All Things Being Not Quite Equal

        An ugly vampire with a frizzy perm isn' t exactly effective, not even at closing time at the sluttiest bar in the city. There didn' t seem to be a man or woman among the drunk and leering desperate enough to take Esther up on her too obvious invitation. Not even when she was wearing a blouse unbuttoned nearly to her navel, tight leather pants and four inch heels. Not that she didn' t have a reasonably good body--a little straight up and down maybe, but not repulsive. It just wasn' t enough to overcome her face. There had been that one guy whose friends had dragged him off in evident pity before he could make a terrible mistake. Oh it would have been a mistake all right, just not the one they anticipated.

        Truth be told, Esther looked foolish at best, downright bizarre at worst. She knew it the way she knew this entire scheme had been a bust. And she was hungry.

        It looked like it would have to be another neck-breaker though. And if she made many more of those she' d be forced to move on before long. The whole serial killer frenzy would develop and it would be just too much of a hassle to try to dine around the schedules of the marauding cops and reporters. And this time she' d more than likely have to go abroad--the US was getting a bit small for a neck-breaking serial vampire. Course if she could get the hang of the overwhelming strength that had come along with becoming a vampire, then she might manage to just knock her victim out.

        Esther glanced toward the door and sighed. She' d have split hours ago if it weren' t for Desiree. Desiree. Now she was your stereotypical beautiful vampire. Men and women fawned all over her wherever she went--from the Circle K to The Ritz and back again. With the sex appeal of a goddess she could and did take her pick from whomever appealed on any given night. And she rarely had to kill. Course serial-killing wouldn' t have bothered her much. She got along abroad as well as she got along at home. A breeze. Whereas Esther hardly survived the rare personal interaction of her elevator clerk, much less tonight' s bar crowd or cabdriver in Paris. She could picture herself on the verge of dawn trying to get some drunk Parisian to give her the time of day. It would be humiliating and she' d kill him and then the whole serial killer thing would begin all over again.

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