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Concealing the fact that one is a vampire was a lot easier these days than it used to be just a few hundred years ago. First of all, most people would not even believe vampires to be real. And those who do are not actually hostile, quite the opposite, but can be rather unpleasant in other ways. Especially since the publishing of a certain, rather infamous, book series it is strongly advised to stay as far away from them as possible. Fortunately, living in solitude was no longer considered weird or suspicious; in fact it was quite normal for most people. Pale skin, dark eye shadow and black drapes were a widely accepted lifestyle, with the positive side effect that most people would leave you alone.
Thanks to the advance of bio-technology in the food industry, radical veganism, and unnecessary health and fitness trends, there was a broad selection of artificial nutrient supplements to sustain a vampire without the need to consume actual blood. Drawing fresh blood was near impossible anyway. The internet never sleeps, and even the vaguest hints would attract the attention of aforementioned unpleasant people. Working as a nurse used to offer opportunities to swipe some blood from the bank, but the modern bureaucracy was becoming evermore detailed, making it impossible to make any unnoticed withdrawals. Licking spills off the floor is not something any vampire with an ounce of dignity left would dare to attempt. She did it once. Though unseen by anyone, it was such an embarrassing experience that she would never dare to attempt it again. Not that she needed to, but the sweet metallic flavour of blood was her guilty pleasure. Fortunately the population of the British Isles had a rather unconventional taste in odd delicacies. One local candy shop, specialised in liquorice, produced liquorice pills flavoured with genuine ox blood. She had subscribed for seasonal shipments and always carried a small bag of it with her.
To hide her seemingly everlasting youth she changed her job, name and style once every decade. In the current iteration she embodied Susan Troutmiller, who worked for customer service at the Crassus Imperial Bank. After all this time she had lived so many different lives that she no longer remembered her original name. Although that person had died many hundred years ago, and Susan Troutmiller was not the type of person to hold on to dead names.
Mrs. Pepperbell came to make her monthly deposit to her savings account. She always went straight to the counter to do her transactions personally, for she strongly disliked the social coldness of computer terminals. A Picture-perfect grandma character, from her neat little slippers, the colourful floral print dress, all the way up to her reading glasses on fancy strings. The way she tied her white hair to a stiff bun gave her a strict appearance, the last vestige of her younger years when she used to hold a high position in her workplace. But when you looked at her face, the strictness was immediately broken by her kind pale grey eyes and the soft wrinkles framing her gentle smile. She was beautiful.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Susan felt a distant longing - to grow old. But she had abandoned that thought a very long time ago, along with the rest of what used to be her life, like a fleeting dream. She would not get that wish granted. Not in this life. Or the next one. Or the one after that. She shook the feeling off, it did not suit her after all.
As per the usual routine, Mrs. Pepperbell would tell about her grandchildren while Susan filled out the papers. And with each story she would discreetly shove a small candy in Susan’s hands. This time it was salted lemon & rosemary. Mrs. Pepperbell had a favour for spicy candy like these, but her grandchildren seemed not to appreciate them that much. However Susan did, a little at least, and Mrs. Pepperbell knew that very well.
The next customer approached sternly and leaned over the counter, getting unconventionally close to her. He subtly opened his jacket to reveal the gun he was hiding underneath.
“This is a robbery,” he pointed out quietly.
Susan rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh in response.
“No, it is not.” She reached for the gun and bent the tip of the barrel between her fingers.
Surprised, the man stared down at the twisted barrel, then slowly directed his gaze back to her as she retracted her hand from his jacket. His face went pale on the incoming realisation of what she just had done. Neither of them had a said a word since - this could cause unwanted attention. She had to get rid of him promptly.
“Thank you for your patronage, we’d be glad to see you again soon,” she chimed vividly, putting on her best customer service smile, while her striking crimson eyes compelled him to leave this instant and never return.
That was a risky move. She should have just played along and let it happen, but her growing impatience got the better of her. Her shift was close to finish and tomorrow was her day off, no way she would stay longer than she had to just because some poor idiot decided to try and rob the bank.
Fortunately the lobby was very busy at this time, so nobody noticed what had just occurred here.
Catastrophe avoided. She flipped up a folder to gain cover while sneaking one hand into her bag for a quick treat. Ox blood coated black liquorice. Savouring the pleasant aroma she could feel the stress falling right off her shoulders. Yet she could not shake off the looming sensation of being watched by someone. Her senses sharpened. When glanced over the rim of the opened folder to check, she saw him. On the far side of the lobby, between the white marble pillars, right next to the distasteful potted plastic plants, there was a man, wearing an aggressively colourful suit and tie combo, looking straight at her with bright blue eyes.
How long has he been observing her? How did she not notice him earlier? With that getup it was pretty much impossible to overlook him, even with this many people around. When he saw that she had discovered him, he smiled and waved at her excitedly. The motion of colourful cloth blurred her vision, simply looking at him already gave her a headache. She blinked once, and he was gone. The feeling of being watched disappeared along with him, only to invite the creeping suggestion that her true identity had been exposed.
She finished her shift on time, without further incidents. On her way out she unwrapped Mrs. Pepperbell’s salted lemon & rosemary candy and mildly exited put it in her mouth. When she entered the lobby from the back, she noticed something that made her stop aprubtly. It was him . The strange man from earlier, in his overbearing attire, leaning against a marble pillar near the entrance, absent-mindedly stroking the leaves of a potted plastic plant. As if he could not behave any more outrageous, yet nobody else seemed to even take notice of his presence. She nervously crunched the candy into tiny pieces. The cracking noise sounded loudly in her ears; and, as if he had heard it too, he suddenly straightened his posture, turned his head around and made eye contact with her.
He smiled and waved at her excitedly. He had been waiting patiently, and now the time to meet her finally arrived.
Compulsion usually worked on most targets, even other vampires if they were not on guard against it, but this time she would not know whether it could affect him. Looking at his disgustingly colourful suit put such a strain on her eyes that she was only able to stand there, squinting, as he walked up to her.
“Cottonfairy Candyfart,” he introduced himself gaily. “Let me say, truly, that I am a big fan of your … abilities.” His smile grew unnaturally wide.
In the attempt to avert her eyes from his unpleasant suit she noticed his equally outrageous hairdo: Pastel blue, slick with sweet-smelling pomade, and artfully draped into the shape of a swan.
“I happen to believe that we can greatly help each other out,” he continued gleefully. “Of course I’ll pay you double. And honestly…” - he looked around the room - “any job would be better than ... well… this.” He spat out the last word as if he he had just tasted something strongly bitter and unsavoury. “You should come see me in my office.”
He handed her a business card, which she instinctively put it in her pocket.
At this point she she was no longer capable of rational thought. The only thing on her mind was panic. Clearly he had seen through her disguise - and there was nothing she could do about him. Not here, too many witnesses. She had to keep up her act and hope for the best.
He winked at her, then he vanished. If not for the faint aroma of molten sugar still lingering in the air it was like he had never been here in the first place.
Humans can be rather weird at times, she had experienced this first-hand , but this one casually overstepped the boundaries of what she thought was humanly possible. She had to find out what he was, and perhaps dispose of him if he would cause trouble for her.
Although, he has made a good point. She hated her job at the Crassus Imperial Bank.
She picked up the business card from her pocket and examined it. It was pastel pink and wafting a sweet smell that made her nose tingle. In excessively stylised cursive, printed with golden ink, it read ‘Cottonfairy Candyfart ~ Sugar Incorporated’ . On the back side was the address - surprisingly close to here.
She walked two blocks, then looked at the card again to make sure that she really had the right address. It was the empty, rundown office building with the big red ‘FOR SALE’ posters on the windows. Or at least they had been taped there until yesterday. The rest of the building was still the same. A smudged brown chunk of cement and plastic, dull glass panes and unnecessary exterior design. Designed to look futuristic, but now out of fashion - a relic from a few decades ago, abandoned and crumbling away. The entrance had been cleaned and a polished brass bell sign had been installed. The label read ‘Sugar Inc.’. She reached out to ring the door bell, but before her hand touched the button the door opened on its own.
The inside looked just as terrible as the outside: Beige carpets, brown furniture and pale orange wallpaper with purple flower prints. Most of the lights were broken, but the the ones that still seemed to be working formed a consecutive path guiding her to an office on the second floor. The door stood open so she peeked inside promptly.
“Fantastic, you are here!” He exclaimed from behind the desk. “Much earlier than expected, sweet, I love it!” - he clapped his hands - “I knew you were the right one for the job.”
He walked around the desk and reached out his hand to greet her. She took it hesitantly, concentrating on his swan-like hairdo as not to get bedazzled again from looking at his disgustingly colourful suit. It had a similar pattern to the wallpaper but much more intense.
“First let me apologize, truly, for I believe we haven’t been properly introduced yet, haven’t we?” He smiled sincerely innocent. “Cottonfairy Candyfart, Sugar Incorporated,” he introduced himself while shaking hands excitedly. Then with a more serious, almost seductive, tone he asked “May I have your name, please?”
“Su-” she stuttered, then paused.
Something about him made her very uneasy, and it was not his awful fashion sense or his wide gecko-like smile. He had not blinked once since she saw him. Neither did she, but humans usually do it all the time, which made it highly suspicious that he did not. And, still shaking his hand, she could feel six fingers. The old tales her grandmother used to tell her came to mind: Stories about mysterious fair people, who gained power from names. Mischievous creatures that politely tricked unwary travellers into handing over their lives to them. Susan Troutmiller was not her real name, but for the time being it was the only name that she had.
“No, you may not have my name. But you can call me -” She spoke slowly, buying time to look around the room for something she could use as a substitute.
Except for the old desk, which was too big to fit trough the door, the room was basically empty. He must have purchased the building very recently and just placed a polished brass sign with his name on it on the desk. ‘Tapestry Flower’ was a terrible option. Her free hand desperately searched her pockets, ultimately finding its way to the bag of ox blood coated black -
“Liquorice!” she finished her sentence quickly.
“Well then, Miss Liquorice,” he announced amusedly, “I am delighted, truly, to make your acquaintance.” - He clapped his hands - “Sweet. Now then, so let us discuss the contract. I much desire you to be my personal assistant. Like a secretary. My consulting advisor. A most trusted friend. My business partner. Equal.”
He sat back at his desk and offered her the chair across from him. Then he opened a bunch of drawers, taking out a stack of papers from one and a fresh stick of warm cotton candy from another.
“Cotton Candy?” he offered her the stick, casually waving it around her nose. A strong scent of molten sugar filled the air.
She pushed his hand away from her face. “I don’t like sweet foods.”
“Oh, I figured,” he giggled. “Then perhaps that one will be more to your taste. The colour is the latest trend in Japan.” He pulled a pitch black cotton candy from a different drawer and handed it to her.
“Thanks, I hate it,” she replied dryly.
The sun was rising over the old office building, the first daylight gently flooded through the the dusty windows. They had spent the entire night establishing the terms of the contract. It was not a complex document, by no means, but Mr. Candyfart repeatedly attempted to bring more colour to her wardrobe under the guise of whimsical definitions such as ‘formal attire for business meetings on Tuesdays’, ‘corporate representation in the presence of international business partners at public evening events’ or ‘backup safety dress in case of sudden emergency parties’. Eventually they compromised on a very dark grey.