Louis turned his head away quickly. A whiff of cheap whiskey on the kid’s breath hit his nostrils.

“Not that,” he said firmly.

“Alright. No kissing. Gotcha.” The kid cocked his head and looked at Louis enquiringly.

“Tell me,” he added, softly stroking Louis’ hair with one hand. His other hand slid slowly down Louis’ chest, suggestively, until it reached his waistline, not breaking eye contact with Louis.

“Tell me what you like.” The kid asked in a low, husky voice, teasingly playing with the waistband of Louis’ trousers. With only a fraction of hesitation, Louis’ hand closed around the young hustler’s wrist.

“Not that either.” Louis determinedly pushed the kid’s hand away from his waist and lifted his wrist up until it was at face level, where he admired the letters tattooed into the dark skin: V 0 IV. 504 in Roman numerals. The area code for New Orleans. Louis smiled. Then he looked the kid right into his dark, kind eyes again.

“I want your blood.”

To his surprise, the kid doubled over with laughter.

“What are you? A damn vampire?”

“Yes.” Louis admitted simply, still taken aback by the young man’s reaction.

“A vampire? For real? Like that rock singer from back in the day?” The kid wheezed.

Yes, actually, exactly like him. He’s my maker. My lover. And my husband. Louis thought but didn’t say it.

“Man, I used to love that dude. Used to steal my sister’s clothes, tryna dress like him.”

“He was a fraud. I’m the real deal.” Louis wasn’t quite sure what made him say that. Maybe an underlying annoyance? Louis couldn’t even say if it was directed at the kid, his unexpected reaction – or Monsieur Le Rockstar himself.

“What was his name again? Le Stan or somethin’?” The kid guffawed.

“Lestat!” The name came out maybe a bit faster and sharper than Louis had wanted, and even he could hear the slightly offended undertone. It had a somewhat sobering effect on the kid nevertheless.

Louis decided it was time to change the subject: “So, what’s your name?”

The kid smiled at Louis seductively: “You can call me whatever you want…”

Louis rolled his eyes: “I’m not in the mood for games… Either tell me your name or don’t.”

The kid pouted but replied, “It’s Remy. I’m Remy.”

Louis frowned slightly and then said slowly, “No, it’s not. Your name is Wendell.”

This time Louis had hit a nerve, and the kid – Wendell – looked around nervously.

“Look, man, I’on know what kinda game you playin’ or who put you up to this, but don’t be usin’ that name ’round here, ya hear?”

Louis smiled, “No one told me. I’m a vampire. I can read your mind.” After a pause he added, “How old are you?”

“I’m 25.” Wendell pushed out his chin defiantly.

Now it was Louis’ turn to chortle: “No, you’re not.” He tilted his head, searching for the information in the other’s mind. It wasn’t too difficult. When humans lied, the truth tended to be clearly at the forefront of their thoughts. Easy to pick for the experienced mind-reader. “You’re 18. It was actually your birthday only last month. The tattoo was a birthday gift from your sister Josie to remind you where you’re from. Where your home is. Her full name is Josette, but you’ve always just called her Josie.”

“Fuck, man! A’ight, a’ight, no need to be shoutin’ it from the rooftops.” Wendell fidgeted and licked his lips nervously. “I’m 18, okay? I’m legal. It’s legal. Now can we get to the part where you fuck me and run me my money?” The playful tone in his voice had gone and had been exchanged for something more desperate, almost pleading.

“I told you, I don’t want sex. I want your blood.” Louis corrected. Wendell froze and stared at the man in front of him.

“You for real? You want my blood? Drink… my blood?”

“Yes.” Louis said simply. “I want to drink your blood.” When there was no further reaction from Wendell, Louis added, “I will pay you for it. I’ll pay more than the Red Cross blood drive down the street. I won’t leave a mark on you. I won’t take all. I won’t kill you.”

He said that last part with a little more conviction than he felt. He had mastered his instincts over time and knew when to stop “the little drink”. He hadn’t killed a human in decades. But lately he felt off, and nothing was as it used to be with him. He just couldn’t trust himself anymore. He’d almost killed Barney. (“It was only a nightmare, mon cher!” a small voice, that sounded suspiciously like Lestat’s, whispered in his head.) He hadn’t fed at all that night, and whatever had been left of his previous meal in his system had ended up on the floor earlier. He should have accepted Lestat’s offer to drink from him before heading out. But it was too late now.

“I won’t kill you.” He repeated to convince Wendell as much as himself.

Wendell glanced at him suspiciously. “How I know you won’t?”

Louis sighed. Excellent question. “Because if I wanted to, I could have, the moment I saw you standing in that alley behind us.”

Wendell visibly gulped.

“And you gon’ pay me?”

“Yes,” Louis confirmed and took out his roll of bills again. “How does two Benjamins sound to you?”

Wendell’s tongue flicked nervously across his lips as he eyed the money in Louis’ hand. He wanted it. Desperately. He needed the money. He’d been prepared to do almost anything for it. Let Louis do almost anything with him. What was donating a little blood in comparison to that?

“I won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt. Only a little when I pierce your skin with my fangs. I’ll be gentle.” I hope I can be, Louis added in his thoughts. In truth, he was getting as desperate for the blood as Wendell was for the money. He needed blood, and Wendell’s proximity, the warmth that his body exuded, and the smell of his blood that Louis could see pumping through his veins, his youth and vitality, was becoming more and more irresistible by the second.

With another greedy look at the rather thick roll of bills in Louis’ hand, Wendell said, “A’ight. Three hundred.”

Louis nodded in agreement and handed three blue faces over. Wendell quickly stuffed them in the back pockets of his jeans and then looked unsure at Louis.

“How… I mean, where… what I do… ?” he started, but Louis simply placed one hand on Wendell’s face and tilted his head almost tenderly to the side to expose Wendell’s neck.

“Just hold still. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Wendell’s heart clearly said as it was hammering at top speed inside Wendell’s chest. Louis took a few steadying breaths to get his hunger under control, not rip into the hustler like a beast, tear his neck open and let the blood spurt right into his mouth. No, he wasn’t a savage. He was in control. He bent down over Wendell’s neck, let his fangs grow and carefully bit into the young man’s skin. He heard a groan, unsure if it had come from Wendell or himself, as the blood started to pour into his mouth.

Pictures started to flood Louis’ brain. Wendell as a young boy playing hide-and-seek with his sister, Josie. Josie hugging him, protecting him from a man – their father? – trying to grab him. Josie telling him to run, run and not look back. Wendell as a teenager shooting hoops with his friends in the park. And there it was: Wendell wearing clumsy make-up, a lime green feather boa over a fishnet top, a multi-coloured sequin mini skirt and black cowboy boots. Standing in front of a mirror, hair brush in hand, acting as a microphone. Mimicking being a rock singer. Mimicking being Lestat.

Louis almost lost himself in Wendell’s memory when the images appeared in his mind. He fought to concentrate on Wendell’s heart, the steady thrum inside this young chest, and the warm, thick liquid that pooled into his mouth and that he gulped down his throat. He’d stop before the heart started faltering. He’d stop as long as it was still going strong. “It’s enough”, the small voice in his head said again, and he pulled away from Wendell with a swift motion. He nicked his index finger with one of his fangs and used his blood to heal the puncture wounds, just like Lestat had done earlier.

He caught Wendell just in time as the young man’s legs folded underneath him like a lawn chair and carefully helped him to sit down on the dirty ground. Louis slipped the rest of his money into Wendell’s pockets. The young man’s eyes darted from side to side, trying to focus on Louis. His lips were moving, but Louis just put a finger on them and said, “Hush now. It’ll pass. Just rest.” He propped Wendell’s upper body against the wall, and with a moment’s hesitation, got up and stepped back outside into the dimly lit alley. There was no one around, Wendell was safe to recover and with the money in his pocket, he could comfortably afford a hot meal and a warm bed for the rest of the night.

Wendell’s blood sloshed inside Louis’ body, warming his skin and clearing his head. It felt as if a corner of the curtain of darkness in his mind had been gently lifted, allowing the first timid rays of light to slip through. The snake of resentment recoiled. Without another glance, Louis rushed back to Louis Armstrong Park and the shrubbery where he had left Lestat and Barney.

He found the place without difficulty, but neither Barney nor Lestat were anywhere to be seen. Of course not. Lestat had been about to go hunting himself. But he had left their pet cat hidden in some bushes nearby, not wanting to be hindered by the cat or – Louis assumed – have the cat come to harm in the process. Louis looked around and combed through some branches in search of Barney. He had to be close by, Louis hadn’t been gone that long, and Barney was only a kitten. How far could a kitten get in such a short amount of time? Making sure no humans were in earshot, Louis whistled and softly called Barney’s name. If he heard it, he’d come.

Of course, he wouldn’t. He was a cat, not a dog. And where the hell was Lestat? Barney was his cat after all. What a ridiculous idea it had been to bring him on a hunt! Louis’ attempts to spot a ball of silvery grey fur or a mop of blond hair were starting to become more and more frantic when a thought occurred to him: Maybe Lestat had finished his meal quicker than Louis. He’d been talking to Wendell for a while after all. Maybe he’d already returned to pick up Barney, and the two of them were back at the townhouse, in front of a fire, playing catch the tassel?

With a sigh, Louis straightened up, stretched and made to leave the place when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted what he had been looking for. A tiny tabby curled up comfortably in the middle of the street, dozing on the warm pavement and basking in the lingering heat of the day’s sun. Louis chuckled and shook his head. That silly cat was almost invisible, his grey fur a perfect camouflage against the concrete.

Perhaps it was a noise, perhaps just a sense of foreboding that made Louis turn in this moment, but the sight made his stomach plummet. A white van swerving around the corner. Speeding down the street. Heading straight to the spot where that silly cat was lazily resting. Fast asleep and completely unaware of his surroundings.

Barney…