Did vampires lose weight? I had damn twenty extra pounds still clinging to my hips and ass, but becoming a vampire was taking dieting to the extreme, wasn't it? I could see the commercials now. "Hi, I'm Elvira and I've lost fifty pounds by sucking blood. Call Vampire Systems now for a deal you can't refuse!"
Now, however, I was starving.
My mentor handed me a wine glass filled with blood.
The odor of garlic made me reel.
"I thought garlic was poison for us," I said.
He smiled. "A myth. We use garlic for young vampires," he said. "To ease the transition. You don't begin craving blood, you know. It's an acquired taste, like root beer."
I raised my eyebrows, but took a tentative sip. He was right. The garlic masked the metallic taste I expected. After a few sips, I gave him back the glass.
He took it, nodding.
"What happens now?"
"Now you go home.”
“Go home? Isn’t there orientation?" I asked, smiling. “Like Vampire University?”
His smile was thin lipped, his eyes surprisingly kind. “In due time,” he said. “There are things you need to know.”
"Like garlic?"
"Like garlic."
I stood and, without speaking, turned and walked toward the entrance to the chapel. My gaze lingered on the gurney for a moment.
I knew why people chose death, suddenly.
"Loneliness is a great burden," said the vampire. "Some people cannot bear it."
As I left the room, I was uncertain whether or not I'd broken protocol. Should I have thanked him? Tipped him? I turned and glanced at him, realizing I'd missed his smell.
He nodded to me as he shut the door of the chapel.
I was totally alone. In that instant, I realized the myth about vampires never showing up in a mirror was probably like the myth about garlic. Because they were so completely abandoned and bereft, vampires probably felt invisible to everyone but themselves. At the elevator, I studied myself in the stainless steel. There I was, a blurry form, but visible. Would there come a time when I couldn't see myself?
So, what's the difference between being dead and being a vampire? It's a question I have to figure out. But you know the old saying: where there's life, there's hope? Well, vampires feel the same way – or at least this one did.
As I walked away from the hospital I wondered what I'd smell like. A deep rich, dark chocolate would be nice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An ounce of blood is worth a pound of chateaubriand
The night embraced me as I left the VRC. A moonless sky boasted a million stars, all twinkling back as if to say, “Hi, Vampire Marcie.”
To my surprise, a taxi was waiting, the driver dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, standing beside a yellow cab with the back door open. To add to my confusion, my purse was on the seat along with a two inch thick envelope with my name on it.
“You Montgomery?” he asked.
I nodded and got in, grabbing my purse and holding it on my lap. He closed the door, walked around and got behind the wheel.
“Is this the vampire welcome wagon?”
“Told to get you by Mr. Maddock. Where you going?”
I told him, staring out as he left the VRC complex and onto Loop 1604, as disinclined to talk as he was. I wanted to ask if he was a vampire, too, but I didn’t.
My state of being was all of a few days old. I felt protective of it - or me - and too new to be sharing stories or revealing weaknesses.
Besides, my hands were still trembling and my knees rubbery.
I’d chosen and my choice was to live, if that was the right word for being a vampire, but the choice left me with doubts.
Was I still a child of God? Would God condone my choice? Or had I, by choosing, entered another realm? Was there such a thing as Satan? If so, was he going to show up and demand fealty?
Too many questions and I was too tired to be profound.
I gave the driver my debit card, but he waved it away, saying he’d been paid. When I apologized for not having any cash to give him a tip, he shook his head.
“Not necessary. It’s all been taken care of.”
When I opened the front door of my little townhouse, I could smell cloves and garbage. The garbage I could understand. Nobody had been home in a week and it was due to be taken out.
I put down my purse, grabbed the bag in the kitchen, opened the kitchen door and went through the small patio to the dumpster on the other side of the parking lot.
The clove smell bothered me, because it was still strong when I came back inside. Doug’s smell had never lingered for days. Unless, of course, he’d been in my townhouse when I was in the VRC.
Evidently, I was too tired to be angry, too.
I trudged up the stairs, sat on the edge of my bed for a few minutes before I had the energy to take off my clothes. Then, I fell face first on the mattress, indulging in a minor pity party complete with tears.
At dawn I woke to the smell of something burning - me. I’d left the mini blinds open in my bedroom. I dropped to the floor, crawled into the bathroom and finished sleeping in the tub, a comfortable enough experience if you have lots and lots of towels.
I ordered blackout curtains from Amazon and hung them two nights later.
For two weeks, nobody came to my door, sent me an email, or texted me. I was on my own.
In the packet I received from the VRC, which I hadn’t bothered to open until a few days after getting home, I found lots of information, including the “Vampire Code of Conduct,” “What You Need to Know About Your Rights” and a thick green book entitled, “Being a Vampire”. To my surprise there were a bunch of pamphlets advertising services to vampires, like the landscaping service that provided “the earth of your homeland” and one urging me to join Local 666, the Association of Paranormal and Extra-Humans, or APE for short. (Someone should have thought that acronym through.)
According to the “So Now You’re a Vampire, What’s Next?” brochure, I was supposed to meditate, allow my body to adjust to its new physiology and “cure”. My word, not theirs. I think I was supposed to age like a ham until all the sordid details of transmuting from human to vampire were done.
Nothing in any of the pamphlets, or the book, mentioned hunger. I was ravenous all the time. In the VRC I’d been too nauseous to eat. The memory of the few sips of blood I'd tasted in the chapel still made me slightly I'll.
By the end of the week, I’d eaten my way through my refrigerator and the pantry. My maiden voyage to the big wide world was to HEB, the grocery store two miles away. There, I’d filled two carts with enough food to keep a few male teenagers happy.
I thought vampires didn't eat food. I thought since we were dead, our entire alimentary system was screwed up. According to the book, I was in a process of stasis.
When I called the Nurse’s Helpline, the grouchy sounding woman on the other end of the line was succinct to the point of rudeness.
“What do you mean, you’re hungry? The only thing you can consume is blood.”
I didn’t bother telling her I was craving cookies like crazy. Or cupcakes, or anything with a high sugar content. I was also eating red meat. I don’t mean raw, either. I wanted it seared, on a bun, with oodles of cheese. Tacos were high on my list plus anything fried or in a fast food bag.
“You should be receiving your quota of blood. Do you require additional supplies?”
“No, thanks,” I said, managing to restrain my shudder of revulsion.
Three times I’d received a Styrofoam box from FedEx filled with half a dozen glass bottles of blood as thick as V8 and surrounded by dry ice.
The last thing I wanted was another case of the stuff. I tried a bottle from the first case and gagged. I even tried doctoring it with garlic. The second case I put in the closet. The third case I left beside the front door.
“Is there anything else I can do to help you?” she asked, sighing heavily. “Have I answered all your ques
tions?”
Was I the only recipient of her attitude or was she a vampist, a cute term combining the words vampire and racist? Some people were. They just didn’t like vampires.
I thanked the nurse, hung up, and stared at my cell. She hadn’t been a whole bunch of help. I wasn’t supposed to eat but I was. Right now I was feasting on a family size bag of Doritos washed down with a Coke.
Okay, it might have been stress eating, but I had a reason to be stressed. I was a full-fledged vampire, a creature of the night, which made me sound like an ugly hooker.
Most of what I knew about being a vampire had been acquired either through television or books. Most of the information was wrong.
I could see myself perfectly well in a mirror.
My heart was still beating, but very slowly, as if I were a Yoga master. I still breathed, but like my heartbeat it wasn’t rapidly.
I wasn't afraid of a cross. Nonnie had given me one for my tenth birthday and I didn’t flinch when I took it out of the jewelry box. Frankly, I doubted I’d react to any symbol of religion. I suspected it was the faith of the wearer imbuing them with significance, not the object itself.
The movies and books had gotten two things right: the effect of sunlight and my recuperative powers. The first morning I nearly blistered to death, but I’d healed in a matter of hours. Fast healing came in handy, especially the day I cut myself washing a glass. By the time I finished straightening up the kitchen there was no evidence of a cut.
The change in a night and day schedule didn’t bother me. I’d always been a night owl. I felt more comfortable in the wee hours of the morning than I did at 8:00 AM. Nor did I have any problems going to sleep at dawn and sleeping all day.
As far as actual vampire skills, I didn’t have any. I couldn’t read minds. I couldn’t force anyone to come to me - the only time I’d given myself a come hither stare in the mirror, I ended up rolling my eyes at myself. Okay, so maybe I lived a long time, but I was debating moving that from the plus column into the minus column for one reason: the loneliness.
Even though I left my cell phone on it never rang. Not one of my friends from work called. Not a member of my family. No one. The isolation was enervating. I was so depressed I could barely raise my head above the pillow.
I couldn’t go back to work because I’d been terminated - with prejudice. Oh, they didn’t say it that way, of course. I’d been given the “we need to downsize” speech. However, the HR director had also send me an email with a link to the Death and Disability paperwork. Evidently, being a vampire meant I was technically dead and able to collect on my own life insurance.
The insurance industry had figured out their mistake and were scrambling to rectify that huge financial oversight. However, I slid under the limbo pole of regulations and consequently had a healthy bank balance.
I just didn’t have any place to be. Or anything to do.
I realized how much I’d come to rely on my job for meaning in my life. In the past when I was lonely I took on another troublesome case. In a sense, I lived vicariously through the employees in my department. I anguished over the loss of their pets. I worried about their financial situation.
Loneliness had pushed me to make bad decisions about men, too.
I dated Bill for six months before we moved in together. The relationship - if you could even call it that - lasted three years.
Bill was a compromise and I recognized it even during those three years. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad. I simply was. We were very careful to make sure no one thought we were married since Texas was a common law state. We never referred to each other as “spouse” or even “significant other”.
We were little more than roommates with sexual privileges and even the sex was sporadic. If there wasn't a Spurs game and the Cowboys weren't playing, my chances were 50/50 of getting some attention. Otherwise, I was a hood ornament, a statue in the living room, a walking, talking, "Honey, can you get me a beer?" robot.
Bill owned a muffler/car repair franchise and worked most weekends. I grew accustomed to being alone in our little house, content to do the yard work myself, pretending everything was fine with my life.
When I told Bill I'd won a national award, the equivalent of employee of the year, he barely shifted his gaze away from the Spurs game.
“Hey, good for you,” said in a half-hearted manner was not the same as, “I’m so proud of you, Marcie!” He hadn’t even wanted to see the damn thing so I clutched it to my bosom, put it back in the car and the next day gave it a prominent spot in my cubicle. At least people who walked by could see it.
When I lost Bill – correction: when I walked away from Bill – I submerged myself even more in my work, dating only a few times in the next two years.
Doug was my only indulgence. I was embarrassed to discover that this gorgeous tall, dark and handsome vampire had gone after me with a vengeance not because of any such muted sex appeal I might possess but because I gave off signals I was horny and nearly desperate.
I felt a little weird complaining about sex, even to myself. Wasn’t the man supposed to be the one who said that he didn't get “it” as often as he wanted it? In my case I didn’t get anything. If a man couldn’t offer you comfort, then sex was the next best thing. And when that didn’t happen, you became a workaholic like me.
Without work, though, what did I do?
My mentor had mentioned orientation at my trial. One of the VRC pamphlets explained that attending classes would be my first public outing. I guess the twenty-four hour grocery store and the fast food places didn’t count.
At the moment, I was more than willing to go anywhere rather than be stuck in my little townhouse. My home was becoming smaller each day.
I scrounged around and finally found his business card, dialed the number and when a sultry voiced female (sounding big breasted and friendly) answered, I asked to speak to Niccolo Maddock.
“Who is calling?” When I told her, she purred again. “Just a minute Ms. Montgomery. I’ll tell him you’re on the phone.”
Four minutes and thirteen seconds later, I was still waiting. Was it permissible to hang up on your mentor?
Oh, come on, Niccolo, I need to talk to you.
I waited another minute and hung up, probably committing a faux pas in the vampiric world.
I’d barely tucked my phone back into the pocket of my jeans when the door rattled. No one knocked; the door just shimmied in its frame.
Frowning, I walked to the door, opened it and faced my unsmiling mentor.
Either vampires could fly or he’d been on his way to see me. I doubted the latter and made a mental note to ask him about the flying when he wasn’t frowning at me.
“What do I call you?” I asked.
He blinked at me, the deep brown of his eyes almost hypnotic. After Doug, however, I was on my guard. I deliberately looked away.
“What do you call me?”
I huffed out a breath. “Yes. What do I call you. Niccolo? Herr Maddock? Boss?”
“I’m a duke, so Your Grace will do.”
“Oh, please,” I said, glancing at him again.
“You do not believe me? I assure you, it is true. I come from a respected Italian family.”
“I’m an American. I’m not calling you Your Grace.”
“Then why do you ask, if you refuse to do as you’re told?”
This meeting was not getting off on the right foot.
“Invite me in,” he said.
I stepped back a few feet and regarded him. I was lonely, but I had the example of Doug making me cautious.
I finally stepped back and he entered the townhouse.
The lighting in my apartment flattered him. His coloring leaned toward olive, his nose large but perfect for the angles of his face. His brow was wide, his eyes wide spaced, his chin chiseled and stubborn.
I have this thing about a man’s neck, both coming and going. His was perfect, strong and corded.
His black hair,
tightly curled, was cut close to his head. I wondered if he adopted the style on purpose to contain his curls.
He certainly looked the part of an Italian duke or a Roman senator. I wondered if he could have served with Cesar. Hell, he might even BE Cesar.
If I was going to embrace this vampire thing, I was going whole hog.
“No, it is not true. It is merely being polite. I would not enter without your invitation.”
I stepped back even farther since the tiny foyer suddenly felt too small.
“When does orientation start?” I asked.
“You are feeling frustrated,” he said.
“I am feeling bored.”
“You wish to know more about your new state of being.”
I wished to be doing something, anything.
“Why did you not call earlier? Most people call within the first few days. Why did it take you two weeks?”
I blinked at him, a little embarrassed to admit it hadn’t occurred to me.
He smiled at me, the expression filled with condescension.
“When you are a Fledgling, things are very unfamiliar to you. You need to be among the Kindred.”
“Fledgling?” I’d heard of Kindred before, the name vampires gave each other, but never Fledgling.
“New vampires. At orientation, you will make life-long friends.”
I swear, he sounded like my faculty advisor at college.
“Tomorrow,” he said, whipping out a business card. This one read:
VTA - Vampire Training Academy
Fully vetted, licensed, and accredited
“Are you one of my teachers?” I asked, studying the card, a little disappointed the school was located off Lookout Point. Why not Bite Street or Fang Alley?
“I am your mentor. You are my charge.”
“So if I don’t go it looks bad for you.”
“There is no ‘don’t go’. You must attend. It is compulsory.”
I nodded, grateful I had something to do other than eat and go to the grocery store.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I said. Other than getting blisters on my derriere from the sun that first morning, I was fine. I had no physical complaints.
The Fertile Vampire Page 3
