23. Vameer
Vameer
My bare feet land silently on the cracked blacktop, and for the first time in a long time, I stand in the United States of America.
I read about the last century. Had an idea what to expect. And this is about right.
Reaching up, I pull my hair over my shoulders, then I pull the hood of my robe up until it bumps into my horns.
It might not be necessary since it’s still before dawn and dark out. But it does help to create more shadows around my face. And people might know about vampires, but they don’t know about me.
Always ready, my gravito shifts to fill every inch of my body, pressing out against my skin.
I start down the sidewalk. Few heartbeats are present here. On the outskirts of a town, just north of the Gulf of Mexico.
The buildings are low. Run down. Windows are barred.
I pass a parking lot with a fire burning inside a metal barrel, two men seated near it, watching me. But I keep my attention forward.
I’m not here to interact. I’m here to breathe. To feel.
I’ve felt her, felt her heartbeat, sensed her emotions as I traveled. And I know I’m going in the right direction. But I need a hint. I need to feel more of her.
I keep walking until I stop in front of the next building.
It’s abandoned, with cracked windows. And it’s not a mirror. But it’s a reflection.
Maybe that will work.
I stare at it. At myself. And I will my mate to feel me.
“Mon Coeur. Ou est vous?”
The glass remains the same. My image doesn’t shift.
“S’il vous pla?t,” I whisper into the dark.
Lights and the rumble of an engine alert me as a car turns onto the street a couple blocks back.
But I keep my gaze on the glass.
Please. Hear me.