The Fertile Vampire

by Ranney, Karen

  But all of those annoyances seemed minor compared to what I was facing now.

  Had I wished for anything to happen to vary the monotony of my days? I vaguely remember feeling dissatisfied and lonely which is why I allowed Doug into my life.

  Was I to blame for what happened?

  I was a big one for personal responsibility, a trait that drove me crazy when investigating insurance claims. We weren’t all dandelion puffs being blown about on the wind. We make decisions and some of them suck. Some are good and we should take credit for those, but we should own up to the sucky ones, too.

  Letting Doug into my life, my apartment, and my body had been a truly sucky decision.

  I wanted to settle into some type of groove. Make me a vampire, fine. Let me learn how to be a vampire. But don’t give me this half and half stuff.

  I noticed the longer Il Duce stood next to me, the more attention I was getting, ranging from the narrow eyed stares from the women to the drop fanged come-hither glances from the men.

  “I should be leaving,” I said, glancing at him.

  He nodded, placed his hand on my back and steered me through the crowd.

  I wished I couldn’t hear the comments.

  “She could be so much more attractive.”

  “What shade is that lipstick? It does not flatter her.”

  “She has no fashion.”

  The women thought I should be better dressed. The men thought I shouldn’t be dressed at all.

  Fangs slid into place, half hidden by full bottom lips. Eyes glistened and winked.

  I didn’t want to be around any of them.

  “Next week you will return to school,” Il Duce was saying. “There is much you need to know about the Kindred.”

  “I’m not going,” I said.

  Look what had happened the last time. Nor was I eager to be in a classroom with Kenisha again. What else did I have to learn? That there were fairies in my garden or my car was sentient?

  “With technology, there’s no reason you can’t have online orientation,” I said.

  “You will go. You only have three more classes.”

  “Why can’t you email me what I need to know?”

  At the door, he turned me until I faced him.

  “Please, Marcie. Do not be difficult about this one thing. I have taken measures to protect you. You will be safe. This, I promise.”

  I blew out a breath and nodded, leaving the Council building as fast as my little vampire feet could carry me.

  Part of me was surprised Il Duce allowed me to leave so easily. No last minute warnings, words of advice, or cautionary tales. Halfway home, I realized why.

  I was being followed.

  I thrust my hand into my purse and dragged out my phone. I didn’t text and drive. Nor did I like even talking on the phone when I was driving, but Il Duce owed me an explanation, now.

  Before I could dial, my phone rang.

  I wasn’t surprised when it was Il Duce. Maybe there was something to this mental connection of ours.

  “Someone is following me,” I said. “Are they your people?”

  He said a word I normally don’t use and was surprised when he did. However, it was a good, old fashioned Anglo-Saxon word with a rich history.

  Before I could respond, he put me on hold.

  “They will blink their headlights twice,” he said when he returned. “Do you see it?”

  When the lights flashed, I spoke into the phone again.

  “Yes. Is this your way of protecting me? I don’t want anyone following me.”

  “It is not your choice,” he said, hanging up before I could do the same to him.

  Il Duce, Master and Prince was becoming a PITA.

  By the time I reached my complex, the horizon was turning to gray, hinting at dawn. I’ve always loved the night. Darkness gave the world a depth and mystery it didn’t have by day.

  I pulled into my parking place, grateful Mr. Gunderson wasn’t parked in his spot.

  I clutched my phone again, opened it, and dialed Il Duce.

  “Someone else followed me, too. They turned off before the gate.”

  We had a security gate which was truly laughable. Everyone had the gate code so it served only as an annoyance.

  “What does the vehicle look like?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see it, only the headlights.”

  “Dan will walk you to your apartment,” he said and hung up again.

  He had to stop doing that, especially since I wasn’t finished.

  I opened the car door, glancing up at the tall man who appeared at my side.

  “Dan?”

  He nodded.

  “Hold one.”

  I dialed Il Duce again. When he answered, I said, “I forgot to ask you. Take pity on Doug. You’re screwing up his love life. There’s a pun in there somewhere, but it’s not deliberate. Stop making him check out all his dates with you.”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “Hello?”

  “You wish this?”

  “Actually, I don’t care one way or another,” I said, surprised to find it was true. “The only thing he truly values is his libido,” I added. “It seems a pity to take it away from him now.”

  “Very well, I will inform the Council.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  I hung up and nodded to Dan who didn’t leave more than five inches between us all the way to my townhouse. Instead of complaining about it, I found myself reassured.

  At least I made it to the door alive.

  Nor did I complain when Dan insisted on checking out each room in my townhouse.

  The man was almost as handsome as Il Duce with a slender face, high cheekbones and eyes so green I wanted to stare into them for a few hours. What was it about vampires that made them so good looking? Was it being a vampire? Or had they been selected for their appearance before becoming a vampire?

  I doubted the Council’s squeamishness about turning people against their will pre-dated the twenty-first century. Probably most of the older vampires were conscripted rather than volunteers.

  “How long have you been a vampire?” I asked, remembering when I was chastised for asking at dinner. I couldn’t help it, I was curious.

  “What?”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I said, looking away.

  “I’m not a vampire,” he said, entering my bedroom.

  I wish I’d cleaned up before I left, especially the bra hanging over the end of the bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and dragged a pillow over it.

  “I work for Mr. Maddock, but I’m not a vampire.”

  “He’s a duke. I’m surprised he doesn’t make you call him Your Grace.”

  “He tried.” Dan the Driver smiled.

  I was immediately taken back to my freshman year of high school when I fell madly in love with Steve Opperman. His father was a Methodist minister and he was as prudish and proper as could be, but there was a twinkle in his eye I’ve never forgotten.

  Dan the Driver had it, a look making me think he had a hidden wild side.

  “I’m just a good old Texas boy,” he said. “I’m not into flowery speech.”

  Good to know. He was attractive enough to be a vampire but in a more rugged way. The planes of his face were defined. His nose was sharp, his chin squared off. He made Doug look too pretty in comparison.

  I was tempted to ask him to spend the night, only in a platonic way, of course.

  There was something wrong with me. He was not capable of mesmerizing me, but I was still staring at him like he was water and I had been tromping across the desert for a few weeks.

  I bent over, desperate to find some other target for my eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking under the bed.”

  “Do you think someone can hide under your bed?”

  Since there was only six inches between the bottom of the box springs and the carpet, not
really. But I did find a shoe. I made a mental note to retrieve it later and also vacuum under there before righting myself.

  He was smiling which was a good look for him. Less for me, since I was staring again.

  Determined to maintain some dignity, I thanked him and followed him down the stairs. After locking the door after him, I stood there for a moment with my hand flat against the steel.

  All vampires have to obey the call of dawn. The beginning of our night summoned us to rest, to recuperate. I was safe as long as whoever followed me was a vampire.

  I was so screwed if it was someone else.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  He was right; you can’t go home again

  Nothing happened for a few days, but I was keeping a low profile. I only went to the convenience store and HEB once. The messenger service delivered from PF Changs and I ordered a pizza from Dominos. If anyone was looking to do me in, the easiest way was to poison my food. But I happily scarfed everything down, watched a few reality shows, shook my head over the unawareness of the participants, and spent too much time looking out the windows.

  My research on Pranic vampires resulted in nothing. A search of MEDOC, Il Duce’s company, resulted in a sizable chunk of information. Evidently, they were at the forefront of research on AIDS vaccines. If one of the easiest ways to kill vampires was by a blood borne illness, I could see why Il Duce had invested heavily in the medical field.

  Had the emergence of AIDS killed many vampires? Something else I didn’t know. I was keeping a virtual notebook on my IPad. One of these days, I’d find someone who could answer all my questions. Someone who didn’t make me edgy like Il Duce and who I trusted - not like Doug.

  There was one question, however, no vampire could answer and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered.

  Had my grandmother been behind the hit and run?

  My grandmother was thirty-seven when I came along, her youth the result of having married at eighteen and having a daughter who’d done the same thing. She was now seventy, did Tai Chi and lifted weights.

  She was not a woman to underestimate.

  But she wasn’t fond of vampires.

  I missed the Nonnie of my childhood, the woman who had brusquely counseled me on the first appearance of my period. I’d been trying on swimsuits at the time and absolutely horrified to find my panties stained.

  “It’s nothing to be concerned about, Marcie. Have you prepared?”

  I nodded, too embarrassed to talk about the Kotex pads I’d stashed away under the sink at both my house and hers.

  “We’ll go home now. After you’ve fixed yourself up, you can go out to the sun porch. I’ll bring you something to make you feel better.”

  The miraculous process of becoming a woman was eased with a glass of warm milk, a heating pad, and the added bonus of a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

  I wanted the same comfort now. Or maybe I just wanted answers. I wanted to find out if Nonnie hated vampires enough to try to kill me.

  Even the idea was enough to kill my appetite, but only for an hour or two.

  Three nights in, I dressed, put on makeup, and left the complex, watching for someone other than Dan following me, but his was the only car. As if he knew I was checking, he flashed his lights at me several times.

  I hadn’t been reborn through the process of becoming a vampire. I was still me. My memories of family and friends were still intact. Regardless of how they’d treated me, I was finding it difficult to cut them out of my life.

  Mary, my friend in accounting, was pregnant and it had been a difficult seven months for her. I wanted to know how she was feeling. Or how Jen, my next door neighbor, was doing after her chemotherapy appointment. Had she gotten any good news from her oncologist?

  I couldn’t exactly knock on their doors and say, “Surprise! It’s me, your friend, the vampire.”

  They’d already let me know how they felt by ignoring me. Neither of them had texted me, sent word, or come over. Not, come to think of it, that I would have shown up unannounced at a new vampire’s house. All they had were the myths. They didn’t know if I was going to suck all their blood and nibble on the marrow.

  Another question - could a vampire be affected by the condition of his victim? Did a vampire become ill if he chose a cancer patient to nibble on? Or drunk if someone was inebriated?

  I shook my head at myself and pulled in front of my grandmother’s house.

  The loss of my friends hurt, but the treatment from my family was worse.

  Most of my conversations with my mother consisted of things she didn’t like: my hair (she didn’t like it short or long), my fashion sense (I had none), my fingernails (I couldn’t stand hearing them tap on my keyboard so I kept them short), and various and sundry other criticisms.

  I loved my mother because I was supposed to love my mother according to popular culture, the Bible and my grandmother. I didn’t understand my mother, but I tried to love her.

  Dorothy, who preferred to be called Demi - and I have no idea why - was one of those women who was as needy as a sponge and had to have a man in her life. If she didn’t, she was miserable.

  In between husbands, she’d have dear friends who came over to our house and spent the night or several nights until they were discarded for another friend. At least she never called them my uncles.

  Whenever she was serious about someone, as in this one might be the next husband, I’d stay at Nonnie’s house. As my mother once told me, “It’s easier if you’re not here, Marcie.” So, I would pack my little red patent leather zippered suitcase and trot over to stay with my grandmother for weeks at a time. At least there I didn’t have to pretend to like the guy. Nor would I be bothered by the sounds coming from her bedroom.

  My father was her first husband. The second was a welder who went off to work on an oil rig. We never worried about money during those years, but my mother had a problem being faithful. Bob was a good guy and I’d been sad to see him go.

  “Sorry, kid,” he’d said on the way out the door. He’d ruffled my hair and gave me a quick hug.

  I stared after him, blinking back tears, never knowing that with his departure my mother would descend into a death spiral, in a matter of speaking.

  Some women were addicted to alcohol. Some were addicted to cigarettes or drugs. In my mother’s case, vampires were her drug of choice. If a vampire landed in The Swede’s Daughter, her favorite hangout, there was a ninety-nine point nine percent chance he’d be having breakfast at our house.

  “Are you using protection?” I asked her once. “Can’t a vampire get an STD?”

  “Don’t be churlish, Marcie.”

  Since my mother wasn’t well read, the word startled me. I never did get an answer to either question.

  When Paul first came into the picture, he seemed to inflame my mother’s obsession. I wasn’t the least surprised when she married him. I took refuge by visiting Nonnie as often as I could.

  My grandmother was down to earth, a little brusque in her defense of my mother, and my salvation.

  “She’s a cat in heat, that girl. Always has been. Always will be. I guess she’s got a powerful need.” She’d pointed her spatula at me. “Don’t you go and get yourself conflicted about a man, Marcie. They’re fine creatures and good for lots of things, but they’ll break your heart for sure. But vampires? They’re the lowest of the low. The dead who don’t have the sense to stay dead. Arrogant, they are and godless.”

  During my trial, Nonnie had turned her face to the wall and refused to look at me.

  My stepfather’s death had been sudden and shocking. He’d been working a construction site and a beam had fallen on him, decapitating him instantly.

  My mother changed after that. Her love of men didn’t alter, but she made a point of avoiding vampires and even attended Al-Anon meetings, the chapter geared to help mortals overcome their fascination with vampires. I don’t know her success rate - it was one of those things we didn’t discuss.


  I could cope with losing my mother, but Nonnie’s absence in my life was like an open wound.

  She’d been my refuge, the one person who understood how lonely I was, how much I felt like an outsider in my own home. She knew how much I wanted my life to be different.

  I leaned my head back and stared at her house. The emerald paint was transformed to black by the night, the blinding white of the trim and shutters looking like bones. I’d always loved this place. The sixty year old house was home to me in the way nothing else had been.

  Sitting on a knoll like the queen of the neighborhood, the three story house was reached by a short walk from the curb, up four steps incised in the earth, then a longer walk to a wide screened in front porch. On either side of the steps was an aged Live Oak, the branches intersecting at the second floor level. In the summer, the trees created a shady oasis. Now they seemed to guard my grandmother’s home.

  Three lights shone, two on the bottom floor and one on the second.

  Nonnie was awake.

  Once, I could have walked in, called out, expecting to be welcomed with a kiss to my cheek and a quick inspection. Was I sleeping well, eating enough, happy?

  The words of a song came to me. “But that was yesterday and yesterday’s gone.”

  Tonight I would go up the steps to the front door like a visitor, knock and wait to be welcomed. Or stand on the steps like a penitent when she didn’t open the door.

  This after midnight world was unnaturally still, with not a breath of wind. The only movement was my own as I left the car. In a movie, a werewolf would come springing out of the forest or a vampire would sparkle.

  I leaned against the right front bumper, staring up at the house.

  I bet property taxes were a bear, but Nonnie had never complained. Nor had she ever mentioned money in any of our conversations. Plus, she was one of the few older adults I’d ever met who didn’t talk about when bread was a nickel and you could only get Coca-Cola in a small glass bottle. She lived in the present, had a smart phone, an IPad, and was delighted in technology.