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November 21, 1870

Luciana

The clothes Maggie procured for us, regrettably, were effective.

No one gave us so much as a second glance as we made our way downstairs and out the door of our lodgings.

The streets smelled of cow shit and sweat, but the alluring thrum of blood was everywhere and my mouth watered despite my disgust.

The man my love dragged into the saloon with us was fair-haired and had muddy hazel eyes with heavy, thick lids.

I am uncertain what she said to him, but with only a couple sentences exchanged, he clapped her on the back and strode purposefully alongside her into the establishment, his hand drifting lower as they walked.

I don’t think he had noticed yet that we are not men; his eyes darting around the room too quickly.

Maybe he was a pickpocket or some kind of snake oil salesman.

Whatever he was, it would, of course, soon be over for him.

Maggie and I have been doing this a long while.

Measures of time have begun to be unreliable for me as the years pass in scores, but I know she’s been with me for at least twenty.

We know one another well, I can identify each of her smiles, the angle of her chin, the position of her brows.

Her full lips were pressed thin, and I knew she found the man’s demeanor abhorrent.

She chose him for his clean clothing and the way his hair was recently trimmed and smelled of pomade rather than grime.

It was a kindness toward me and my particularities, which I appreciate, but he was not one she would have chosen for herself.

My Maggie likes men who look like they can put up a fight.

She delights in taking down brawny, hulking creatures with more muscle than brains.

Her small frame and wide mahogany eyes make her appear so young, so timid, but she is by far the more vicious of the two of us.

That wild, irrepressible spark of malice is why I chose her in the first place.

A small band played too loudly in the cramped space.

Clinking glass, clouds of tobacco smoke, the shouting of men and a terrible barking dog surrounded me and overloaded my senses to a degree that made my stomach lurch.

But I trailed after my love as she wound through the mass of people and made her way toward the rear wall.

Early on in our partnership, we learned that nobody ever questions a body in a bar.

It is impossibly easy to slip into a seat beside someone, whisper seduction into their ear, and then drain them dry without anyone noticing.

Humans love to fuck, and alcohol does nothing if not make them more lascivious.

We did not garner a single glance as I slid onto a wooden bench, pulling a small table in front of me, and Marguerite tugged the man down beside me.

“Gon’ fetch a bottle of rye,” she said in her best impression of an American man, and I stifled a laugh at how ridiculous she sounded.

“This here’s my associate Mr Barker, Murray. He’ll give you the lowdown on the opportunity I mentioned.”

My eyes widened and then narrowed.

I am not one for improvisation, and we had engaged in precisely zero conversations about what scheme she had concocted.

But the man, Murray’s, excitement got the best of him and he did the work for me.

“So what I gotta do to get on that train?” he asked, voice fast and low.

“I been wantin’ to get to California, and yer fella says you’re in good with one of them farmers growin’ that new fruit from Brazil.”

Ah, yes.

The couple we met on the train.

I nodded, hoping he would continue, and I didn’t have to find out how poor my impersonation of an American man would be.

Fortunately, Maggie stepped from behind two men arguing with guns drawn, brandishing a bottle of liquor and two tin cups.

The band grew louder and the bawdy shouts of dancing girls were answered with whistles and clapping from men who crowded around them.

The timing could not have been more perfect.

One of the few positive attributes of this place, and if our journey was any indication, of the West as a whole, is that it seems relations between men are generally accepted.

Back in London, such things are done under cover of night and in whispers.

Here, I’ve seen men kiss one another around campfires and travel together with little regard for who might witness their activities.

Even if they weren’t distracted by the dancing girls, they would pay no mind to the masculine illusion of Maggie and me in close contact back here.

It truly is a perfect cover.

My love took a seat on Murray’s other side, pouring him a cup of alcohol so pungent it made my eyes water, and leaned in close.

“So, you two figure out what we’re doin’?” He took the cup and emptied it in a single swallow, grimacing and coughing like a man with consumption.

But before he could reply, she poured him another and pushed it into his hand with a feline grin.

My own lips tipped up at the corners when I caught sight of the crimson sparkle in her eyes as she compelled him to drink it without a single word.

His movements were jerky, like some sort of automaton, as he tipped the glass into his open mouth.

She struck like an adder, so swiftly that no mortal could even perceive the motion.

In a fraction of a second, her fangs sank into his neck, piercing the pulsing artery with scalpel-sharp precision.

Her hat slipped down and concealed her beautiful face—it's a pity, I do so love to watch her in these moments, pupils blown with Sybaritic bliss, cheeks growing rosier with each deep pull of thick human blood. Thin, pale fingers fluttered against Murray’s chest as he began to slump forward slightly and lose his pallor. When she lifted her head from him, licking her vermillion lips, I grew immediately slick between the thighs. I wanted to tongue the blood from her mouth, pull her over my lap and fuck her in this saloon, but the scent of him filled the air between us and my own fangs elongated.

I have much more control than my Maggie after all my many decades spent as a drinker of blood, so I took my time adjusting him to lean my direction. My eyes met my love’s and I hummed beneath my breath at the sheer desire swirling in the deep brown and ruby depths of them. I kept her gaze as I dropped my own mouth to the space between his neck and shoulder. If her cruel nature stokes the flames of my attraction, the strength of my abilities turns hers into a full-scale blaze. His collarbone snapped between my jaws and I pushed down, entering the artery below with ease. The saline, metallic tang coated my tongue and flowed into my ravenous mouth as my lips curved up into a cruel smile.