Black Blood

-B2- Chapter 1

I kick open the light brown wooden door with my right foot. The thing flies open and slams against the wall with a loud bang. The sound of festive flute and violin music echoes past my ears. Dances along the shells. The shouting, which should be singing, echoes through the room. They never learn and maybe that is the charm of it. The smell of beer and sweat wafts towards me at the first step I take inside. The smell of boiled potatoes and overcooked meat hangs in the air along the walls. The food, which they serve in rooms like this, is not necessarily tasty, but it is not bad either. Over the months, I have come to appreciate the food in all its imperfections. The lack of salt, the potatoes that are never fully cooked and the meat that you need a saw to cut through. It is not much but it is something.

I walk into the room full of men, food, drink and fire. I glance around the room and take in the faces of the drunken men. The glasses smashing against each other, the laughter, talk and shouting make the familiar melody of places like this. The sound is familiar, the smell is familiar and even the warmth is familiar. It took me a while to get used to these places. The fear of running into the wrong person haunted me for a long time. However, in addition to my disgust for these places and the food, the fear has disappeared with time.

My eyes go past the dozens of men. Here and there, a woman sits next to a man, often scantily dressed. There are not many women here and with good reason. Drunk men, often single or not loyal, are after certain things. I have long fled from such figures, but now I know how to use them. I walk purposefully to the table on the right and unceremoniously sit down with a group of men.

'Hello, beautiful, what a pleasant surprise,' says the beer-swilling man next to me. The man looks like he is in his late forties, has a small grey beard and his grey blond hair hangs down his face in a tangle. There is a grin on his face as he takes a sip of his, presumably not first, beer. At the table are about five other men of the same age. They all look at me with the same hungry expression. On the wooden table there is a plate full of gnawed chicken bones and dozens of empty glasses.

'Good night gentlemen,' my voice sounds over the background noise. The man next to me puts a hand on my leg and looks at me with a small grin, all men are the same.

'What a beautiful necklace, beauty,' grins the man next to me. His eyes slide down from the black onyx. I toss my black hair back over my shoulder and lean my right arm on the wooden table. I place my hand on the man's empty one.

'Thank you,' I smile. My hand goes to the necklace, grips the stone. The magic slips through my veins. It gives me courage, it gives me strength.

'Do you happen to know Liam Bumburt?' I ask the man. I look the man in his dark brown eyes and put a sweet smile on my lips. The man takes a greying sip of his beer. He really thinks he has won the first prize. He should know.

'Why is a beauty like you looking for an idiot like Bumburt? We are much nicer than that loser.' The table starts to laugh around me, but it doesn't dull my aim. Gently my finger slides over the man's hand. From under my eyelashes I look at the man smiling.

'You shouldn't let your drunken heads fall over that gentlemen. Do you know where he is?' The men take a sip of their beer, laughing. They think I'm joking but whether they like it or not, I get my answer.

'Another round!' one of the men shouts above the laughter and shouting. The man's hand, which is still on my leg, slips up a little. I look at the hand and mentally roll my eyes.

'What do I get for that information beauty? You understand that's not free,' the man next to me grins. I run a hand through my hair and then lay it on the man's cheek. His beard stings under my skin, his wrinkled skin palpable. I look into the man's eyes.