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It’s Thursday night and she finds herself bathed in a familiar crimson light, smoke thick in the air around her head. Tulip shifts in her seat, the leather unsticking from her bare thighs. It’s hot tonight, hotter than it has been in months and as she watches a bead of condensation slide down her glass, she realizes how badly she’s missed the heaviness of the heat. She can feel it pressing in on her from all sides and she leans into it like an intimate caress.
She’d spent almost all of her life in the desert heat. After the change she had tried not to think about how not only would she lose the sun’s light, she’d lose it’s warmth. Part of her wondered if she’d lose the memories too; the days with Jesse that the bright heat always brought back. Angry and bitter, she contemplated throwing Cassidy into the sunset and following right behind. Her very last moment in the sun would swallow her whole.
She broke all of the bones in the left side of his body instead.
She liked the way he looked sprawled out at her feet, bowing down.
So she kept him that way. After the months she’d spent following him in a drunken, drugged haze, after his teeth ripping at her throat while he cried he was sorry, she deserved to have him follow her on hand and foot. She had him at her beck and call, the guilt riddled love in his eyes and the steel in hers keeping him at her heel. But for the first two years they went small town to small town, covering long strips of barren highway through the south west. It was a dizzying string of déjà vu, until Tulip had gotten tired of living in shit holes and drinking cheap beer, even if she was the one calling the shots. Was this how she was going to spend the rest of eternity? Feeling sorry for herself, hiding from the sun and her reflection? Finally, one Tuesday morning spent watching the mirror crack under her fist, her sallow skin and tired eyes splintering with the glass, she decided she’d had enough. So they headed east and when they got to New York, they stopped.
The city had been good to her in the past. Maybe it could bring her back to life. She had laughed at that thought, but felt a twinge of hope beneath the irony. Walking the streets at night and seeing her reflection in the puddles, the neon like a halo around her curls, she started looking up instead of down. She turned her feelings of bitterness into perseverance. It wasn’t long until she found herself at the top of the food chain; everything she wanted at her feet. She’d lost a lot of blood and taken just as much to get there. And fuck, if there wasn’t something about the look in a man’s eye when they realized they’d underestimated her. It kept her going just as much as the blood did. What could she say, she had a thirst for it now.
And through it all, Cassidy was there. He was lovestruck but loyal and he knew his life was in Tulip’s hands. He owed it to her, he knew that as well as she did. So he followed her and did what she asked of him without so much as a raised brow. Her right hand man, the hound at the side of her throne. There were some times, late nights when she brought him into her bed. She didn’t let it show, would never say that there were moments when she craved the touch of someone who knew what she’d been through, how she had suffered. She’d walk past his door, a fifth of whisky in her hand and a coy smile on her lips. And he would follow her like he always had.
She casts a mournful eye at the watery dregs in her glass, thinking idly on the fact that she hasn’t seen Cassidy in a while. She looks out across the bar, scanning the mass of bodies for his thin frame. It’s crowded, loud with the babble of too many voices. It might not be quite the weekend but the tangle of bodies isn’t much thinner than it is on a Saturday night. The low thrum of the city beats up through the concrete floor, grounding Tulip. Hopefully he makes his way back with a new drink.
Turning back to the game, she lights a cigarette. To her right, Anthony is staring at his cards like they’re one of those damn eye-spy books. She’s not sure he’s very bright, but he’d come with Marc the past few months and she trusted Marc; never once had a problem with him or his men before. Anthony had eyed her wearily when they were first introduced, but kept his mouth shut. Tulip hoped he had enough sense to keep it that way.
“You’re taking your time there,” She holds her cigarette tight between her teeth as she takes off her jacket. Cassidy, speak of the devil, walks up from behind to take it from her, draping it across the back of her chair. He leaves her a shot of whisky before he heads back to the shadows to light a cigarette. She nods her thanks, leaning back into her chair. From their right comes a derisive snort.
“You got something to say, Tony?” She shortens his name, enjoying the quirk of annoyance it pulls at his mouth. An o of smoke floats from her lips towards him. “You ready to fold? That sure is nice of you. Especially considering you’re wasting all of our time waitin’ on your slow ass.”
Tony doesn’t acknowledge her, instead looks up past Tulip to Cassidy where he stands behind her.
“That cooze really so good you fetching things for her like a dog, Cass?”
Cassidy doesn’t speak, just takes another hit from his cigarette, the ashes falling to the floor.
“God damn, She’s got you on a short leash.” He lays down his cards and smiles. “I sure hope it is that fucking good, because it seems like I’m about to take all her money. Looks like I’ve got a full house.”
Cassidy barks out a laugh of disbelief. It’s cut short when Tulip throws a cutting glance over her shoulder. It hadn’t taken him long to learn when he should shut up and stand back as she took charge. He bites at his lower lip, eyes downcast and arms crossed as he nods to her, backing up from the table. In the outskirts, a smirk plays at his lips, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
“What the fuck, did you just say, Tony?” There’s a soft hiss in the following silence as her cigarette drops into his glass. The chair scrapes across the dirty floor as she pushes back from the table. Standing, she smooths her hand down her skirt.
“Not that I was talking to you, O’Hare, but I said, it’s fucked up he’s taking orders from someone he sired.” Tony smiles, leaning the chair back on two legs. “He’s seventy fucking years your elder and running your errands. I’m just hoping you’re at least letting him have it.”
She nods, crossing her arms. Her eyes are downcast watching the toe of her boot scuff at the floor.
“Oh, okay. That’s what I thought you said.”
He catches a glimpse of her eyes, red in the light of the smoky bar, as she looks up and grins. It’s the last thing he sees before she kicks out the legs of his chair. His head smacks the concrete and he can’t quite seem to catch the breath that left him. After a moment he realizes it’s not just from the fall, but from the fact that there’s a boot on his throat. He can smell the leather above the stale beer and tastes what he thinks is his own blood mixed with bile.
“Now I’m hoping you got a cooze of your own back home who can get the blood out of that nice white shirt of yours.” The word spits of her mouth like a bad taste. She steps back, easing her foot off of his throat as she reaches for her glass.
“There isn’t an blood on my shirt. You fucking blind, O’Hare?” He coughs, pulling himself up from the floor.
“Nah, I’m not blind Tony. Just thinkin’ ahead.”
With a tilt of her head she finishes her whisky. She licks the last drop from her lips right as the glass hits his head. Yelling out, arms flailing blindly, he blinks rapidly hoping to find her and grab her by the neck. His vision is blurred red, the warmth spreading down his face. Through the blood in his eyes he sees Cassidy laughing in the dark and Tulip smirking back.
Before he can wipe the blood from his face there’s a hand around his throat. Tulip is pressed tight against him, her knee between his legs. He tries to plant his feet and twist away from her but every turn digs deeper crescents in his neck. Hot blood oozes down her fingers as she sinks them deeper into his skin, forcing him to look at her.
He looks into her eyes and snarls. Tulip laughs, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head. The other men at the table are watching with idle interest while the rest of the bar carries on.
“Your dumb ass ain’t got enough sense to keep that mouth closed. I figure I’ll lend you a helping hand.”
“Fuck you, O’Hare.” Flecks of blood fly from his lips splattering across Tulip’s face.
She shrugs, still holding him steady, fingertips following her nails into his skin. The sight of his blood flowing down her wrist raises the corners of her mouth. Lips pressing together into a smug smile, she tastes the blood flecked across her face.
“If that’s the way you want it, Tony,” she shrugs, her mouth quirking to one corner. “I’m more than happy to oblige. Game was boring me anyway.”
She looks back to the table and his eyes follow hers. The five through nine of spades stares back at them from Tulip’s place at the table.
“Looks like yehr gettin’ beat twice tonight, eh Tony?” Cassidy’s voice carries from where he’s leaning against the wall, nursing a glass of whisky that’s appeared in his hand during the skirmish.
Tony growls, thrashing in Tulip’s grip.
“Fuck the both of you.” He spits more blood, this time towards the table. “And fuck you all, too. None of you got enough sense, you're over here letting a girl tell you what to do. Fuck, she ain't even half a century old and you're all letting her-”
A wet, sucking sound interrupts his sentence. Tulip’s face blocks Tony’s from view and for moment it looks like they're locked in a kiss. When she pulls away, she's smiling, blood pooling between her teeth. Tony’s mouth is open, ragged and bloody in a silent scream. Tulip lets him go and as he falls to the floor, she spits. His tongue lands on the floor, clean and pink, next to his gaping eyes.
She shakes out her curls, licking the blood from her fingertips. Cassidy makes his way towards her, his lips drawn together in an attempt to conceal his laughter. He grabs Tulip’s jacket; as if synchronized, she raises her arms as he slides it on.
“Thank you boys for the game,” she's putting on her sunglasses with one hand as she gathers the cash from the table.
“Same time next week?”
The men at the table nod silently, hands raised in deference as she walks away. They're no stranger to Tulip’s ways; they've watched her rip out a man’s throat for laying his hands on a waitress. She's ruthless and cunning and they know it, know it well enough to keep their mouths shut when they should.
“Gents.” Cassidy raises his glass in salute as he follows her through the throng, leaving it on the table of two confused men as he passes.
The people in the bar continue on, unnoticing or uncaring of what had just transpired. Tulip smiles, her feral grin bright in the red lights as she winds through the swaying bodies. She passes through the entrance, Cassidy close behind. They nod in greeting to the doorman as they make their way into the heat of the night.
There’s warmth rushing through her. Blood is singing throughout her body, and she’s vibrating with the feeling.
A few feet outside of the bar, Tulip pauses. She brings a cigarette to her lips, Cassidy’s hand rising with a light automatically, their symbiosis ever present. He watches the way the warm glow of the flame plays off her honeyed skin, her eyes closed as she tilts her head towards the sky. When she opens them, the full moon is in her eyes, wild and blinding.
She turns to him slowly. With her head tilted to the side and a curious smile on her face she asks him,
“What do you say? You up for some more fun tonight, Cass?”