Lily sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at her phone. The confidence from last nights successful hunt still hummed through her veins, a quiet assurance that she could control this thing she'd become.
Maybe she didn't have to give up everything and live as a blood thirsty hermit for all of eternity.
The painting she'd completed weeks ago, "The Death of Innocence", leaned against the far wall, watching her with its bloody tears and moonlit sorrow. She'd created three more since then, each one darker than the last, each one channeling the impossible emotions of her new existence. They all featured similar imagery involving blood, stars, fire, and death.
Art had always been her therapy and after painting those additional subjects, she found herself feeling significantly better.
She pulled up her browser on her phone and searched for Dallas art galleries. Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Being famous was out of the question now. She understood that. Hard to explain why you only appeared at night-time events. Hard to age gracefully when you didn't age at all. But sharing her work on a local level? That might still be possible.
The Dallas Museum of Art appeared first in the results. She dialed before she could talk herself out of it.
Three rings, then a professional male voice answered.
"Dallas Museum of Art, how may I direct your call?"
"Hi, I'm a local artist and I was wondering if you host any amateur gallery showings?"
A pause.
"We specialize in professional works and pieces with historical significance. Our collection focuses on—"
"Right, of course. Sorry to bother you and thank you anyway."
Lily started to hang up, but the man continued.
"Wait, if you're looking for local community events, try the Irving Arts Center. They do regular showcases for emerging artists."
Hope flickered.
"Really? Do you have their number?"
"I'm afraid I don't but just search for them online. They're very active with the community so they should pop right up."
"Thank you. Seriously, thank you."
She ended the call and immediately pulled up the Irving Arts Center website. The phone number sat prominently at the top of the page. She dialed, leg bouncing with nervous energy.
"Irving Arts Center, this is Margaret speaking."
The voice was warm and maternal, which made Lily relax slightly.
"Hi Margaret, my name is Lily. I just moved to Dallas and I'm hoping to get involved with the local art community. Do you ever host amateur gallery showings?"
"Oh honey, you called at the perfect time! This Friday we're hosting an evening celebration for local artists. It's open to anyone who wants to participate."
Lily found herself grinning as excitement began to build up at the thought of being able to share her work again.
"This Friday? As in two days from now?"
"That's right. You just bring your piece and set it up. We get all kinds of people at these events. Painters, sculptors, photographers. Its a real mixed bag, but that's what makes it fun! Draws quite a crowd too."
A crowd. Lily thought about the last gallery she'd attended in New Orleans. All those people admiring her work, offering critiques and praise. The elegant stranger who'd watched her paintings with such intensity.
Her sire.
She pushed the memory away.
"What time does it start?"
"Doors open at eight, runs until eleven. You'll want to get there early to claim a good spot."
"I'll be there. Thank you so much, Margaret."
"Looking forward to seeing your work, dear."
The call ended and Lily stared at the paintings across the room.
Friday.
She had two days to prepare. Two days to decide which piece to share. That was going to be a tough decision.
Her eyes drifted to her phone again. To the piece of paper she'd carefully photographed and saved in her contacts weeks ago.
Joey Hanson.
The handsome guy from the taxi stand who'd given her his number with that warm, genuine smile. The one who'd offered her gloves because her hands felt cold. The one who'd insisted she take the taxi first because gentlemen let ladies go first.
She'd told herself a hundred times to delete the number. She was a monster now. She fed on people and sometimes, she murdered them. What business did she have dragging a nice guy into her nightmare?
But after last night with the pimp, she proved that she could control herself, after successfully feeding without killing...
Lily's thumb hovered over the number.
He's probably forgotten about you. It's been weeks. He probably thinks you weren't interested.
She pressed call before her courage failed.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
"Hello?"
His voice carried the same warmth she remembered, with a hint of curiosity.
"Hi Joey, this is Lily. We met at the taxi stand a few weeks ago? You gave me your number."
A beat of silence, then a laugh that made something flutter in her chest.
"Lily! Wow, I was starting to think you'd decided I was too forward."
"No, not at all. I've just been...settling in. New city and all."
"Well, I'm glad you called. Does this mean you've decided to take me up on that coffee?"
Lily smiled despite herself.
"If the offer's still good."
"Absolutely! When works for you? And do you have a favorite coffee shop yet?"
"I literally just moved here. I have no idea what the good spots are."
Another warm chuckle.
"Okay, let me think. There's this great little place near the hospitals, locally owned, not a chain. Real cozy atmosphere. Called the Grind House."
"Sounds perfect."
"How about tomorrow night? Thursday? Say around eight?"
Eight. After dark. Perfect.
"Thursday at eight works great."
"Awesome. I'm really looking forward to this, Lily."
"Me too."
"Sleep well. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Joey."
The call ended.
Lily clutched the phone to her chest and fell back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Her smile didn't waver as she grinned ear to ear. Happiness of a different kind filled her to the core. Something she had really felt in a long time especially with another person.
Something about his voice calmed her. Made her feel almost human again. She couldn't explain it, didn't want to examine it too closely for fear of ruining it. But the pull was there, undeniable as gravity.
For the first time in weeks, she was actually looking forward to something that didn't involve survival or blood or hiding in shadows.
A date.
A normal, human date with a nice guy who made her smile.
Maybe she could have pieces of a human life after all. Maybe being a vampire didn't mean giving up everything that made her who she was.
Lily sat up and looked at "The Death of Innocence" again. The woman in the painting stared at the moon with tears of blood, mourning what she'd lost.
But maybe, Lily thought, there was room for more than just mourning. Maybe there was room for new beginnings too.
She grabbed her sketch pad and started planning which painting to bring to Friday's gallery.
Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough.