New Lair

NEW LAIR Lestat walked down the street muttering to himself, eying the tide mark faintly etched on the brickwork of his once glorious house. Damn! Katrina really did her job well swamping my food source. No more food, no more jazz on the airwaves, no more sultry summer evenings on the French style streets. Is it worth re-building it again? Do I leave my water-drenched lair for the more common uncultured metropolis of New York? To Hell with it! I need to feed, a victim I must get more blood in my veins. Here I go, up into the sky, preternatural powers taking over. Soon, now, blood will be mine.