17Wiping the blood from my lips, I stepped over the body I'd just drained. I did feel a bit guilty, but at the end of the day I needed to kill to survive and she was only a hooker; Paris could cope with the loss of one every now and then. I stepped out of the alley and looked down over La Butte beneath me; a beautiful city with foundations of filth.
It had become much harder to kill unnoticed over these past couple of months, with wave after wave of 'artists' flocking to the city, thinking it was easy to make it as one in a city like this. This wave of 'artists' increased the need for whores, elevating them above street walkers into full strip club and burlesque stars. The biggest establishment was the Moulin Rouge in Montmartre, the beauty of the area somewhat out of place considering the nature of the Moulin Rouge.
I have nothing against prostitutes in person, they only satisfy people's needs. In return they get money, which they need to live, even if their work came with the risk of syphilis; it's all they could do to survive in such a world. I wasn't much different; I had to do things that I didn't want to do but needed to do. The plus side? Mine came with super human strength and a longer life...Oh, and I couldn't catch nasty things like syphilis, either.
As I wandered past the Sacré Coeur, I couldn't help thinking. Before I became a vampire, this is the last place I would expect a vampire to be able to set foot on, Holly Catholic ground. I touched the cold grey stone of the cathedral; you'd expect to see me screaming in pain or bursting into flames. Alas, no. Religious ground had as much affect on me as trying to put out a raging fire by spitting on it. I carried on past the SacrИ Coeur down a small winding cobbled stone street, looking for a bar. I saw something circular and silver on the floor. I bent down in curiosity, only to find out it was only a five Franc piece. I was just about to get up when I saw something out of the corner of my eye, a fast moving shadow passing the top entrance to the street. I got up and carried on walking; if it was a mugger, he'd soon realise he'd picked the wrong mark for an easy 100 Francs. I turned a corner. I was only 50 metres or so from the bar. If he was going to act, he better do it quickly. A bitter smell was on the air and my nostrils flared: Absinthe. So, the man was under the influence of the green fairy. An intoxicated mugger, an even easier killing, and I may even get a bit high off the green trickle flowing through his veins. I reached the door to the small bar without another viewing or smell or my stalker. He'd probably passed out in the gutter, his thoughts of robbery long forgotten. I entered the bar, the smell of tobacco and the roar of laughter hitting me as soon as I stepped inside. The bar was small and full of drunkards. I approached the bar. "I'll have a Cognac, please," I said. The bar man made a Neanderthal-like grunt in response, handed me my drink and held out his hand for my money. Who said Paris was full of charm? I handed over my silver. "You're very welcome," I said in reply to his grunt, and went to find a seat at the back of the bar; I had to fight my way through the cloud of smoke. I spotted a small table that was unoccupied and headed for it. I sat down and began to enjoy my drink. Some people might ask if I get lonely. The answer is yes; I could have friends but choose not to. I had at least another 2000 years in me yet; why make friends only to watch them die after what seemed like months?
I was interrupted from my thoughts by a whisper in my ear. "Nino Babineau?" I spun around; I was faced by a medium height, brown haired man. He repeated. "Nino Babineau?" more tentative this time, unsure if he had the right person. I extended my hand in greeting and he took it. "My name is Lucien Laîque, I am in need of your," he paused, avoiding my eyes, "let's say 'special skills".
I listened.