The Mammoth Book Of Vampire Stories Written By Women

"So anyway," Minerva continued, obviously uncomfortable, but unable to stop now. "I'm over there hanging with Nocturna and fucking with this new song when power in her place just dies. We could see lights on in other buildings outside so we figure a fuse must've blown or something. There's no light in the hallway either, so we grab a flashlight and start knocking on doors, to see if any neighbours have power. There's no one home on her floor, so we go upstairs. In the upstairs hallway, one light is on and one is off. Before I know what's happening, she's knocking on the door to your old apartment."

Minerva finished her coffee, just to have something to do.

"All the old stickers you put on the door, Siouxie and Sisters of Mercy and those weird little drawings, they were all still there. We could hear music inside so we knew there was power. Someone had to be home, but it took 'em a really long time to answer."

She paused again and Mona closed her eyes, a thin coil of nausea twisting in her stomach. She didn't want to hear it, but somehow she needed to.

"It was Victorine. She was all sweaty and she looked really nervous. She hasn't changed at all, y'know. She still wears that Cleopatra make-up and black lipstick and teases her shoe-polish hair up into this big old rat's nest, but she looks I don't know. Dirty. Like she never washes all that white make-up off, just adds more. And the apartment, I mean, what I could see of it, was like a museum, a shrine to Diva Demona."

Mona turned her face away.

"Why are you telling me this?" She could feel the thick knot of a headache tightening in her skull. "I can't help it if some rejected psycho wants to keep a roadside Elvis Museum version of my past in her bedroom. That part of me is dead and buried. Why should I care what Victorine does with her wretched excuse for a life?"

"It's not that," Minerva said softly.

"Well what then?" Mona was beginning to feel sorry she came.

"When Victorine answered the door, she" Minerva bit her lip. "She had some else with her."

"Great, the little leech found a new host."

"No," Minerva said. "It was you."

Mona frowned.

"What?"

"Well, not you now ." Minerva's eyes were dark, remembering. "It was Diva Demona."

The nausea that had been building in Mona's guts flexed like a body builder and she clenched her teeth, refusing to be sick. This was crazy. Even the thought of someone imitating her, imitating who she used to be, made her feel deeply violated, as if someone had dug up the corpse of a favourite child.

"You mean that crazy bitch has convinced someone to play the role of Diva Demona for her so she can pretend I never left?"

"It must be, although this was no bullshit dress-up. I mean, we've known each other since high school and I'm here to tell you, this chick even smelled like you. Or at least like you used to smell. If I hadn'ta known better"

Mona's nausea began to curdle into slow anger in the acidic cocoon of her belly.

"I believe it," she said. "I really do."

She paused, chewing her lip. She remembered the first time she saw Victorine. Back then she was plain old Vicky, just a mousy girl with a camera at one of the shows, looking like it took all her courage to walk in the door. She was like a blank slate, an empty vessel looking for an identity. She met Diva Demona and she thought she found it.

In the beginning, it was really flattering, the way she paid such careful attention to the things Mona liked and the things she hated. She was so subtle, the way she changed herself to fit Mona's ideals.

Mona shook her head.

"She didn't know who she was before she met me," she said, half angry, half sick. "She worked so hard to become everything I thought I wanted, the perfect slave, wanting nothing but to make me happy. She cooked and cleaned and let me torture her in every way I could imagine. She was a pretty little vampire housewife and I was queen of her world. As long as I never changed."

Minerva nodded sympathetically.

"Christ, you don't have to tell me," she said. "She was like your own version of Frankenstein's monster. You created her out of nothing, took a bland, blonde suburban chick and turned her into a Gothic vampire fan-girl from hell, and when you got bored with the game, it was too late for her because the game was all she had. It's like she used up all her energy trying to be everything you ever wanted and there's nothing left for anyone else."

Mona laid her head in her hands, guilt and anger warring inside her.

"It's not my fault," she said, hating the weak sound of her voice.

"Hey, of course not."

Minerva slid her chair around the little table and put her arm around her friend.

"Listen, I really didn't want to upset you with all this bullshit. I just thought you might want to know that someone is out there imitating you, that's all. Hey, look on the bright side. Maybe you can sue her for copyright infringement."

Mona smiled against Minerva's shoulder.