standing at Violet's elbow. Where did she—
"Not where he eats," the shorter girl said, "but where he is eaten."
Violet looked back to the tall one, who held her gaze over her glasses, and inside the eyes those lenses had concealed, something began to burn.
* * *
The girl in tweeds sat on the sofa beside Violet, her legs high-crossed. "Thing one: We are who you think we are. Thing two: We're here to eat him, not you." Not looking away from Violet, she nodded in the direction of Roger, who was kneeling on the living-room floor, his hands behind his head. The girl in the red sweater was leaning against the television behind him. "Although, thing three, my girlfriend thinks you might be into that a little. Me, I try not to leap to conclusions. Sometimes the gothy getup is just for the tourists, right? And bisexual chic can't be a real fashion trend without straight women picking up a taste of it."
"What the Christ is happening here—" Roger said, his voice shaking.
The girl in tweeds overrode him. "Did I give you permission to speak?" He fell silent. "And I thought I was pretty clear about the situation." Turning back to Violet: "Wasn't I? If he has comprehension problems that bad, he's even less worth your time than I thought. Now, Roger, what I need to stress is that I am stronger than you, I am faster than you, and I can do this." She opened her palm, and flames leapt up from it. She formed a fist, and the fire was quenched. "If you tried to run, I could stop you. I can't promise that I wouldn't damage the furniture in the process. To avoid that, my girlfriend has given you a mild peripheral nervous system fog. Your reaction time is on par with the village drunk's." She interlaced her fingers and stretched. "Now, Violet, you have options. First choice: You fall asleep, wake up remembering nothing of the past hour, and Roger is just gone."
Violet wet her lips and found her voice. "I... kind of like that."
"I thought you might. Second choice: You watch us work, and you decide after we're done whether that is a memory you want to keep."
"I can decide... after?"
The girl smiled a Mona Lisa smile. "I thought so." She rose to her feet. The girl in red dropped to her knees like she was in the presence of royalty.
Standing over her, resting a hand upon her hair: "I didn't have an appetite for the whole feeding-as-vengeance idea. How much good can we do, killing one man at a time, when the world's problems are systemic? And then..." She turned to Roger and leaned down. "And then we met you." She gripped his wrist and bent his arm out straight. The other girl took it and traced a fingernail across his skin, pushing up his sleeve. "Should we begin with summer '98? Tell me, Roger, was fag-bashing worth it?"
The kneeling girl dug her fingernail into his arm, and his blood sprayed out. Violet had not even noticed her bringing the wine goblet up to collect it.
"Now think carefully, Roger." He whimpered. Her hand clamped down on his arm, hard, and the blood flow slowed to a trickle.
Eyes lowered, the kneeling girl offered the bloody glass to her companion. "Vôtr'sang, Maîtresse."
Taking the glass, drinking once, deeply. Losing her composure for the first time that night as a wave of satisfaction spread through her.
The kneeling girl was jonesing for it, trembling with eagerness, the want coursing inside her. She looked like she was using all her strength to hold back from screaming, because she had been told not to scream.
Her companion held the goblet before her. "A toi." Feeding her the blood, one sip at a time.
Her eyes burned again.
She gasped, and showed her fangs.
Her companion looked on with an expression of pure adoration.
Seemingly pulling back with reluctance to the task at hand: "Now, Roger, about April '99. You knew she was only—"
"No!" he screamed. "I'm sorry, all right? I did bad things. But I'll stop. I'll do whatever it takes to make it up—"
"Roger, Roger... Do we look like we are interested in repentance? I thought I was clear about this going in. We are here to eat you."
"I..."
"Yes, Violet?"
"I can't watch... the rest. I'm sorry. The memory thing, I still don't know, but I have to... I'm... I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for."
The kneeling girl turned away from Roger and crawled toward her.
At Violet's feet, she looked up, and Violet knew that the glow in those eyes did not burn for her, but it was still amazing devotion to behold.
Violet reached out a hand. She did not have the strength to move more. The girl took it in hers.
The wave of relaxation came fast.
"Decide later," said the one in charge. And then, distantly, as consciousness faded, "Thank you for finding the right chocolates."
Violet awoke to the sound of a digitized chainsaw.
She was curled up on the sofa, the same sofa.
The girl in red was playing Cannibal Frag Fest on their TV.
"Oh-ho! Fuck yeah!" She hit pause and swiveled on her waist. "When you sell his stuff, keep the console. Video games are wasted on boys."
"He's really... gone?"
She nodded. "My girlfriend is taking care of the details. She's the meticulous one of us. Me, I get by with my roguish charm."
"I bet."
"And," her voice softened, "she gave me permission to do anything to you that you'd like done." She brought her legs around and clasped one hand over her knee, the other going to her chin.
"Is that... how it works?"
She shrugged, a little smile growing on her lips. "It works for us. I never thought I'd like being ruled. Now I can't imagine denying her the opportunity to rule me. I can't lie to the woman I love, and refusing to admit what I want or denying that she can see my needs in me is a kind of lying. I trust her with my desires. I know down to my toes that she wants the best for me. We loved each other even when we were human. She turned me, comforted me through death and to the other side."
"And she," said the other one who was now suddenly standing in the kitchen doorway, "helped me survive high school. I think I still owe her for that."
Lightly touching her choker: "I'd call us even."
Violet said, "I still don't really know what to think about any of this." She pushed herself to her feet, felt surprised at how steadily she stood. "I think above all... I want to thank you."
"Don't feel obligated or anything," said the girl on the floor.
"The work was its own reward," said the other.
"Still, though." Violet sat on the floor, cross-legged. For just one night, she wanted nothing of the world, nothing of her life outside this room. She wanted to feel close to the heat of a devotion that she had never known, never given nor received. "I could say thanks by... offering you dessert."