My hands fumble for the ends of the chair’s armrests. “Help me what?”
“Survive.”
Shane takes a short, shallow breath. Every muscle frozen, I can’t turn my head to look at him. It feels like my tongue has descended into my throat.
“Huh?” is all I can manage.
Lanham holds my gaze as if to hold me up. “How long did it take for your fangs to manifest?”
“A day or two.” For most vampires, it’s a matter of minutes.
“Have you experienced a decreased sensitivity to pain?”
I latch onto this. “Yes! I heal fast now. A zombie broke both my legs and I was back on my feet in less than a minute.”
“That wasn’t my question. I asked about the pain, Griffin. The pain.”
“A headache, for instance?”
“A vampire bite, for instance.” He lowers his voice, as if that will change anything. “I apologize for the personal nature of these questions.”
“I don’t—” Finally I turn to Shane, with my whole body instead of just my head.
The look in his eyes sinks my soul. It’s not disbelief or bewilderment. It’s oh-God-I-knew-it.
My mind races. I want to get this over with and hear the truth.
“I hate being bitten.” I stare at the blank side of his nameplate. “It feels like being stabbed.”
“I see. Have you also—”
“I’ve had a word obsession since the day I was turned. I make anagrams from everything. I can’t pass a drugstore without buying a word puzzle book.” I give him a pleading look. “Can you help me?”
Lanham gives a nod that somehow isn’t a nod. A nod that says, I hear you, but no.
“We’re not sure how to remedy your unique situation. But rest assured the Control is doing all we can to keep you around as long as possible.”
My brain cells feel like they’re playing leapfrog. “Keep me . . . around? Like in the Control? I just started my contract and you’re already talking about extending or renewing it?” Please let that be what he’s talking about.
“I mean, in this world. The blood magic that makes you a vampire is having trouble taking proper hold in your body and soul. Your essence puts up too much resistance.”
I spring out of my chair. “But I believe I’m a vampire! I’m not skeptical about that.”
He shakes his head. “This power isn’t completely under your control, any more than breathing or blinking are. Based on what you’ve told me, I conjecture that you will fade faster than most vampires—than any vampire.” He swallows again. “I’m sorry, Ciara.”
I sit down hard, barely registering the fact that he called me by my first name.
“This is bullshit,” Shane says. “If her essence resists magic, why did she become a vampire in the first place? Why didn’t she just die?” His voice shudders over the last word.
“I almost did.” I choke back the panic. “You thought I wasn’t coming back, remember? I went all the way into the white. The other vampires said that when they died, they only saw a white light from a distance.”
His face shadows. “Or not at all.”
Shane thinks he was on his way to hell when he turned, because he saw only darkness before Regina brought him back from his suicide-by-vampire attempt. So we’ve both had anomalous vampings: mine of complete light, his of complete dark. This does not calm me.
He turns back to Lanham. “There’s got to be something we can do to make her stronger.”
“Agent McAllister, I believe she will strengthen physically just like any vampire.” He speaks to me again. “It’s your mind that concerns us. We believe it will age more quickly. Your compulsions will intensify and your temporal adhesion will be more rigid. You’ll lose vitality.”
Vitality. My mind seizes on that word. It comes from the Latin vita, meaning life.
As in, I don’t have much.
“So I have the vampire version of a terminal illness? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Essentially, yes.”
The world feels like it’s floating. “I just died. I don’t want to die again.”
“You won’t.” Shane puts his hand over mine. “We’re going to stop this.”
I want to cry and beat my fists against the floor, against the walls, against my own body. I want to go full tantrum, denial and anger.
I’ll do that later, safe in Shane’s arms. For now, I need to fight.
I reach forward, take Lanham’s legal pad and fancy-pants fountain pen. “What do I have to do?”
• • •
On the drive home, Shane and I fill the fear space between us with chatter and task lists.
“The easiest part is music.” I gesture to the stereo. “I already listen to the satellite alternative station, but I could switch to the indie station. They discover new bands sooner.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” Shane says, “except my ears.”
“Hey, a lot of it’s good and you know it.” I check the list. “I’ll get a new hairstyle every year, even if the old one looks better on me.”
“Don’t forget fashion.”
“Right. I’ll buy the new seasonal lines from all the cutting-edge designers, even if I hate the clothes and can’t afford them.”
“And technology. Get a new cell phone before you’re eligible for an upgrade.”
“Ooh, good one. Same with my laptop and software. And I’ll start Contemporary Awareness training next week. That’ll be so boring. They’ll probably teach us how to tweet.”
“Then you’ll get an A.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “You need more direct donor blood, less bank blood.”
That was on Lanham’s list, too. “Is this one of those good-nutrition-is-the-foundation-of-good-health talks?”
“I know it still bothers you to drink from a human.”
“It makes me feel pathetic. I keep seeing myself from the outside, on my knees like a dog, lapping up scraps.” Using my toe, I smooth a wrinkle in the floor mat. “Now I can’t even drink from Lori, since she’s pregnant.”
“What about the donors you’ve been sharing with Monroe and Regina?”
“Those are the worst. I don’t know them, they’re just walking veins. I feel like an intruder—like they want to be with the ‘experienced’ vampire and they’re only feeding me to be polite.”
“There’s still Jeremy. You’re due to drink from him this weekend, right?” When I nod, Shane adds, “It’s time for you to bite someone. Might as well be him.”
I stare out the side window at the highway lights whizzing past, keeping my eyes away from the green signs with their irresistible white letters. “I guess. If I bite too hard and it hurts, he won’t care.”
“No, he’ll enjoy it.”
“Ugh.” I look down at my list. There’s only one item left. “Lanham wants me to resist my compulsion.”
“I can help you. I’ll put tape over all the labels in our kitchen. I’ll be more careful about using correct grammar.” He hesitates. “I’ll recycle your stash of puzzle books.”
I thought I’d hidden them. But there was that time—okay, several times—I shoved a puzzle book under the sofa cushion when Shane came home early.
“Okay.” My voice is as tiny as my resolve. “Maybe I could just cut back? Not stop cold turkey?” My palms are sweating at the mere thought—and it takes a lot to make a vampire sweat.
Shane sighs. “What if you just finish the ones you have and don’t buy more?”
My fingers curl around the door handle. I have only two puzzles left in my current book. The rest are all completed.
I think of a guy on Mission: Organization (Shane’s favorite Home & Garden Network show) who broke down in tears at the suggestion he throw away stacks of old magazines. Am I that sick?
“I don’t know if I can do that. I can’t just stop thinking about words.” My throat closes up. I try to breathe and swallow at the same time, and next thing I know I’m hiccuping.
&n
bsp; A vampire. With hiccups.
“Hey.” Shane clicks on his blinker and pulls onto the shoulder, the tires rumbling over the grooves designed to wake drowsy drivers. He puts the car in park, slaps on the hazard lights, then draws me into his arms.
“We’re going to fight this, Ciara. I don’t care what we have to do. We’ll keep you whole and bright for a long time.”
I cling to his shoulders, my lungs tightening from the pressure inside and out. He’s not in denial like he was when I was a dying human. He’s stronger now. And with his strength, I can tell inevitability to fuck off.
He strokes my hair and starts to sing. Tears flow down my cheeks as I recognize the song he wrote for our engagement, back when I was alive and we thought our future together would be short and sweet. Before we were given a form of forever.
In his song, he vowed to love me when I’m an old human, weak in body and mind. And now, in his embrace, I know he’ll love me when I’m an old vampire, strong of body but not of mind.
Still I weep, at the injustice of false second chances.
6
Trouble Me
Funny thing about dying, either slow or fast: the world doesn’t stop while you mourn yourself. Bills must be paid.
Just after midnight Friday morning, I sit alone at my desk in the radio station’s main office, making myself useful. Ever since I “changed my work shift”—i.e., became a vampire—my job has absorbed all the duties that don’t require being awake at the same time as the rest of the world. Lori’s taken over many of my sales clients, and in turn I now do most of the accounting.
There was a day when I’d sooner dig ditches than keep books, but being a vampire makes it easier to focus on mundane tasks. Perhaps it’s the predator’s patience, or the obsessive-compulsiveness.
The door at the bottom of the stairs opens. A head of golden-brown hair appears.
“Hey, Ciara.”
“Adrian. How’d your first show go last night? Sorry I missed it. I was . . .” Absorbing my accelerated mortality. “Out of town.”
“I only screwed up the lead-ins to commercials four or five times.” He tilts his head back and forth. “Possibly six or seven.”
“The equipment must be different at every station.”
“It’s similar enough to lull you into a false sense of competence.” His smile fades when he sees Franklin’s office empty. “I was on my way out downstairs and saw the light on under the door.”
“It’s just me here. Sorry. So be honest—how does WVMP measure up compared to other stations?”
“It’s, um, rugged.”
“Yeah, when you look up ‘low-budget’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of WVMP too broke to afford their picture in the dictionary.”
Adrian laughs, which makes me glow a little inside.
“It’s worth it, though,” he says, “to be around other vampires. Being oneself is a beautiful freedom.”
I jut my thumb at Franklin’s office. “Plus, we have a hot sales-and-marketing director.”
Adrian actually blushes, which I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a vampire do. “I like Franklin. He’s different.”
I lean over to see his feet. Yep, still bare. “You’re one to talk.”
“But Franklin’s different in a different way than I’m different.”
I wiggle my toes in delight at his repetition of the word, and an anagram of “different” flits across my mind (FIFE TREND!). Then I remember I’m not supposed to care about words. Clinging to them to feel sane is tantamount to giving up.
“Are you guys actually going on a date,” I ask him, “or are you skipping straight to happily ever after?”
“I thought maybe some musical dinner theater.”
“Franklin hates musicals. He does like dinner, though, so if you leave before everyone starts singing, you might come out ahead.”
Adrian chuckles. “He might be more open to new experiences than you think.” He turns Lori’s desk chair around and straddles it, a move that reminds me of Jim (but without the sinister threat of imminent assault). “Franklin told me you saved his life in that bomb blast. I think it changed him.”
“How would you know? You met him after the bombing.”
“I can tell when someone’s struggling with a new reality, especially life and death.” Adrian picks at the threads on the chair’s top edge. “Before I was a vampire, I was studying to be a doctor. In med school I dealt with a lot of terminally ill patients.”
“Oh.” I turn away, shuffling papers to cover my reaction. “That must’ve been hard.”
“Hard, yes, but sacred. The closer they got to death, the more they believed they were going somewhere afterward.” He sighs. “That’s one trade-off to immortality. Vampires don’t have that certainty that there’s anything beyond. We get that one glimpse of white light as we change from alive to undead, and that’s it. No vampire’s ever come back from a second death.”
“I did.”
“You’re kidding.” Adrian folds his arms on the top of the chair and rests his chin on them. “Tell me.”
Something about this guy makes me want to speak, with none of the inner resistance I feel during therapy sessions. I set down the papers and turn to him. “I was in a battle, and someone unloaded a round of holy water right here.” I open my mouth and point my finger up toward my palate to demonstrate. “Boom—burned straight into my head, completely annihilating my brain.”
“Whoa.”
“Exactly. For a few seconds, I wasn’t anyone or anywhere. I was just . . . suspended in a place—no, ‘place’ is the wrong word. It was more like a state of being. Like there’s solid, liquid, gas, and—that.”
“Fascinating.”
“Whatever and wherever I was, I wasn’t alone. There was a presence, but not a singular presence like people think of God. It wasn’t one being. It was like everyone and everything was in one place and time. Does that sound too far out?”
Adrian gestures to his clothing. “Do I look like I know the meaning of ‘too far out’?”
I laugh for the first time today. “Anyway, if my experience is any indicator, vampires do have something to look forward to when they die for good.” My heart sinks as I remember the new reality. “Then again, I’m not like most vampires.”
“How so?”
I shrug, not ready to reveal my weakness to everyone yet. “I don’t know. I’m not afraid of dying as much as I’m afraid of fading. Drifting through the world with no comprehension, becoming a monster.”
He nods sadly. “I heard Jim faded early. That’s why he was taken away.”
That is ultimately the truth, so I don’t deny it. “It was bad.”
“His listeners still miss him. I got thirty-one calls during my show asking when he’ll be back.”
“We’ve told listeners he’s gone for good,” I say with a sigh. “Maybe you’ll be the one to finally satisfy their hippie vampire DJ needs.”
“I could never take Jim’s place. He’s a legend.”
I try to remember Jim at his best: jamming at a gig to the Doors, weaving a spell as magical as Morrison himself. But all my memory shows is his half-melted face surging toward me while I struggled beneath him. Instead of music I hear my own screams as he plunged his fangs into my throat.
Was Jim crazy only because he was fading, or was there something wrong with him to begin with? Will I turn into a monster who has to be carted off to a Control nursing home? Will Shane be allowed to visit me?
“You think they’ll ever let Jim out?” Adrian asks.
I hope not. “Fading’s a one-way trip, right? The Control can only slow the process or keep old vampires from hurting people.”
“Hmm, maybe.” Adrian glances at the mantel clock on the never-used fireplace behind me, then stands and puts Lori’s chair back under her desk. “I gotta scram now. But, Ciara, I still think there’s hope for Jim, and for all the old vampires.” He fingers the tassels of his jacket sleeve. “I’m probably just naïv
e. One of the side effects of living in a time when we believed anything was possible.”
“I almost envy you.” I pull out my keys. “Here, I can let you out the front. It’s quicker.”
Once outside, Adrian turns to me, his hair shimmering gold in the porch light. “It was good talking to you, Ciara.”
“It was.”
As I close the door and lock it, I realize I wasn’t just being polite. It was good for me to talk to Adrian. He’s the first person I’ve met who didn’t know me as a human.
The lightness he leaves me with doesn’t last, though. Within minutes, the dread of what I learned from Lanham last night forces its way into my mind, laying a heavy gray blanket over every thought.
I’m going to fade.
Suddenly I know who I need to talk to.
• • •
In the downstairs lounge, I make a new pot of stronger-than-dirt coffee, then pour two cups.
In the adjacent hallway outside the studio, I find Shane and Monroe in quiet conversation. They look at me, faces tight with tension.
“You told him?” I ask Shane.
“Was I not supposed to?”
“I was just coming down here to do that.” I hand the extra coffee mug to Monroe, who takes it with a kindly nod.
Shane leans forward and kisses my temple. “I’ve gotta get back in. Song’s ending.”
My maker and I walk in silence down to the heavy steel door that leads to the DJs’ apartment. It’s almost too heavy for a human to budge, and even I have to pull with both hands. Monroe opens it with one dark finger curled around the handle.
The apartment has six small dormitory-type rooms that lead off from a common area, which includes a small kitchen to the left and a big living room to the right. Most of the decor is vintage seventies, though the kitchen appliances hail from the late nineties, when this bunker-style apartment was built beneath the ancient shack upstairs. Beyond the kitchen is a small hallway containing the bathroom and laundry area.
The apartment isn’t glamorous, but it is safe—from fire, the sun, probably even a nuclear detonation. Best of all, there’s always music playing.
I sit at the small dining table across from Monroe and wait for him to speak first, which is usually a losing bet.