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There was definitely something fishy going on. This had been the seventh performance I attended, and the fifth time some of the audience members went missing after the show. I’d been investigating this guy ever since the third girl disappeared.

The Amazing Izzardo. He was a magician, a hypnotist... and possibly a murderer. He came to town with his traveling magic show for a couple of weeks. The enigma of the truth of his agenda was only surpassed by the mystery of his power. I noticed that the girls going missing were the ones waiting at the stage door after the show. Not many did. Probably a good thing considering those who did never seemed to return. I also noticed that during his performance, one or more of the ladies in attendance to his stage door sessions had been hypnotized. I couldn’t peg him though it seemed so obvious. Why couldn’t they catch him? Something just didn’t smell right.

Being a good and very sneaky reporter, I never stuck around long enough to get caught. I just got my story bit by bit. I went back home that night and listened for the next missing person’s report on the police scanner. After throwing my keys to the table, I rambled on into the kitchen. I poured myself a nice stiff drink and sat quietly at the table. I wasn’t home five minutes before the phone rang. Probably Mr. Braur, wanting to know what scoop I got this evening.

"Hello?" I answered, probably sounding annoyed.

"I saw you," a man’s voice said in a most delicious tone.

"I’m sorry?" I said, a laugh caught in my throat.

"Tonight, I saw you," the voice said in the same breathy way.

"Who is this?" I asked, smirking to myself. I thought it must be the nutter across the alley, the one who peeks in my window from his whenever my blind is open. I took another shot as he paused briefly. I could almost feel his breath in my ear, though I could hardly hear it. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stood up and dropped my shot glass. Just as I heard it shatter on the floor, his voice came again.

"I want you to come back. You will, won’t you?" My ear was wet, as if a tongue had come through the ear piece of the phone and delicately traced the edge down to the lobe. I was terrified. I threw the phone to the floor. It cracked open, exposing the inner wires, and the sensations left me. Who was that?

My dreams were filled with his face. I was drawn to him. The same dream over and over again. He seduced me. He sat me at a table with a perfect white table cloth and poured me some red wine. When I went to taste from the wine, though, it was no longer wine. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I dropped the chalice to the table in horror and the blood splattered against the cloth, staining it. Just as this happens, he smiles and his cerulean eyes pierce me deeply... so deep it hurts. It hurts so bad inside and then... my dream switches back to the beginning again. I had these dreams night after night, more intense each time they came.

I decided to attend his last show, sitting in the second row. He stood,

arms outspread, his figure cloaked in black with a high collar raised behind his head. He looked demonic. His eyes caught mine in the audience. He gave me an unsettling look. The next thing I knew, I was under his power. He had me hypnotized. I ended up on the stage with him, watching myself do things he was making me do... but in my head, he had me elsewhere. Visions of he and I in bed together, doing things I’m sure are illegal in forty-eight states. Visions of that dream again; tasting the blood, dropping the chalice. I could taste the iron in my mouth.

At the end of the show, I found myself outside the stage door with three other women. We waited the longest half hour of our lives. At last, he came to the door. His beautiful eyes lined in kohl; his lips a deep crimson, so blood red that they seemed near black. He shooed the other girls away.  It seemed he’d made his selection for the evening. One elegant arm emerged delicately from his cloak and he took my hand into his. He guided me inside and took me to his parlor in the back of the club. I was startled as I saw the small table with the perfect white table cloth in the center of the room. A bottle of wine sat all by its lonesome on the table. I’m sure it was a good vintage. He guided me to a sofa that sat against the wall. We sat and he removed his cloak. He was wearing the same exquisite black tuxedo as in his stage performance. He sat back, the light flashing across his eyes. He flashed his perfect teeth.

"I knew you would come," he said simply, leaning back.

"It was you... on the phone-"

"Oh, now really, that was just a figment of your imagination. I never phoned you," he breathed, sounding condescending yet provocative. There was a certain lilt in his voice. He spoke very smoothly; he was quite alluring, especially with his well spoken British twang.

"No, you did. I know you did-"

"It was magic," he said, leaning in. His eyes were so cold, they burned. I fell into them. I wished to kiss him, but he stopped me before I could get close enough.

"Chloe, have you ever wished you could live forever?" he said softly, his voice still full of breath.

"How- How did you know my name?" I asked, shocked.

"I told you, Chloe. Magic," he breathed once more, kissing my lips.

Before I could even get a chance to relish his sweet kiss, he pulled away. His eyes were full of fire.

"Please, won’t you join me at the table," he offered, standing from his seat. He seemed to float. I had to keep reminding myself to keep my wits about me. This man was a suspected murderer. Three women were still missing after attending and becoming hypnotized at his shows. I was about to find out what happened to these young women the hard way. I had to be careful. I did, however, go with him to the table. We sat across from each other and as sure as magic, two splendid goblets appeared on the table. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. He gave a wicked smile.

"Wow, are you a witch?" I found myself blurting most awkwardly.

"Why no, just a simple conjurer with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve," he explained simply. He uncorked the wine and poured us each a glass.

Something told me not to drink the wine... but I couldn’t resist. He insisted we drink with arms interlocked. I braced myself for the taste of blood; for it to be warm, and to feel it dribble down my chin. I expected to drop the vessel, just like in the dream, and watch the blood go splattering against the virgin white tablecloth. Instead... it tasted like wine. Very fine wine. I sighed with relief.

"Chloe, tell me, why have you attended so many of my shows... in a row?" he asked accusingly. I had to shake off the spell of his tantalizing British accent.

"Tell me, Mr. Izzardo, why do girls keep disappearing after coming to see you?" I asked in the same accusing tone. I figured the more sure of myself I sounded, the more nervous I would make him.

"Why, are you saying I had something to do with those disappearances?

I’m not responsible for those girls once they’re done with me."

"What were they doing with you in the first place?"

"Why, Chloe, I’m surprised at you. A timid girl like yourself jumping

to such lascivious conclusions."

"How do you know I’m so timid... and no, I won’t let you sidetrack my investigation," I said, accidentally confessing my intentions. It felt as though he pulled it right out of me. I had to look away from his captivating eyes.

"Ah, so you have been spying on me. Listen, love, I didn’t murder those girls. Come a bit closer, I’ll show you exactly what we shared." I unwillingly moved next to him. He threw my long chestnut hair away from my shoulder and pulled me to him. He stretched my blouse away from my shoulder and put his mouth on me. I felt him nibble the spot between my neck and my shoulder. With this action, we stood together. It thrilled me so that I nearly dropped to the ground. I felt his hands on my body. I wanted to fight him, but I couldn’t. He had me under his bewitchment. I pressed my body against him. Though I was warm, he was icy to the touch. By now, he had kissed his way up to my neck. Shortly thereafter, I felt a piercing pain in the side of my neck. Two sharp fangs sunk deep into my flesh. I tried to cry out but found my voice caught in my throat. I tried to fight him off, but the more I thrashed, the more my flesh tore from his teeth. I could feel the blood course from my body, my life force fading. I was very near death when he finally released me. I fell back into the chair and fought to catch my breath.

"You, girl, are very lucky. I have chosen you for a much different purpose. You, unlike the others, I want to keep." He brought one of his delicate fingers up towards his mouth and then bit it roughly until it bled. He squeezed his finger off into my cup.

"Drink," he commanded.

"No, I can’t," I choked, blood gushing from my wounded carotid artery.

"If you don’t, you’ll die. It’s a simple choice. Drink from the chalice or die; your decision," he breathed impatiently, gazing at his nails with girlish pride. I took the chalice into my hand.

"Bottom’s up," I coughed, drinking quickly from the goblet. I burned inside. It felt like a fire had erupted within my stomach. I dropped the chalice, missing the table by just a few inches. I cried out loud.

Izzardo just watched, still fiddling with his nails, completely unmoved. I screamed and convulsed in agony. I fell to the floor. He stood still, absolutely stoic. I saw my former life flash violently before my eyes as I felt my neck wound seal up and my blood run literally cold.

"Ah, I see you are finished with your transition. Good. I have gifts for you. I told you, I did not murder those girls. They are just, shall we say, indisposed for the moment," he explained as he helped me up from the floor. I was soaked in my own blood. I felt disgusted yet oddly thrilled. He held me for a moment, looking lovingly into my eyes.

"Before we go any further, you must understand. You belong to me now.

Should you go astray, sway from your loyalty to me in any way, I will kill you. I can give you eternal life and just so I can take it away. Do you understand? It is better that you sit before daybreak than to continue here with me and partake in your first feed with any doubts," he explained slowly, licking some of the left over blood that moistened my collar bone.

"As you wish," I agreed, feeling the first sensations of the hunger.

"Right, come this way," he said simply, guiding me to a hidden door.

As he threw it open, I saw my prize. The first feed, or should I say three, in a now infinite lifetime.

I wasn't sure at the time how well I really liked the idea of such a godless eternal existence, but it's been decades since. We don't age.

We move among you. Who knows when the show will come to your town?

Tomorrow? Next week? Five years from now? Fifty years from now? No one knows. But you can be assured, we'll be around; I'll be around. All thanks to The Amazing Izzardo and his traveling magic show.