Vintage Soul Read Free

– and the scent of the liquor brought back the man’s grey eyes.
    â€œTake, drink,” Johndrow whispered, “for this is my blood.”   He took a slow sip of the cognac, though he was reluctant to wash away the magnificent savor of Byron’s wine blended with Vanessa’s kiss.
    The music shifted through a syncopated variance on the original heartbeat.   Blood scented candles in various corners of the room fed the illusion that they all stood within the walls of a giant, beating heart; the speed and regularity of the music orchestrated subtle changes in the mood of those gathered.   It was going well.   The wine had been a major coup, a one time chance to present them all with something they had never had, and could never hope to have again.   It was a moment’s distraction in an eternity gone bland, and he knew they would talk of it and relive it for days, years, possibly centuries to come.
    Johndrow watched Vanessa move among their guests.   She had a knack for coming just close enough to make the men uncomfortable, and to bring the women to the brink of anger, and then slip away, or pull back, or say something – more than likely about Johndrow himself – that set whoever she was talking to back on his heels, or at her ease.   Every eye followed her when she was near.
    Johndrow saw her turn into the hall that led to the kitchen, and he smiled.   He wished, suddenly, that there was no party.   He wished he had her to himself, that he could track her down that hall, corner her, and taste her again -- thoroughly.   He felt the ghost brush of her teeth on the skin of his throat and took a long gulp of the cognac, cringing at the waste.   It should have been sipped – savored one small swallow at a time.   A hand brushed his elbow lightly, and he turned, startled.
    A short, very thin man with long moustaches, a beak-like nose, and dark eyes smiled up at him.   The man held a small tumbler cupped between his palms, and Johndrow caught the scent of the bayou, Cajun blood.   The drink was whiskey, warm and raw, served at room temperature.   Johndrow smiled.
    â€œIt is marvelous,” the little man said.   His voice was soft, but it carried easily.   He surveyed the room and took a sip of his drink.   “Truly marvelous.”
    â€œThank you, old friend,” Johndrow replied, turning and refilling his own glass.   “I wanted it to be special. Vanessa and I don’t get out as much as we once did.   There are some here tonight we haven’t seen in years.   It isn’t good to remain cooped up too long.   There is too much to forget, and once it’s gone – you never really get it back, do you?”
    He glanced thoughtfully at the cognac in his glass.   It held a fleeting glimpse of the past.   It held the essence of a lifelong fallen to ash, but it was a pale image of the reality that had spawned it.
    â€œYou have a better reason to remain locked away than most,” the little man chuckled.   “She is magnificent, as well, but you know this.   Even my Ligaya watches Vanessa with hunger.”
    Johndrow laughed.   The little man, whose name was Joel, had traveled the world with his lover Ligaya for nearly a third of that time, and nothing born of darkness or light could part them.   They were insatiable, incorrigible, and Johndrow found that he had missed their company more than he’d realized.
    â€œIt is good to see you both,” he said, taking a sip.
    A scream rose from the hallway where Vanessa had disappeared, and everyone in the room froze.   The sound cut through the rhythmic heartbeat flowing from the stereo and slapped conversation to silence.   It echoed, rose a second time, and then fell away. Johndrow dropped his glass and was at the door the hall before it touched the polished wooden floor.
    He reached the kitchen in seconds, but it was empty.