Clarissa closed the door to the office and walked down the five steps to the street. The news had been as she'd expected, but nonetheless it was hard to take in. She'd been found to be in the early stages of tuberculosis. She coughed again, as she looked for a Hansom cab to take her back to her one room rooming house.
For a moment she thought of throwing herself in front of the milk cart that clattered by her, but she held back. She didn't want to die. She still had things to complete before she left this earth.
She'd just started her latest novel, a thriller in which a young woman meets with a vampire. The men of the night had been a rage ever since Bram Stoker had written about them some years ago. It was hard to write these novels fast enough, and she wasn't ready to give up the pleasure that she derived from making people wince in fright by only using her words.
She saw a dark wisp of something out of the corner of her eye, and she decided to follow it. Clarissa knew that etiquette demanded that she be accompanied by a man in this endeavor, but the moment would be lost far before she found an escort. Besides, who was she to care? It would only be a matter of months before she was gone anyway.
She shivered, remembering how horrid her sister had looked in those last weeks of her disease. She'd been weak with a bluish tint to her skin. Clarissa had no desire to go out that way. There were too many things had yet to try. She rued her own morality, thinking that no man would want her now, knowing that she was ill and could possibly infect him as well. She would soon be a pariah with little chance of knowing a man.
She quickened her step, rushing to go in the direction of the black shadow that seemed to be ethereal, a mere suggestion of a person. She turned the corner to go down a darkened alley, steeling herself. The worst that could happen would be death, and she'd already knew that the end was near.
She pulled up short as a man stepped from the shadows. He looked young, almost waif-like, but he sneered at her as he came closer. Clarissa thought that he would be perfect for Nigel in her current work-in-progress. He had a certain swagger to his hips as he moved closer to her. She supposed that this should be a threatening move, but instead the act held a certain allure to it.
"Odd time of evening to be out alone," the man said. "Where mightst you be going?"
"I thought I saw someone..." She let the words trail off. Her nerve-endings were tingling with the threat of something happening. For all the bravado that the man had, she felt no worries that he would kill her. If he did, she would just be spared the painful death from consumption.
"You did see someone, ducks. You saw me. Must be your lucky night." He laughed.
She thought back to the physician's words. It was indeed an unlucky night for her. She had months to live, a span that could be counted on her fingers.
"What's the matter?" the man asked, stepping closer. She could smell his odor, he was that near to her.
"I'm not well," Clarissa said, being honest with the man. She wasn't sure why it mattered, but she had lost all interest in the niceties of societal interactions. She wanted to tell things as they were and speak to the heart in all cases.
"Sorry to hear. You'll be better soon," he said, as if he needed to say that to Clarissa. She had no time for this.
She turned to leave before he spoke again. "What are you doing in this neighborhood? It's not where I'd like to see my woman."
Clarissa shrugged. He acted as if danger was something to keep her in line now. It would not hold her back. "Perhaps I was down here looking for something that would cure me. Something that would allow me to live and write."
He raised his eyebrows. "That's a tall order for anyone, miss."
She turned to walk away. "Thank you then and good night."
He ran so that he stood in front of her. "Not's to say that I couldn't get it. Just saying that it would take some doing to get it."
Clarissa nodded. "Perhaps then I could find someone else. Someone who could make this happen. What is the man's name which I seek?"
He took a deep breath. "That's worth a lot to a person, isn't it?"
She smiled at him. "And what do want in return?" She had an idea of his answer, and with little to lose and no hope of saving herself for marriage, Clarissa was inclined to say yes to any demands that he might make. In her remaining time, she would drink from life fully.
He leered at her.
She met his gaze and kept it. "For that, you'll need to tell me more."
The man looked around as if scanning for other people before he began. "He's foreign, you know. He's says that he's a vampire. Has a home not too far from here, and I've heard tell of the parties that he has, things what I couldn't tell a lady."
Clarissa raised her eyebrow. Could those rumors be true? If she'd read Stoker's book correctly, the vampire had eternal life. She's be able to write a million books in the millennia she would live. It seemed too good to be true.
"Is that worth it to you?" the man asked.
She nodded. She was slightly disappointed that her first time would be quick and public, but Clarissa planned for there to be many more in the weeks - and maybe years - to come.
She carefully lifted the front of her dress, and the man smiled broadly at her. "You certainly don't waste any time, do you?"
She lifted her dress higher and said, "There'll be more for you if you get me that name."
He nodded, looking like a hungry man at a feast. "And what would I get if I brought you to his house?" he asked, quietly.
"His house?" Clarissa asked. She was feeling skeptical. She had barely dared to hope for a name, and this man was promising her entrance into the man's home. It seemed like too much, something too good to be hoped for.
"He has these - parties," he said after a pause. "Not affairs for a lady, but you might fit in," he said, staring at the view under her petticoats. "You might just indeed."
Clarissa smiled. "I should love an invitation to one," she replied, trying not to get her hopes up. "I need an introduction to this man."
The man approached her, eyes still on the sight under her petticoats. "I promise you shall have it." She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he moved closer.
The alley was dark, and not a soul was in sight. Clarissa was more nervous about the venue than the act. He pressed his mouth against hers, and she started to open her lips in protest. His tongue went inside her mouth, and she had to admit that he was a good kisser. Given the chances she'd taken, her new partner in crime was an attractive man. And he was doing something with his tongue that was making her warm inside.
He broke off the kiss and looked at her a moment when she moaned softly into his mouth, as if he was evaluating her. Did he doubt her word that she was pure? That moan had sounded anything but virtuous. The sound was more the battle cry of too many years of worrying what people thought.
She moved her mouth back to his, wanting to feel that warmth again. He was an eager participant, and his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She could feel her breasts pushed against his own shirt front. His kisses were sloppier now, wetter. She felt that same heat inside of her. Why had it taken her so long to seek this out?
She could feel his hands against her corset and he ran his fingers up and down her back. His hands traced her sides as they continued to kiss.
He broke off the kiss and began to lick and nip at her jawline and then slid down to her neck. For a moment, she worried that he was a vampire too, but the feelings that ran down her body soon told her that he had other notions in mind at the moment.
His hands moved to the front of her dress and kneaded her breasts through the heavy fabric of her dress. This was certain not the outfit to remove easily, but it did serve to slow things down for them.
The lack of entrance into her bodice seemed to stop him for a moment, but his hand quickly ran down her waist and under the petticoats she had shown him before. Clarissa moved a hand down there as well, wanting to allow him some touch of skin.
Instead she was surprised when he took her hand and slid it between his legs. She'd heard stories of men's endowments and she'd seen the farm animals from her childhood, but she'd never touched a man in an engorged state. The man acted like she would pull away if his hand did not cradle hers, but she kept it there, running up and down its length through the fabric. She had no way of knowing if he was adequate or not, but she grew warmer still knowing that she had brought this effect to him.
Now it was his time to moan, and his call was a throaty rasp that sounded nothing like his normal voice. "You're going to be the death of me soon," he said.
Clarissa stopped, in part because he seemed to want to prolong it and also because it brought back the reasons why she was in a dark alley with a strange man. Death.
The man removed his hand from hers and slid in between the buttons on her undergarment. He soon found what he wanted.
