Zanzibar walked into the little dive as if he owned the place. For he did. He was master of all he set his foot upon and the inhabitants as well. Before he had only noticed and collected souls, black souls, souls tinged a baby pink, souls rimmed in gold, none were exempt from his notice, none escaped his touch. They fed him, strengthened him and from the day he consumed them, they worshipped him. But now that Mother had schooled him in the finer arts of the flesh, he had another hunger to feed.<br/><br/>He strode through the dimly lit bar, his Italian leather boots drumming out a tattoo on the wooden floor boards. The cordovan finish gleamed as if the leather was fresh and new, for it was. When Zanzibar wanted anything, Mother would conjure it for him. Nothing was left out. The world was his for the taking, literally. Now that his fleshly senses were fine tuned, he was fairly humming with sexual tension. The women turned as he passed and Zanzibar could smell the pleasant musk of female pheromones. He turned his eyes, black as sin and bottomless as hell toward them and many slid their skirts a little higher to expose a white thigh or ran a finger around the low necklines of sweaters to share more of their blousy  charms.<br/><br/>“Later, ladies. There is enough of me to go around,” he murmured. Even the sound of his voice was enticing, drawing the ladies in like flies to honey. He noticed a few men turn his direction and was surprised at that response. Mother had said nothing of what to do with or to a man, other than himself. That would be an interesting challenge, he thought.<br/>Noticing a man sitting alone in the shadows and holding his head as if he were in great pain, Zanzibar made his way through the crowd, touching as many people as possible, draining only a little essence at a time. Sitting at the man’s table, he waited for the man to acknowledge his presence.<br/><br/>“Do I know you?” the man asked, half polite and half irritated.<br/><br/>“Not yet, but we can remedy that, now can’t we?” Zanzibar’s voice was pleasant and low, as if inviting the man to share a secret, as if the stranger was the only man in the world and no one nowhere was more important.<br/><br/>“Perhaps we could find  a more private venue. I have a little something to help that headache. I’ve been told, it is good for what ails you."