Lethal Kiss

The easiest way to kill a man is by pinching the delicate skin of his throat with your teeth and shucking the tissue like an oyster’s shell.

‍

I haven’t done that in a while, though. Most of the time I have to be quick about it: drain their energy, drink their blood for sustenance. A woman—a succubus, draugr, vættr anyway—can’t live on Snickers bars alone.

‍

I lean the heels of my hands on the window and stare at the rainstorm battering Seattle this ugly Tuesday morning. There’s nothing here for me anymore, now that I’ve been backed into a corner by my department’s dean. The thing about competing for a tenure spot at the University of Seattle is that there are so few people to actually prey upon, their absences are noticed. I guess I took one too many.

‍

Bellatrix— not named after that one, don’t get it twisted— comes up and rubs her furry black side against my leg, mewling for attention. I lean down and stroke her ears thoughtfully. The dean has called me in for a one-on-one meeting later today, and if the resentment simmering through the Folklore department tells the story, I’m gonna get kicked out. I know it.

‍

Damn, that guy from Milwaukee was not worth all this trouble. But he was attractive and asked me to work with him late-night in the library. What can I say? A girl has needs.

‍

Bellatrix meows at me again, affronted that I haven’t picked her up and cradled her yet. I lean down and sweep her into my arms, touching my nose to hers, a little pink triangle. She blinks at me with her orange eyes. Ekk-ekk.

‍

“Don’t use that tone on me, missy. Food’s coming.”

‍

She leaps from my arms again, affronted, snapping her tail from side to side. I grab my coffee from the Nespresso machine and sip as I scoop liver pâté into her bowl. Only the best for my little familiar. I’ve lost count of how many cats I’ve owned in my hundreds of years, but she’s definitely top ten for sweetest.

‍

As she slurps, I tap the email on my phone again.