Empress Of Blood

Author's Note: Just to warn you, this is another slow-burn, and also contains mild elements of blood-play, so don't read on if that kinda thing freaks you out.

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Cold rain pelted Sally's shivering body as she hurried over the winding cobblestone sidewalk. It had just started to pour again a few minutes earlier, but since the sky in Brimfield was always a little cloudy, she hadn't really been able to predict it. Maybe she should of; it pretty much always rained in the boring little town. In fact, if it weren't for the discovery she was about to make, Sally might have said that its near constant rain was the only remarkable thing about the entire area.

In 1985, as throughout all its history, the English town of Brimfield was no more than a disjointed gear in the goings-on of the world. It wasn't particularly bad by the standard of your average British town, but nor was it particularly good. Most people didn't think anything of Brimfield—including a large majority of the people who lived in it. Sally, however, was kinda growing to hate it. She'd been assigned by the senior detective constables to investigate a series of odd attacks in the area. It seemed like a sort of hazing ritual, dragging her away from the city to deal with whatever this mess was. The townspeople were probably just playing an elaborate prank, anyway. After all, what kind of freak goes around biting random strangers in the middle of the night? Utter bullshit.

Sally picked up her pace as the bar came into view. There was a small area of cover where the building's roof jutted out and blocked the rain as it fell. She nearly slipped in her haste to make it into this little alcove. Disgruntled and wet, Sally shook the water from her coat, then wrung out it out in streams from her hair. "Loathsome place," she muttered to herself, bringing an unlit cigarette to her lips before digging a zippo out of her pocket. "Don't even let you smoke in their bars." A few cars passed while the cigarette slowly burned to a little nub, which Sally promptly put out with her shoe.

Her need for nicotine temporarily sated, Sally headed through the bar's door. The Dozing Sheep, said establishment, was not what one would call nice, or clean for that matter, but it only took five minutes for her to walk there, so that's where Sally went. It didn't bother her that the tables were mostly occupied by various elderly men and women, or that a faint smell of vomit permeated throughout the room. It was a suitable place to collect information, and the beer tasted pretty good too. Plus, the bartender had a funny handlebar mustache that always made her laugh when she got drunk.

"Got any new leads?" asked a wizened man sitting at the far end of the counter. The "incidents" were about the only thing the townspeople talked about recently. Though she wouldn't say it, Sally secretly believed that the main reason they asked her about her investigation so often was that it validated the attacks beyond a normal town rumor, gave a sense that the townspeople's fears were grounded.

"Erh, not much, Mr. Fletcher," she replied sheepishly. "I talked to Tuesday's victim, but she didn't remember much, so I can't say that I've made any real progress." Sally hopped atop a stool a couple away from Mr. Fletcher's and ordered a pint.

"Shame," he said, looking genuinely disappointed at the lack of new information. "I hope to God this doesn't turn out to be the work of a budding serial killer or the like."

"I doubt it," Sally replied with a dry laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Chances are that a group of kids are doing all this to be rebellious." She paused to thank the bartender as he slid her pint over. "Though I admit they've chosen a rather strange way of doing so." She downed a swig of the amber liquid. "That said, if there is a more malicious intent, you can trust me to get to the bottom of it."

Mr. Fletcher held his glass up. "Cheers to that. And, hey, after this... thing is done, you might want to consider a more permanent role here."

Sally almost broke out in laughter at the idea, but stopped herself with another sip of beer. To think she'd want to spend a day longer here than she needed to! Not a chance. She would be back home the second the case wrapped up, you could count on that.

"Don't keep haranguing the lady!" interjected a different elderly man from his table, where a small group had gathered for their nightly games of chess. "She shouldn't waste her life in this decrepit place. And I would know. I've lived her my whole life."

"All I'm saying," Fletcher went on, "is that the people of Brimfield appreciate your service, detective. It's not like we have anyone of quality here."

"I heard that," said William, one of the town's three police officers and local drunk.

"Oh, shut up you toper," mocked the bartender with a playful smile. "You know as well as anyone that you don't do squat but drink."

William snorted and sunk back into his booth. "Aye, true, and I wear it as a badge of pride. But I don't take lightly to talk of replacing me."

"No one's going to replace you," Sally finally told him. "My superiors will want me back once I've filed my report."

"I'd imagine so," the bartender said, using an old towel to wipe off a glass. "There are more important crimes in the city that need people like Sally to handle. These attacks are just an odd blip in the peace of this town... or rather in its dullness." He put the glass down and slide to the other side of Sally's stool. "Speaking of leads, though, it may be a good idea to look into this one," he whispered to her, surreptitiously pointing his thumb at a young woman nursing a gin and tonic at the end of the counter. "My gut tells me she's up to something."

Sally peeked at the woman from the corner of her eyes, though it wasn't as if she'd never noticed her before. In fact, the woman had left a lasting impression in Sally's mind since the first time she encountered her at this very same bar. There was a beautiful kind of sadness which radiated out from her and seemed to repel any who'd dare to approach. Sally didn't even know the woman's name despite almost always being in the bar at the same time as her.

And moreover, Sally remembered her because the woman stirred something inside her, something hidden and repressed. For whatever reason, she would occasionally feel a tightness in her chest whenever looking at the woman, like a fighter who's had the wind punched out of them. Maybe it was her rich brown hair, lovely freckles, or the porcelain paleness of her skin, but Sally was ashamed to feel a slight tingling in her groin when the woman suddenly made eye contact with her.

"No," Sally said quietly as she lowered her gaze to the beer, "I bet she's just lonely. I've seen that type before and they tend not to wish harm on anyone. Usually all they want is space to breathe, nurse their wounds." She didn't notice it, but Sally had divulged more personal information than the bartender was looking for.

"Oh," he said, a little embarrassed for brushing against this raw nerve, "I didn't mean it like that. She seems odd, is all."

Sally pressed her lips up to the glass of beer and grinned. "In the business, we call that 'profiling', and it's something I personally avoid." The bartender dropped the topic after her subtle rebuke.

Hours passed in the Sheep, with Sally casually downing pint after pint. Despite how much she internally claimed to hate the place, it was also the one solace she had after a frustrating day of investigating. She could talk to the other sordid patrons who, like her, thought the best things in the world were libations and conversation. Her time in the bar was also important to Sally because it gave her mind time to decompress and look at the facts of the case in a different, more relaxed state.

The facts. Sally thought the phrase implied much more solid evidence than there was. 'Cause what did she even really have? In the past three weeks there had been a series of bizarre attacks in the town—that much was known. Six people, all with different backgrounds and ages, had been assaulted in the middle of the night by someone with extraordinary strength. That's how the attacks were described by just about every person she interviewed. And the weirdest part was that, so far, none of the victims had been robbed or significantly injured. Instead, each and every one of them reported feeling a sharp pain in the neck, which in all cases left marks that they could show her: two small, inflamed holes spaced close together. The victims also frequently said they felt a sensation like sucking after they were pierced in the neck, and later being overcome with drowsiness. By the look of things, whoever was perpetrating these attacks certainly had an unhealthy obsession with vampires to recreate the mythological signs so accurately. But why? Who could possibly benefit from this? Or was the assailant simply insane, having no motivations beyond spreading a bit of fear?

Sally polished off her fourth pint and quietly shook her head. None of the facts made sense together, and it was really starting to frustrate her. She checked her watch: 10:26, about time to go home for the evening. It'd be another busy day tomorrow.

"I think I'm going to turn in," Sally said to the bartender, stretching her arms out wide.

"And I assume I'll see you at the same time tomorrow?" the bartender asked.

Sally hauled herself off the stool and pulled out her wallet to pay the tab. "You know it." She turned to nod at the elderly man a couple of seats away. "Mr. Fletcher."

He flashed her a toothy smile, though it was missing a couple of those pearly whites. "Always a pleasure, Sally."

She was just about to leave the bar and go back to her comfy hotel bed when the urge to urinate suddenly overcame her. So it is; beer will do that to you. It would be better to get it over with quickly rather than have to hold it in as she walked the streets, which left her only one option. The Sheep's facilities were on the dirty side, yet they would do fine for the moment. "But first," Sally went on, at this point thoroughly inebriated, "to the bathroom."

Sally spun around again and made her way to the ladies' room. As she passed by the counter, Sally noticed that the strange and beautiful woman had left. It was a puzzling thing to see for her, especially since Sally imagined she would have noticed the woman exiting. Whatever, she thought. It must be because of the beer.

The bathroom door swung open at Sally's push, revealing a familiar face. The melancholy woman was standing quietly in front of the mirror, washing her hands in the sink. Her face revealed no surprise at the door opening. Sally, however, felt her body instinctively tense in response to the sight. A cold shiver ran through her, quickly replaced with a burning flush. The woman was even more beautiful up close—ethereal, almost mythical. Her form seemed practically paradoxical in that dingy lavatory. Sally imagined the woman would fit better on a moonlit beach than there, imagined she'd fit better in her bed... Sally shook the thought away and headed to the nearest stall, desperately fighting the urge to linger on the personification of beauty before her.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced." The words, spoken in a smooth and husky tone, stopped Sally in her tracks.

"No..." she replied, nearly quaking with suppressed desire, "we haven't." Sally could sense the woman approaching her from behind, feel the strong presence come over her. She turned and nearly started when she saw that the woman's face was even closer to her, close enough that Sally could make out each discrete dimple on her skin.

"I'm Mina," the woman told her, extending a hand, "Mina Murray."

Sally only reluctantly put her own hand out, half-expecting that Mina would vanish the second their skin met. But she didn't. Mina Murray remained where she was, a deep curiosity permeating her eyes.

"Sally Leone. Nice to meet you." Internally, she balked at the formality of introducing yourself so primly in such a dingy bathroom. If it were anyone else, the gesture might have appeared bizarre, but with Mina, a handshake was the most natural way to make an introduction. And Sally wasn't going to complain either, because a handshake gave her the chance to actually touch Mina, and to experience the refined softness of her flesh, the grace of her fingers.

Mina stared deeply at the constable, looked over her every feature. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bliss, she pulled her hand away. "I see you at the counter almost every day," she said with a slight smile. "To be honest, I've always wanted to talk to you, but was never able to muster the courage."

Sally wanted to laugh hysterically, wanted to laugh until she cried. What a coincidence! Because I have to actively restrain myself from coming over and sitting next to you! That's what she thought, but what Sally said was, "Really? I can't imagine a woman as beautiful as you would be intimidated by someone like me." Shit, I got too excited.

Mina's smile widened to show a hint of her teeth, but unlike Mr. Fletcher, hers were almost perfect. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Well... yes. I mean, you really are pretty." Sally was beginning to flounder and she knew it. Her drunkenness only made the scenario worse, causing a crimson blush to form on her cheeks. "And, uhm, I'm always open to talk. That is, I am when off duty. So, don't hesitate to contact me."

Mina demurred then, turning her face to the filthy bathroom tiles. "That's kind of you to offer. I think I'll you up on it. In fact, expect to see me again soon." Her burst of shyness was a short one, however, and Mina quickly went back to staring at Sally. Her gaze lingered for maybe a couple of seconds, devouring the constable with her rich brown eyes. Suddenly, her hand went up again, this time to stroke across Sally's cheekbone. "Your face is so much like hers," Mina said, practically in a whisper. "And those eyes. It's really... uncanny."

Sally found herself about a second away from discarding all self-control, all shame, and planting a kiss right on this stranger's lips. But before she could, Mina drew back and strode out of the room, leaving Sally with an uncomfortable warmth in her heart. She stood there bewildered until the gears in her mind returned to their normal positions, allowing her to think clearly once more. As she calmed down on the toilet, an odd thought nagged at Sally, despite her bliss. She couldn't put her finger on it at first, but then it all came back in a surge of realization. The mirror! I couldn't see her reflection in the mirror!

There was no doubt about it, through the haze of barely alcohol and barely suppressed lust, Sally's honed instincts had picked up on Mina's lack of reflection. It was, well, absurd, but she knew what she saw, and what she saw didn't make any sense. Or maybe it made too much sense. In the bathroom stall, Sally rubbed her face with the palms of her hands, the dull hum of a ventilation shaft coming from above. Maybe she was just fried from working on this case all day. Apparently, her normally stolid mind had been invaded with thoughts of vampires, so that she saw phantom signs of them wherever she went.

Sally left to go home after that—home in this case being the bed and breakfast she was set up in for the duration of her stay. The earlier rain had turned to a faint drizzle, which made her walk back a little bit better. It still felt pretty unpleasant to get so wet, though. Her clothes were moist and clingy by the time she stepped into her temporary room. Sally didn't spare the energy to turn the lights on; she just shed her wet attire and jumped face first into bed, letting her underwear functioning as pajamas.

There was a fan by the nightstand, and Sally stretched over the bed to turn it on. The cool air it generated ran across her skin and calmed her with white noise. Sally thought it would be nice to sink into the mattress and forget all about the mysterious case, simply get eaten up by her bed. It was so soft and pleasant—soft, like Mina's hand, like Mina's skin. Sally sat up in the dark of the room, startled by where her mind was going. Why did that woman evoke such a response from her? She felt like an obsession was gradually forming now that they'd actually spoke and touched each other. But what did she expect? Sally hadn't been in a relationship with another woman since university, and that was only a brief, impulsive tryst at best, one which left her feeling ashamed and wrong.

Sally wished she'd been born normal. However, that wasn't the case. She liked women, she loved women. Who would've thought that something so basic could create such an array of problems. Sally flipped on her back and settled into the downy pillow. She felt her built-up frustrations rise to the surface, then take over. Sally's hand drifted down to her cotton panties as an image of Mina formed in her sleepy brain. Such an attractive, alluring woman—even by the city's standards. Mina's was a pure beauty that demanded recognition. Sally stroked the lips of her pussy over her underwear.

A tingling heat built in Sally's core as she pleasured herself to the image of Mina, first clothed then bare and splayed out. A part of Sally told her that what she was doing was wrong, but another part told that first part to shove it and let them enjoy this. Sally listened to the latter aspect of herself.

She slipped her panties to the side and stuck a finger into her wet folds, picturing how pink Mina's pussy must be. Sally imagined she would have pert little nipples as well, the kind that's just perfect for sucking and pinching. She unhinged her bra so she could stimulate her own two nipples. Next, Sally slipped another finger into her aching depths, getting ready to bring herself to climax. Her frustration was transformed to euphoria in that shadowy room, with the fan spinning ceaselessly beside her.

Sally envisioned what Mina's face would look like contorted in lust as her pussy was eaten out, and that was enough to put her past the point of no return. She moved her hand down so she could rub her clit and deliver the last blow, the blow that caused her to finally orgasm. Sally's pussy seized up around fingers and she had stifle a moan so loud that it would have certainly woken the people next door if she'd let it loose.

Her breath came out in short bursts as she came down from her release, and the image of Mina dissolved to nothing. A pang of guilt arose, threatening to spread into something more, but Sally hastily pushed it out of her thoughts. There was no use in ruining a good orgasm like that. So, she turned to her stomach and pulled the covers up instead, allowing sleep to whisk her away. Nothing disturbed her quiet slumber that night. Sally's dreams were placid as she dozed with her arms wrapped around the firm pillow for comfort.

The next day came like a sledgehammer to the kneecap. Sally figured she must have drunk a smidge more than was responsible, because her head pounded throughout the entire morning, and an espresso only mitigated it slightly. So, Sally woke grumpy and upset, but minimally upset with her lack of concrete progress. There still hadn't been a major breakthrough in case—in fact, she'd hardly learned much more than what the initial set of victim interviews provided. To make things worse, the pattern of attacks led her to believe that another assault would take place that very night, considering the consistent three day break between reports. And her lingering thoughts of Mina didn't help either.

No, Sally, she said to herself as memories of the previous evening's events came back. Now isn't the time to be pining over some woman. Now is the time to figure out a solution to this whole weird affair. The answer was painfully obvious, too. It just didn't appeal to her much. If she wanted a better chance at catching the killer, Sally knew she'd need to stay up late enough to get a chance at observing the attack first-hand. It was a risky thing to do, and a tactic her superiors would surely advise against, but the odds seemed in her favor. Not only did the incidents all happen in intervals of three days, they also took place within a specific distance of the last one. If Sally mapped out the places of attack, then she guessed it should be possible to roughly triangulate the next one.