“Sexy stories of sapphic bloodlust…”

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Originally published in 2006 by Alyson Books in Blood Sisters: Lesbian Vampire Tales, an anthology of lesbian vampire erotica. (Ironically, this is my only published story that does not include erotica. Honestly not sure how it got in there. ;) )

The Night Crew

by Betty Blue

There was the day crew, and the gay crew. Fairuza had made the joke first, with lesbian privilege, when the night shift had been limited to herself and Honesto. Had it been one of the day shift word processors—Timothy, for instance—they all would have frowned quietly, and a perfectly delightful pun would have been wasted.

“I don’t know.” Honesto clucked his tongue and shook his head when Aisling signed onto the night shift so she could go back to school. She’d lived with her boyfriend when she first joined the crew. “We may have to change the name.”

Aisling grinned. “No, you won’t. My ex-girlfriend ‘gave me over to depravity’ a year ago. I was her toaster oven in the lesbian recruitment plan. I think she’s been working on the entire set of coordinated kitchen appliances since. Although I understand if you hold onto your points, you can trade them all in for an Olivia cruise once you reach a thousand.”

From then on, it had been the three of them, and it had become almost fun to go to work. Work orders trickled in until 10:00 or 11:00, and when those jobs were finished, there was often nothing to do until quitting time at 4:30 in the morning. Sometimes they did homework (Honesto was an art student, and Ru was working on her PhD in psychology), but often they just sat around and drank Ru’s fabulous Parisian coffee (the American version, she said, was an insult to the name) and read the personal ads in the San Francisco Bay Times. Fairuza and Honesto were determined to find a new girlfriend for Aisling—although somehow Honesto always managed to find an ad for himself among the ones he skimmed.

Of course, they might not have been as thrilled to have Aisling on their team if they had known she’d killed her last lover. It was the real reason she’d joined the night shift—that and the increasing allergy she had to the daylight.

And, really, Aisling had only technically killed Eloise. She was still out there somewhere, painting some town red—Chicago, Aisling thought, but she wasn’t sure. Eloise had never been comfortable with Aisling’s continued friendship with Artemis, and when Aisling had finally brought her over and Eloise had discovered Artemis had given Aisling her first blood kiss, Eloise had challenged Artemis. It hadn’t gone well. No one ever won in a fight against Artemis.

Aisling had met Artemis at Club Q. She had danced Aisling dizzy and then taken her out for a bite at an all-night café after the bars had closed. Aisling had thought the burger and fries had been the bite, but when she’d driven Artemis back to her car, the pale, lithe blonde had scooted over on the seat to give her a kiss goodbye… Aisling could never quite remember it afterward. But in the morning she’d woken up in her own bed, dizzy and sick, as soon as the sunlight crept into her room. Artemis had slipped out before dawn, but the scent of her still lingered. When Aisling had staggered out of bed to yank the curtains closed, she’d found the crisp, white shirt she’d worn the night before laid neatly over the chair by her bed, two small spots of blood on the lapel and a note from Artemis in the pocket: “Thanks…you tasted sweet.”

She’d also left the number for Drinkers Anonymous. It turned out to be a twelve-step program for the newly bitten, to help complete their transformation; step number twelve was passing the blood kiss on to a new friend of your own. Eloise had been Aisling’s step twelve.

Aisling was over it now, in spite of DA. You didn’t have to drink to survive. It wasn’t so Hollywood as that. It was a choice, and Aisling had chosen not to imbibe. She didn’t need the hassle. Artemis teased her mercilessly about being “on the wagon,” but Aisling thought she was secretly pleased not to have the extra competition. Naturally, there were a few changes she’d had to make after the full transition, such as working nights and giving up sunbathing, but she’d never tanned well anyway. And she was really enjoying the night shift.

“Oh—my—god.” Honesto made an exaggerated gasp. “This is so you!”

Aisling snapped back from her little skip down memory lane and swiveled her chair around to see what Honesto was talking about.

He was circling something in the paper, and he slid it over to Fairuza across the workstation. “Does that not have Aisling written all over it?”

“What?” Aisling demanded, but Fairuza was holding the paper out of reach to read the ad Honesto had circled.

“Oh, absolutely.” Ru folded the paper over and moved it to the other side of her computer, picking up her phone and punching in a number as she ran her finger down the page.

Aisling tried in vain to peer over her shoulder. “What are you doing?” 

Fairuza waved a curt hand at her. “Alo,” she said to the phone. “I saw your ad in ze Times, and I think we should chat. My name is Aisling, and you can reach me at—”

“Fairuza!” Aisling jumped up and tried to grab the phone away from her, but Ru had already finished giving the number to the voicemail box, and she dropped the receiver back in the cradle with a grin.

“You can thank me later.” Ru handed Aisling the paper with a flourish.

Aisling scanned the page and found the red circle. “Goth girl with glasses seeks artistic geek with a dark sense of humor,” she read aloud. “Gee, thanks.” She threw the paper at Honesto who dodged it, laughing.

“You’re always eyeing those girls with the pale skin and the black bangs,” said Fairuza. “And this one has glasses; she’s brainy.”

Aisling laughed. “How does that follow?”

“She must read, or she wouldn’t need the glasses. And she wants an artistic geek. Of course she’s brainy.”

“People do wear glasses for other things.” Aisling folded her arms. “Working, for instance. But let’s get back to the real point, which is ‘artistic geek,’ thank you very much.”

“It’s a compliment.” Honesto grinned. “Just embrace the artistic geekiness that is you.”

Aisling rolled her eyes and sank back into her swivel chair. “I can’t believe you left that message, Ru.”

“Ah, I do what I can.” Fairuza shrugged. “Can’t let you keep going out with that Artemis and blowing any chance you have to pick up chics.”

“I think you mean ‘chicks’.”

“You pick up chicks, I’ll pick up chics, eh?” Fairuza grinned. “Don’t change the subject. You look like a couple. You have to cut the apron strings.”

Appearances hadn’t exactly stopped people from hitting on Artemis. But Fairuza was right; she did tend to use Artemis as a buffer. If women passed her over when they went out, she could always blame it on Artemis’s long legs and striking Nordic looks—or just assume they must have thought Aisling was already taken.

So of course it was with Artemis the following weekend that Aisling agreed to meet Vesta. The “goth girl with glasses” had left a return message on Aisling’s voicemail saying she’d be at the Musee Mechanique near Pier 39 Saturday evening, and Aisling could find her by the antique peep-shows-in-a-box. “I’ll be there around dusk,” Vesta said in her message. “They close a little after that, so if I don’t see you by then, no sweat. I’ll take the hint.”

“‘Vesta’.” Artemis listened to the message as they sipped their drinks at the café across the park from the mechanical toy museum, waiting for dusk. “You do seem to attract the classical types.” She dropped the cell phone back into her suit pocket. The wink wasn’t visible behind the dark-blue rectangular shades, but she allowed just the tip of her sharp canines to show. She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. (Artemis couldn’t resist a pun.) “You’re lucky I adore you, Pooky. There are precious few people who could get me out of bed before true dark to play watchdog on their blind date. But you, my darling, need to get some throat.”

“You know, it really doesn’t help me feel toppish when you call me Pooky.” Aisling swizzled her Bombay Sapphire and tonic with a dry smile.

The waning glow of indirect light from the last of civil twilight had finally cooled. Artemis slipped her glasses—a match to the color of the gin bottle and the night—down her aquiline nose. “There’s your goth girl.” She nodded toward the other side of the street, gray eyes flashing almost violet with approval.

A woman with dyed jet-black hair tied in a high ponytail, Bettie Page bangs, and a pair of rhinestone-studded cats-eye glasses had paused in front of the Musee to look around before entering.

“How do you know that’s her?”

“How do you know that’s she,” Artemis corrected. “Please. Look at that cassock-style coat; it’s straight out of Matrix Reloaded. Go get your Trinity, sweetie.” Artemis gave her a little nudge, and with her predator’s strength, it knocked Aisling’s ass right off her stool.

“All right, all right. I’m going.” Aisling took one last, long draught of the Sapphire and tonic and set down the glass.

“And if you’re not going to suck her,” Artemis called after her as Aisling reached the door, “give me her number.” The other café patrons gave Aisling a disapproving look as she passed. Somehow Artemis herself always managed to coolly deflect any negative vibes.

Aisling wandered into the museum, trying to act casual, looking for the long coat over the top of her own dark glasses—hers were red and round to complement Artemis’s; Aisling really had been hanging on her coattails too long—and caught sight of “goth girl” leaning over the ornate iron plate on one of the old-fashioned moving-picture viewers. Tucking her white muscle tee into the dark jeans under her worn leather jacket and wishing she’d worn something a little more hip, Aisling approached.

“Hi, are you Vesta? I’m Aisling.”

The girl straightened and turned with a quizzical expression as she looked Aisling over. “You don’t sound French in person.”

“Oh. Yeah. That wasn’t me on your voicemail.” Aisling tucked her hands into her back pockets. “My friend. She thought she was doing me a favor.”

Vesta raised a dark, high-arched eyebrow even higher above the pointed rhinestone frames. “And you don’t think she did.”

If she’d had any blood in her system, Aisling would have blushed scarlet. “No, that’s not what I meant.” She shifted her feet awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I haven’t done this in a while.” She slipped her right hand from her pocket and held it out. “Let me start over. Hi, I’m Aisling.”

“Enchanté.” Vesta brought the hand to her lips.

Aisling laughed, suppressing a shiver at the moist touch of Vesta’s mouth against her skin. “Is that why you chose the Musee Mechanique? You thought I was French?”

“No, I just really like these old kinetoscopes.” Vesta dropped a quarter into the machine’s slot and gestured for Aisling to take a look. “There’s something really wonderful about the frank way they look at the camera.”

Aisling bent down and watched the silent images flash by. Barely exposed calves and shoulders beneath 1920s drop-waisted slips was as risqué as they got, but the smiles on the fresh faces were startlingly real, their eyes meeting the eyes of the beholder just beneath a veil of dark lashes. “You’re right,” she said as the picture ended. “Those are amazing.” Aisling smiled. “That one looked kind of like you.”

The lights came up in the museum, and Aisling grimaced.

“Yeah, I know,” said Vesta. “They’re closing already. But I really wanted to find a nice public place to meet, just in case either of us wanted to back out.”

“And do we?”

“Not so far.” Vesta smiled. “I don’t see you running.” She took Aisling’s hand with ease and headed for the exit. “Plus, I like walking along Aquatic Park in the moonlight. I know; cliché. But it’s always been one of my favorite places in the City.”

Out in the light evening breeze on the pier as they headed for the nearby park, Aisling sniffed the air with appreciation. “No, I know what you mean. It’s one of my favorites, too.” It always seemed like a local secret, even though it was so close to the densely packed tourist haunts at Fisherman’s Wharf. There was certainly less of a crowd in this direction, and less light. Both good.

She hadn’t planned to try to drink Vesta; she’d really thought she was over that, had mastered that desire. But who was she kidding? The scent of Vesta’s skin as the tail of her coat streamed behind them was a maddeningly tempting note beneath the piscine bay breeze.

Aisling leaned back against one of the worn wooden posts at the water’s edge when they reached the end of the long fish-hook shaped curve and sighed. She was going to savor this one. Start it slow, kiss Vesta for a while, taking a playful nip at the soft skin of her throat. Maybe they’d even fuck before Aisling went in for the kill. It had certainly been a long dry spell since she’d had any of that as well. But she wasn’t going to bring this one over. That was always a mistake. It was too bad, because Vesta would make a lovely apprentice, but Aisling couldn’t afford the emotional upheaval right now. 

Vesta moved around her—almost a predatory circling—her slight smile amused.

“What’s that look for?” Aisling prodded the tip of one long incisor with her tongue behind her lips in anticipation.

“You. You think you’re going to get lucky.” Vesta traced her finger along Aisling’s collarbone, and the slight touch where skin hovered over skin made Aisling’s cunt warm. “You’re thinking about how I’ll taste, aren’t you?” she whispered in Aisling’s ear. “I know you are. Because that’s what I’m thinking about you.”

Aisling saw the flash of silver in the moonlight just before Vesta struck.

“What the hell, bitch?” All the warmth was gone. Aisling grasped at the bloodless cut the knife had made at her collar. If it hadn’t been for the moonlight, she would never have known what hit her, wouldn’t have had time to dodge the full attack.

Vesta circled her again, tossing the knife casually from hand to hand. “You’re a bit faster than she guessed, but El was right. You’re stupid.”

A surge of fury and adrenaline rose in Aisling’s blood just as some of it trickled through her fingers at last. El. “Eloise.”

“Two points for you.” Vesta slashed out again but missed as Aisling slipped to the side. Vesta seemed unperturbed, clearly prepared to settle in for a long skirmish. “El said you were a teetotaler, but I thought you’d at least recognize a sister, even if you were rusty at the game.”

Aisling began to match her circling steps so that they danced slowly around one another. She never carried a weapon, but she had a few moves. She’d taken kung fu briefly before she’d been turned. Not enough to be any good at it but good enough to keep a bitch like Vesta on her toes. And there was nothing like humiliation-driven rage to give a girl a little clarity. Aisling didn’t like to be tricked.

“That was you in the kinetoscope.”

“Oh, brava!” Vesta laughed. “Give the girl a cookie.”

Aisling stepped forward as Vesta lunged again, catching her off guard with the unexpected direction, and used Vesta’s own momentum against her, swinging her elbow against the top of Vesta’s spine and throwing her to the pavement. Blood poured from Vesta’s nose as she scrambled to her feet. She had fed just before they’d met. That was the warm scent that had thrown Aisling off, making Vesta seem so lifelike. It also made her stoned.

When the younger woman—or older, actually—leaped at her again, Aisling went for the knife. This time, she wasn’t fast enough, and Vesta’s dark eyes flashed red behind the cracked rhinestone rims as she spun and struck again, managing a deeper strike at Aisling’s side. If it hadn’t been for the old coat, Vesta might have been able to bury the knife in Aisling’s ribs. She ducked low when Vesta stabbed again and swept out swiftly with one boot to knock Vesta off her feet. The silver blade flew from Vesta’s grip and struck the ground with a clatter. While Vesta scrambled for the knife, Aisling leaped on her, grabbing her by the hip-goth ponytail. The knife slipped over the edge of the walkway.

“Well, look who the rusty one is after all, granny.” As Aisling hauled Vesta’s head back to slam her against the pavement, a sharp blow surprised her from behind.

Vesta was on her feet before Aisling could fully turn to see what had hit her. She stumbled back and tried to focus. Two pairs of boots planted themselves beside Vesta’s.

Vesta swiped at her broken nose with the back of her wrist and flicked blood onto the walkway. “God, I really hate you.” Beside her, Fairuza offered her a handkerchief. Honesto flanked Vesta’s left.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Aisling rubbed the back of her head.

With an apologetic shrug and a guilty smile, Honesto dropped the rock he’d beaned her with.

“It’s nothing personal,” said Fairuza. “If that helps.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” Aisling glared. “What did she promise you, anyway? Eternal life? The chance to kiss her ass and eat bugs for the rest of your short ones?”

Honesto pouted. “There’s no call for insulting Renfield jokes. It was either play the game or have our necks snapped. I really like my neck.”

Vesta shoved the soaked handkerchief back at Fairuza. “You’re good, but not good enough.” She pulled off her broken glasses. “And you’re going to pay for these.”

“Yeah, well.” Aisling shrugged. “Girls who wear glasses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Actually, I threw the stone.” At a look from Vesta, Honesto shut his mouth.

“It’s pretty sad that you need the help of not one but two minions to take me on.”

“I don’t need any help.” Vesta waved her companions back. “They’re just—”

“A little fortifying midnight snack after you burn all those blood calories you had earlier?”

Fairuza and Honesto exchanged glances.

“Save your breath for my teeth, bitch.” Vesta snarled and lunged at her once more.

They went down, tumbling across the walkway at the end of the pier, tearing at one another, teeth and nails ripping flesh. Vesta darted in, fangs flashing, toward Aisling’s jugular, but Aisling managed to sink her own teeth into the front of Vesta’s throat first. The hot blood from Vesta’s last victim sprang into Aisling’s mouth, and Aisling forgot for a moment that she was fighting as the rich notes of the blood, slick like melted ninety-nine percent cacao Scharffenberger chocolate, swam against her tongue. Damn. She had forgotten how good this could be. The blood was already rushing through her as she swallowed, heading toward her cunt and hardening her tits.

Vesta tore away from her and slashed at Aisling’s throat with her nails. She managed a deep enough cut to draw real blood this time from what little Aisling had, but she was losing the advantage of the strength of age. Aisling stumbled and scrambled back toward the edge of the walkway. Silver flashed on the support beam just below the pier.

When Vesta’s razor-sharp nails gouged into the side of Aisling’s neck, Aisling’s fingers fumbled at the edge of the walkway and closed around her prize. She made her move, and Vesta’s eyes went wide. She fell forward over Aisling, gasping for air. The knife was buried to the hilt in Vesta’s left breast, all her stolen blood now pouring over Aisling.

“I really…hate you,” Vesta managed.

“You know, I really don’t like you either.” The voice came from above them. Balanced on the light post, Artemis swooped gracefully onto the pier. One of her boot heels struck the goth girl’s neck as she landed and snapped Vesta’s spine.

Artemis extended a hand to Aisling. “That little snot Eloise left me a cocky email. Said a friend of hers was in town.” As Aisling scrambled up, Artemis looked appreciatively at the blood-soaked T-shirt. “I should have known my little Pooky could hold her own.” She took a quick swipe against the blood at Aisling’s throat with her tongue.

Behind Vesta’s body, Fairuza and Honesto shifted their feet, eyeing each other uncertainly, clearly unsure what they were supposed to do now that their mistress was dead.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “And who are your little friends?

“This is the night crew.” Aisling shared a silent exchange with Artemis, and the lithe blonde shrugged, moving with an imperceptible swiftness, and knocked the humans’ heads together. She dropped the dazed would-be-Renfields next to their fallen mistress and brushed her palms across each other in a gesture of finality. Maybe the apron strings weren’t always such a bad thing.

Aisling gazed down at Vesta’s form—lifeless for the moment, but she would recover if her little pets were properly trained and gave her the blood she needed. Aisling would have to be on her guard. And she was going to need a new job. She sighed. Eloise certainly had her number. Vesta was everything Aisling liked in a girl—except for the attitude. It would have been nice.

Artemis was watching her when Aisling looked up. She tilted her head and shook it ruefully. “You’re really going to have to up your game if you want to get that toaster oven, Pook.”