Page 2 of Only Fangs

I drag my attention back to Ivan and Clara. I’m not looking for a guy. And I’m certainly not looking for a random human guy, no matter how hot he is.

Another hour and we troop to the bathroom en masse. Ivan is wearing a corset top which requires one of us to help tighten it every so often to keep its shape. Clara and I play rock, paper, scissors to decide who has to be the one to do it this time, and deal with the bitching and moaning as the laces are pulled taut. Clara loses – she always, always does scissors and then acts surprised when I beat her with rock every single time – and the pair disappear into the nearest stall.

They emerge a few minutes later, Ivan pulling at the bottom of the corset so it sits just right. “That feels better,” he tells me with a grin. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and blanches at his reflection. “Jeez. I think I liked it better before they installed the filtered glass and I had no idea how shite I looked.” He runs his hands through his long dark hair in an effort to flatten the wisps. “Then we could just pretend we were gorgeous.”

A lot of people are super excited that some clever dick just developed a digital mirror with a special filter that means we can finally see our reflections. Being the finest vampire club in town, this place is the first to install it. I hate it already. Apparently the guy who invented it has shares in a vampire cosmetics company. Why am I not surprised?

Ivan turns back to the mirror and wipes the smears of mascara from under his eyes. He pulls a compact of pressed powder from his pocket and applies a new layer to cover up his slightly sweaty complexion. “Right then. We need to find me a nice vampire boy. I’m so done with all these cosplayers and tourists. Best vamp-dars tuned, ladies!”

“Or Ari could just make that app,” Clara says, pushing her way towards the mirror. “O.M.G. You could call it…” she trails off as she puts her lipstick down and then taps out a drum roll on the vanity unit in front of us. “You ready?” she asks, eyes glinting, a smile licking the corner of her mouth.

I nod and lean a little closer for the big reveal.

She draws her lips back, her cuspids catching the light. “Only Fangs!” she shouts at the top of her voice, then spins round to grab both me and Ivan round the shoulders.

I can’t help but laugh.

But she’s right.

That name is pretty damn good.

Chapter 2

Brody

The bus lurches from side to side as I try to read an article on my phone, desperate to take my mind off the full body hangover threatening to make me drop my guts down the aisle.

Matt messages me a single word, Dying, and my own head drums in sympathy, even if he is being a tad hyperbolic. I probably should have thought about the fact I was working today, possibly should have taken it into account when Matt dragged me into yet another bar. But it was Night of the Shadows. And I’m a good friend. Or at least that’s the excuse I’m making for myself anyway.

I treat myself to a bucket of coffee from the café tucked into the reception of my office block – despite it costing the best part of seven quid, which is basically theft – and head towards the bank of lifts.

“Big night?” the burly man who guards entry to the upper floors asks me with a smirk.

I nod, wincing at the way the motion makes my brain feel like it’s on fire.

“You’ve got a mate who’s one of them, don’t you?” I can’t tell if it’s judgement or interest in his voice.

I don’t answer, just do that thing in return. You know, the slightly self-deprecating shrug that doesn’t actually answer the question but doesn’t make you look like a complete dick either. It’s become my go to response when someone makes a comment about my best-friend’s “condition”. I don’t really understand the level of curiosity people have. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve known Matt since we were babies and I’ve already asked every question you could possibly imagine. But only because he’s my friend and not because I’m some kind of weird voyeur with a morbid fascination.

I make it to my desk without further comment and find solace behind the screen. Debugging code has always felt like therapy to me, like solving problems in a way that’s fundamentally systematic soothes my brain in a way nothing else comes close to. Yes, I know I sound like some kind of super-nerd, but I’m trying to be honest here. I feel my hangover receding as the caffeine kicks in and I give myself over to the flow state of my work.

But after only half an hour my peace is shattered. Because Danely is in the office. And he just cannot help himself.

“How was last night? Did you have fun?” he quirks his eyebrows so I know what type of fun he’s meaning.

“I just went out with Matt,” I reply, making it sound as uneventful as it was.

“Lucky bastard,” Danely whispers under his breath. Danely has this thing. I don’t want to call it a fetish, but I think that isn’t far from the truth. And he has this idea that all vampires frequent thinly disguised sex clubs. I’ve done nothing but try to debunk his notions for the past year, but to no avail. Matt calls him a “tourist” and it feels fitting. Perv.

I pick up my headphones, the only way I’ve found that stops Danely from wanting to chat incessantly. I don’t even switch them on, the white noise of the office helps me concentrate, but they are definitely good at stopping people from their idle chit chat. It isn’t that I’m anti-social; I like lots of people. I just don’t like most of my colleagues. Except Sharon who has been encouraging me to participate in Baking Thursday, with copious praise of my lemon drizzle cake that I’ve almost perfected. Oh, and Heather. She’s a sweetheart.

“Team meeting in five,” my boss, Clive, bellows from the other end of the office.

I groan involuntarily. Loudly enough for Danely to hear. His little face pops up over the desk screen, his eyes rolling in something that could be sympathy. But then he spots the headphones. “Oh, I thought you were plugged in?” His tone is accusatory.

Busted from my pretend listening, I mumble something under my breath about being in between songs and remove them.

We file into the meeting room, a windowless space without any ventilation so it always smells like stale sweat and despair. Just as we do every week we conduct a round robin of what everyone has been working on and their priorities for the next week of purgatory.