Vilgen's Deceit
Brigit's Flame, March Week 3, "Live to tell the tale". Fiction, about 1216 words. Warning for hematophagy at death.
The blood glistened on the fresh cut on her grey-skinned chest, as red as the life which spread on the floor beneath her.
“Do it now.” Her voice was barely audible as she slipped away.
Jeanne put aside her soiled knife and leaned over the dying creature, her hands planted in the pool forming around her. She put her scarred mouth to the slit, and sucked. There was no coppery taste to this creature’s blood: it tasted of sweet cherries with a hint of tarragon. Certainly it was not what she expected, nor a combination she would have ever thought to try, but she found it tantalizing, and drank until she could suck no more from the wound.
Raising her red-painted lips, she saw that the creature’s face in death retained that of the monster, not of the beautiful blond who had broken so many men and women alike. Jeanne sat back on her heels and ran a hand across her mouth, then wiped her palms on her thighs. These jeans had outlived their usefulness anyways.
“You forgot who I am,” Jeanne said to the still form, picking up and holding her silver knife in front of her. This was by no means the first blood her blade had tasted, and nor would it be the last. She wiped the blade clean on the creature’s torn shirt, re-sheathed it at her hip as she stood, and tugged her headscarf back over her face.
“I never make a bargain when I can take what I want.”
If Jeanne had looked back to watch the body disintegrate instead of just walking away, she would have seen the creature’s mouth turn up into a sickly grin.
* * *
Once back inside her apartment, Jeanne unwrapped the scarf from her face and hung it on the back of the door. She went straight to the bathroom and started the tap. As the water warmed up, she inspected her face in the mirror. There was still some blood staining around her mouth, but that wasn’t the object of her scrutiny.
Under the harsh fluorescents, the scar tissue on her face stood out even more than usual. From ear to ear and from just below her eyes to the top of her neck her skin was stretched and ridged, a hideous reminder of what she had survived. Soon, though, those scars and as a bonus all the others she had collected over the years would disappear. It had taken several years to find it once she learned of this particular creature and what it offered, but thanks to it, she would no longer have to hide behind a scarf. The corners of her mouth twitched up slightly, stretching the skin, at the prospect of looking normal again.
The water at last hot, Jeanne scrubbed the last evidence from her skin of her latest success.
“Tomorrow my life begins anew,” she said to her reflection. She finished up getting ready for bed and disposed of her bloody jeans before spending an hour cleaning and polishing the weapons she had used for that night’s kill before turning in.
* * *
“Jeanne!” A man’s voice slipped into Jeanne’s ears, rousing her from her deep sleep.
“Jeanne! Open up, you need to get moving!” A fist pounded on her door, the knocking redundant as his voice had already woken her up.
“Coming, Paul!” Jeanne grabbed a scarf from her bedside out of habit and wrapped it around her face as she headed to the front door.
“Are you ready yet?” Paul said from the other side as she unlocked the door.
She flung the door open to show Paul standing on the welcome mat holding a large take-out bag. He was a few inches taller than her, with dark blonde hair and the presence of a giant cuddly teddy bear successfully domesticated within his black slacks and green striped button down shirt.
He blinked at her, taking in the fresh bandage on her battle-scarred arms and the fact that once again, she was only wearing yoga pants and a tank top which she wore to sleep.
“Oh, get in here.” Jeanne let go of the door and walked back to her bedroom, waving her hand behind her as she went. “You know where the kitchen is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paul said sarcastically as he came in and brought the take-out bags into the kitchen, the door slamming loudly behind him. He started up the coffee maker and then began unpacking the food he had brought: vegetable omelet - extra heavy on the vegetables - for her, and a sausage skillet for himself. The food set out but still covered, he tidied up her kitchen from the day before. All this had become a sort of morning ritual for him, and coming by every morning reassured him that she had survived another night of hunting.
Perfectly timed, he was just pouring the coffee when Jeanne reemerged from her bedroom, clad in black slacks, a modest baby blue button-down, and a cream-colored headscarf patterned with pale blue morning glories. He also knew better than to ask her for any details until she had had a few bites to eat and at least one sip of coffee.
Jeanne sat down opposite him and pulled down the front of her headscarf to eat.
Paul choked on his coffee. “What happened last night?” he asked once he had his breath back, the unspoken rules of morning communication rejected.
Jeanne touched a few fingers to her cheek. One night had done wonders for her scars. The skin was no longer ridged, though it still had the pale pink appearance of fresh scar tissue, and her lips and cheeks didn’t hurt when she stretched her mouth to smile at Paul. “I told you last night’s vilgen was going to be a big one.”
“Yeah, but I thought - ” Paul started, and gestured vaguely with a hand in the air, not even able to form the words. Usually she killed a vilgen for having hurt someone, and for the money and usefulness a part of their corpse could offer on the vilgen black market. It offered a profitable supplemental income for both of them. She obtained the vilgen parts, and he arranged for their sale.
“Sometimes I do kill a vilgen for more … personal reasons.” Jeanne ate a forkful of her omelet. The morning after a hunt she was always hungrier than usual.
Paul stared at her for a moment before collecting himself and remembering to close his mouth. “You know that there are always side effects when dealing with vilgen parts. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.” He tapped his fork on his plate. “Especially when it is used right after the kill and without any vilgen apothecary making sure there are no tricks or curses worked into it.”
Jeanne shrugged and took another bite. “I had researched and followed this vilgen thoroughly first, and I handled it properly. No need to get all worked up, Paul.”
“That’s what you think,” he muttered and took a bite of his own skillet, seeing that she was not going to give him any more details. He would just have to watch her more closely just like he did the last time she pulled this stunt, and hope that nothing would go wrong.
The blood glistened on the fresh cut on her grey-skinned chest, as red as the life which spread on the floor beneath her.
“Do it now.” Her voice was barely audible as she slipped away.
Jeanne put aside her soiled knife and leaned over the dying creature, her hands planted in the pool forming around her. She put her scarred mouth to the slit, and sucked. There was no coppery taste to this creature’s blood: it tasted of sweet cherries with a hint of tarragon. Certainly it was not what she expected, nor a combination she would have ever thought to try, but she found it tantalizing, and drank until she could suck no more from the wound.
Raising her red-painted lips, she saw that the creature’s face in death retained that of the monster, not of the beautiful blond who had broken so many men and women alike. Jeanne sat back on her heels and ran a hand across her mouth, then wiped her palms on her thighs. These jeans had outlived their usefulness anyways.
“You forgot who I am,” Jeanne said to the still form, picking up and holding her silver knife in front of her. This was by no means the first blood her blade had tasted, and nor would it be the last. She wiped the blade clean on the creature’s torn shirt, re-sheathed it at her hip as she stood, and tugged her headscarf back over her face.
“I never make a bargain when I can take what I want.”
If Jeanne had looked back to watch the body disintegrate instead of just walking away, she would have seen the creature’s mouth turn up into a sickly grin.
* * *
Once back inside her apartment, Jeanne unwrapped the scarf from her face and hung it on the back of the door. She went straight to the bathroom and started the tap. As the water warmed up, she inspected her face in the mirror. There was still some blood staining around her mouth, but that wasn’t the object of her scrutiny.
Under the harsh fluorescents, the scar tissue on her face stood out even more than usual. From ear to ear and from just below her eyes to the top of her neck her skin was stretched and ridged, a hideous reminder of what she had survived. Soon, though, those scars and as a bonus all the others she had collected over the years would disappear. It had taken several years to find it once she learned of this particular creature and what it offered, but thanks to it, she would no longer have to hide behind a scarf. The corners of her mouth twitched up slightly, stretching the skin, at the prospect of looking normal again.
The water at last hot, Jeanne scrubbed the last evidence from her skin of her latest success.
“Tomorrow my life begins anew,” she said to her reflection. She finished up getting ready for bed and disposed of her bloody jeans before spending an hour cleaning and polishing the weapons she had used for that night’s kill before turning in.
* * *
“Jeanne!” A man’s voice slipped into Jeanne’s ears, rousing her from her deep sleep.
“Jeanne! Open up, you need to get moving!” A fist pounded on her door, the knocking redundant as his voice had already woken her up.
“Coming, Paul!” Jeanne grabbed a scarf from her bedside out of habit and wrapped it around her face as she headed to the front door.
“Are you ready yet?” Paul said from the other side as she unlocked the door.
She flung the door open to show Paul standing on the welcome mat holding a large take-out bag. He was a few inches taller than her, with dark blonde hair and the presence of a giant cuddly teddy bear successfully domesticated within his black slacks and green striped button down shirt.
He blinked at her, taking in the fresh bandage on her battle-scarred arms and the fact that once again, she was only wearing yoga pants and a tank top which she wore to sleep.
“Oh, get in here.” Jeanne let go of the door and walked back to her bedroom, waving her hand behind her as she went. “You know where the kitchen is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paul said sarcastically as he came in and brought the take-out bags into the kitchen, the door slamming loudly behind him. He started up the coffee maker and then began unpacking the food he had brought: vegetable omelet - extra heavy on the vegetables - for her, and a sausage skillet for himself. The food set out but still covered, he tidied up her kitchen from the day before. All this had become a sort of morning ritual for him, and coming by every morning reassured him that she had survived another night of hunting.
Perfectly timed, he was just pouring the coffee when Jeanne reemerged from her bedroom, clad in black slacks, a modest baby blue button-down, and a cream-colored headscarf patterned with pale blue morning glories. He also knew better than to ask her for any details until she had had a few bites to eat and at least one sip of coffee.
Jeanne sat down opposite him and pulled down the front of her headscarf to eat.
Paul choked on his coffee. “What happened last night?” he asked once he had his breath back, the unspoken rules of morning communication rejected.
Jeanne touched a few fingers to her cheek. One night had done wonders for her scars. The skin was no longer ridged, though it still had the pale pink appearance of fresh scar tissue, and her lips and cheeks didn’t hurt when she stretched her mouth to smile at Paul. “I told you last night’s vilgen was going to be a big one.”
“Yeah, but I thought - ” Paul started, and gestured vaguely with a hand in the air, not even able to form the words. Usually she killed a vilgen for having hurt someone, and for the money and usefulness a part of their corpse could offer on the vilgen black market. It offered a profitable supplemental income for both of them. She obtained the vilgen parts, and he arranged for their sale.
“Sometimes I do kill a vilgen for more … personal reasons.” Jeanne ate a forkful of her omelet. The morning after a hunt she was always hungrier than usual.
Paul stared at her for a moment before collecting himself and remembering to close his mouth. “You know that there are always side effects when dealing with vilgen parts. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.” He tapped his fork on his plate. “Especially when it is used right after the kill and without any vilgen apothecary making sure there are no tricks or curses worked into it.”
Jeanne shrugged and took another bite. “I had researched and followed this vilgen thoroughly first, and I handled it properly. No need to get all worked up, Paul.”
“That’s what you think,” he muttered and took a bite of his own skillet, seeing that she was not going to give him any more details. He would just have to watch her more closely just like he did the last time she pulled this stunt, and hope that nothing would go wrong.