The next day would have arrived a lot sooner if Sonata had been able to sleep. She wasn’t feeling hyperactive in the morning, though she wasn’t sure if it was because she had gotten used to the charge of power from the day before or if it was wearing off. It would be good to know how long she could expect the high from a sip of blood to last.
Answers like that would come as part of her nighttime research. Sonata couldn’t wait.
She tried to stay in bed as long as possible, but the sound of the TV downstairs would have kept her awake even if she’d been tired.
Sonata finally sighed and got up, leaving her room and going downstairs. Adagio was watching TV, chewing on a danish. Aria was asleep on the couch, the sound of the program apparently not bothering her. It wasn’t all that loud, really. Apparently Sonata’s hearing had sharpened.
Adagio didn’t look up as Sonata came into the room. She was watching the news. A body had been discovered when a dumpster had been emptied at the landfill. They showed the man’s mugshot, pre-death.
Sonata frowned. Granted, the man she’d killed the night before being discovered at a landfill after being transported in a dumpster was better than being found near the ATM where she’d been caught on camera. It would have been better if she’d hidden the body so it wouldn’t be found at all.
Her phone chimed and she looked at it. It was noon, and she had an appointment at one.
Going back upstairs, she took a quick shower and pulled her hair into its usual ponytail. Putting on a tank top and yoga pants, she headed out of the house.
Sonata rented a small studio downtown for personal training. She taught a few classes, but most of her income came from private instruction. It was a great way to stay in shape and make people feel bad about themselves at the same time.
Her appointment that day was with Mr. Tire Tracks, a man trying to lose weight. He surely needed to. If he’d gone to anyone else, he might have even been pleased with his progress.
Sonata wasn’t a strategist like Aria or persuasive like Adagio, but being able to sense negative emotions gave her insight as to which insults each person felt most.
“Let’s see if you actually want to work today and lose that fat ass,” she said to Mr. Tracks by way of greeting.
Sonata had also noticed that if her attitude was chipper despite her comments, people resented her even more. She smiled.
And it worked. Mr. Tracks exercised until sweat poured off of him, in an attempt to please her, or at least to escape her beratement. It was a delicate balancing act, making a person miserable but not fed up enough to leave, making them believe that the hostility was their own fault.
When the one hour session was up, sweat and misery poured off Mr. Tracks. He stood up and promptly swayed, nearly falling. Sonata grabbed his arm. “What kind of idiot are you? You know you’re supposed to stay hydrated.”
He mumbled an apology and left. Sonata glanced at her hand, wet with his sweat. A thought struck her. Would other bodily fluids work? She licked her hand and immediately grimaced, spitting. The sweat not only tasted like him, but it was also devoid of any negative energy.
“Fucknuggets,” she muttered, mostly about the taste but partially about the failed experiment. Killing people was a lot less convenient than her day job, but it was still the only solution she could see.
Sonata drove home, stopping for lunch on the way. Some guy openly ogled her ass in the yoga pants, so she keyed his car in the parking lot.
Back at the house, she changed clothes, adopting jeans and a hoodie. Adagio was still out at her job. Aria was still making money off internet poker. Sonata was not still anything. She had a plan, and she was going to change things.
In the kitchen, she inspected the knives in the drawer. The biggest carving knife was tempting, but it wouldn’t fit in the pocket of her hoodie. She picked up a steak knife, but the serration seemed like it wouldn’t make clean slices. The medium chef’s knife it was, then.
Sonata walked out of the house as the sun was setting without a clear idea where she was going. Back to the seedy part of Crystal City where she had been the night before seemed like likely hunting grounds, but someone might get suspicious.
Fuck it, she decided. A second one won’t hurt. She’d have to be more careful about the next one.
But who to choose? Not someone disgusting, Sonata decided. Even if that didn’t make them taste worse, the presentation was as important as the flavor.
Cruising the streets, she kept watch for a potential mark. The sun set and the streetlights - the ones that worked in this part of town - came on.
She searched for some music. Maybe ska, something to get her pumped, but not too pumped. Streetlight Manifesto? It certainly fit the aesthetic of the darkened city.
Sonata was getting a little hungry, but she was getting a lot impatient as the night wore on. Either there were too many people around as witnesses or there were no people to be found at all. Some of them were clearly strung out on something. Not that drugs would affect her system, but it was the thought that counted. Sonata turned a corner. And then she saw her.
The woman seemed to be in a hurry, carrying a purse over one shoulder. She was probably in her early twenties and seemed healthy. Appearances could be deceiving, of course, but hopefully they would also be delicious.
Sonata glanced around the street as she passed the woman. No cameras that she could see. She turned at the next block and parked.
Putting her hood up and placing her hand on the knife in her pocket, she started walking towards her mark. Taking a slow look up and down the street, she could see no one else. She smiled.
The distance dwindled as the two of them approached each other. The woman glanced at Sonata, who averted her eyes. They drew even.
Sonata pulled the knife and whirled, plunging it between the ribs on the left side of the woman’s spine, straight through to the heart. The mark’s knees buckled and she fell.
“Huh.” That was easier than expected. Sonata knelt and pulled the knife out. It was covered in blood and more oozed out of the wound. Her mouth watered. She stuck out her tongue and ran it over the blade...but tasted only blood.
Sonata’s brows furrowed and she licked the knife again. Nothing. No fear, no terror, just a heavy, sticky, iron-y flavor.
It hit her suddenly. She’d killed the woman so quickly that there hadn’t been time for the mark to realize, much less be scared.
“Son of a nag’s whore!” Sonata punched the body, hearing a crack that might have been a rib. She stood up, teeth snarling. Now she’d have to go find someone else.
The woman’s purse lay where it had fallen. Sonata kicked it over, spilling the contents. There was a small fold of cash. “Oh, sweet!”
That would buy her a snack, to help her forget that she was rapidly losing the energy she’d imbibed the night before. It would also make this look like a common robbery.
Sonata wiped the knife off on the body and went back to her car. She’d killed somebody for - Sonata counted it - forty dollars, not the negative energy she needed. She snorted. She was too good at killing, apparently. Although that was better than being bad at it, she supposed.
She shook her head. Snack first, and then try again later. Was Donut Joe’s open? No, she’d been banned from that place. Sugarcube corner? No, Pinkie Pie would be there. Facing her and her friends while this weak would be a disaster.
But if she could get her power back, they would pay for what they did to her and her sisters.
Speaking of her sisters, Sonata realized that they would be calling her an idiot for spending the last few minutes sitting in a car less than a block away from a dead body.
A burger, Sonata decided as she drove away. Rare.