1955, Las Vegas, Nevada Angeline swayed on her feet, twirling in circles as the lights of Sin City spun around her, her head thrown back in a giddy laugh. When she stopped, the lights kept spinning, turning into long, wispy snakes hissing and flying around her head. She made her own hissing sound back at the apparition and giggled as her fangs snicked back into her gums. The woman now lying at her feet had been on mescaline and the trip had made it all the way to the vampiress. Her gaze was caught by a church, glittering in psychedelic glory in the distance. It rose out of the ground like a sign to Angeline, glowing and shaking and warping and moving, asking her to join the dance. The drug expanded her awareness, and she felt there was nothing she couldn’t know. Her future mate was in that building. He was there, waiting for her to turn him and open his world to all the possibilities she held in her hands. She held the world in her hands. Or maybe that was the mescaline talking. Angeline stumbled over the body in the alley, then righted herself, straightening her black, Victorian-style dress. Her manner of dressing occasionally drew stares in other cities, but she didn’t care. Here in Vegas, people assumed she was some type of performer and didn’t look twice. She could blend while keeping in