The Look

I saw everything and nothing.

Now and then it happens. I’m talking, a one in a billion, entire-generations-have forgotten-it kind of event. I believe those from the old country called it ‘imprinting.’ Nowadays, the younger ones among us call it, ‘The Look.’ There was a song written about it in the late nineteen eighties. Another in ninety-three. Of the four singers, two passed away. I don’t think it’s related, but I digress.

Once my kind imprints on one of theirs, it’s over. The Look resigns us to eternal servitude. It’s demeaning, but we grovel for a glimpse into the one who possesses The Look. Some of us kill for The Look. We all die for it.

Here I am, standing outside the Saturday night hotspot, thinking about whom to coax into the alley, when she appears out of thin air. She emerges from the pounding wall, still dancing to the beat from inside the club. A light rain fell onto her skin, creating a spectral glow, dazzling me.

“Excuse me,” I manage.

“Oh, no, not another one.” She scoffs, ready to turn back to the hypnotic beat of the DJ.

“Please don’t go. I need to see you. All of you.” I hear her sigh, and the scent of Agarwood escapes from her sultry lips.

“Like a moth to a flame.” She shakes her head at my morbid passion, and for a moment, there’s kindness in her eyes. “What is your name?”

“Draven.”

“Are you sure about this? Do you want The Look, Draven?”

“Yes.” My eyes grow black with desire, and I watch her body stretch itself until she stands eye level. The sick crunch and crackle of bones and sinew, or whatever a Jinn has inside it, makes my fangs retract in horror. And yet, I find my body aroused. Not in the vampire way. But as I once was. A man.

“Look into my eyes, Draven. Get what you’re dying for.”

We stand like this for some time. In the rain. I don’t care. I want to spend an eternity looking into those black pools. Into the void. She doesn’t move. She just stares.

My old archenemy rises behind me. At first, the sun’s rays burn holes in my clothing. Then into me. The jinni takes flight and soars as I burn to ash on the sidewalk. My mind is the last to go. I use it a final time to consider what I’ve done, but I’m at peace. Most often, The Look is one-sided.