The house was a narrow townhouse on a shadowed street. It looked oddly pinched and out of place, though the address, 232 Cathedral Street, was precisely correct.
Betty knocked on the door. The wind whipped her blonde ponytail in a sudden gust that caught the hem of her knee-length blue sundress as well.
"Enter," a woman's voice called, and the door was closing behind Betty before she even realized she'd stepped inside.
She was standing in a small, dimly-lit parlor, and glancing back she saw that it was evidently not the front room of the house. Her heart skipped a beat - how had she gotten here?
A low round table was set in the middle of the floor, which was tiled black and white. Two tall-backed chairs sat on either side of the table. One of them, the one nearest to Becky, was pulled out and empty. A candle had been placed on the table, along with a corked bottle of wine and a single glass.
The other chair's occupant leaned forward in her seat, letting the candle reveal her long, pale face. Her features were sharp but striking, the sort that queens and empresses like to imagine they have. She wore a tight black dress, and her dark red hair was tied back severely. She smiled at Betty with lips painted a deep purple.
"Good evening," she said. Her accent was indefinable, mingling at least a dozen countries into something wholly unique. "You are here about the advertisement?"
"Er, yes," Betty said, wondering if she should be running away now.
The advertisement had been simply stated, pinned to the notice board at the library where she worked. "Companionship sought, must be obedient, call on Veronique," and then the address.
Betty had chuckled and plucked it off the board, but somehow the card had slipped into her purse. The simple words had preyed on her mind for the next month, particularly "companionship" and "obedient". She'd read books on BDSM culture - some factual, many others that were simply enjoyable - but she'd never thought herself the sort who would actually get into it herself.
God save me from temptation, she'd thought on the drive over, just not today.
"So, you're Veronique?"
"I am. And your name?"
"Betty Matthews."
"Ah." Veronique pursed her lips. "You understand why you are here?"
"Um, maybe? I'm not very familiar with this sort of thing, but the ad looked like you're seeking a, ah, sub?"
Betty's cheeks flamed as Veronique laughed, actually raising her hand under her nose briefly. "Oh, forgive me," Veronique laughed, controlling herself with an effort, "you're not wrong, I've just never heard someone use that term. I guess you could call me, what is it, old school?"
Betty giggled awkwardly. "Fair enough, but you look about my age."
Veronique grinned, exposing canines that extended to the bottom of her lower teeth. Her eyes flickered red in the candle light. "Appearances can be deceiving."
"Oh shit," Becky said, taking a step back.
Veronique held up a palm. "Peace, please. I promise I will not do anything to you that you do not consent to."
Becky had read some books about vampires, too. "Define consent," she said, crossing her arms.
Veronique sniffed. "I can't hypnotize you, if that's what you mean. If I mesmerize you, well, that's your own fault," she said coyly.
"Uh-huh. And the thing with the door...?"
"Was the thing with the door." The vampire shrugged. "The house is old and odd, I'm not going to apologize for it. Please, sit."
"Okay," Becky said slowly, taking the proffered chair, "then what would I be consenting to?" Her fear was already draining away, replaced by curiosity. Veronique might be a vampire or a nut, but she certainly wasn't boring.
"I have certain physical needs," Veronique said, "which I shouldn't have to explain to you. You would consent, once a month, to come to my home and meet them. The toll on you would be significantly less than, say, donating blood, and I assure you you won't be harmed."
"I see," Becky said. "May I ask what happened to your last, er..."
