The Vampire Next Door

by Natalie Vivien

  I nurse the brake and come to a full stop as the streetlight turns red. Then I tap my nails on the steering wheel distractedly. I painted my nails blue for Mia—blue's her favorite color—but she didn't notice my cobalt lacquer during dinner at my place last night.

  She didn't notice my blue nails when I undressed her, slowly—blouse and silky skirt and panties (Mia never wears a bra)—or when I trailed my fingers over her naked body, sometimes stroking, sometimes scratching, because she likes it when I scratch...

  Lately, it seems like she doesn't notice a lot of things.

  But then again, neither do I. After all, I forgot about our movie date. Azure remembered, and I didn't. That's got to be a bad sign...

  “Courtney? Hello?”

  “I'm here.” The light turns green, and—predictably—Colonel Mustard stalls. I swear under my breath, ignoring the honking horns as I pull out my key and stab it in again, praying to any deity who's listening to either help my car start or strike it dead with a bolt of lightning.

  Frankly, I'd prefer the bolt of lightning.

  “What do you say? Can I give you a rain check on the movie?” Mia's voice takes on that low, sultry tone that always turns my misgivings to mush. “I promise I'll make it up to you.” She laughs suggestively. “With interest.”

  The car engine revs, and I sigh with relief, easing across the intersection and then making a left turn.

  “Courtney?”

  “It's all right, baby,” I tell Mia, because I was looking forward to my bath and my book and my glasses of wine. Definitely a bad sign, choosing strawberry-scented bubbles and a reread of Jane Eyre over a night of Tilda Swinton-inspired sex with my girlfriend... But I'm too worn out to consider those ramifications right now.

  “Are you sure? You aren't disappointed?”

  I peer through my streaming windshield. The sky is fully dark now, thick with storm clouds. “No, no. I'm tired, anyway. I got a damaged shipment from UPS this morning. It was a major headache to straighten out. And I think I permanently offended one of our regular suppliers. So I'd prefer a quiet night in. Tilda can wait.”

  “Well, if you're sure...” Mia's using her soft, placating voice now, the voice she uses when she knows she's getting away with something and feels a little guilty—but not guilty enough to change her mind. “Hey, how about I treat you to dinner tomorrow night, before the movie?”

  “Tomorrow?” I get a green light at the next intersection and turn onto my road. “Okay. That sounds great, baby.”

  “Pick you up at eight?”

  “Mm. See you then. And...” I frown, remembering the SANG brochure that I shredded less than a half hour ago. Its message was so dark, fueled by narrow-mindedness, hatred and intolerance. Despite the fact that we have a vampire President, the United States is deeply divided over the “vampire agenda,” as the right-wing pundits call it. There are a lot of AV groups—anti-vampire groups—like SANG calling for the President's impeachment and strict laws prohibiting vampire rights, and it seems like another one appears every week, making news with headline-grabbing protests and rallies.

  Mia and I have never talked much about vampires, but I guess I always assumed that she shared my sentiments: they have as much right to a peaceful existence as any of us do. Vampires are born vampires. Geneticists are still working out the science behind vampire DNA, but it's an irrefutable fact that vampires require the ingestion of blood to survive. Plus, Bram Stoker and Anne Rice got it wrong. No one can become a vampire by being bitten by a vampire. You're either born one, or you aren't. There's no choice in the matter. It's biological.

  And, as a lesbian, I know what it feels like to be discriminated against, to be judged and despised for something beyond my control. Every day I face the prospect of coming out, of being rejected for who I am. And Mia knows that pain, too. Acutely. Her parents disowned her when she came out of the closet at seventeen, and she spent a year on the streets, homeless and alone. The only family member who stuck by her side was her brother, who lost his life tragically, in a heartbreaking case of wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time.

  So how could she defend a group that spews hatred about a minority?

  Two words, Courtney: Drew Yarrow.

  My frown deepens when my memory conjures up the still of Drew that I'd seen on the news. She kind of looked...like me. Tall and blonde, but her hair was cut short, and her expression was hard, with small, narrowed eyes. Pretty—and predatory.

  I disagree with her cause, and I don't trust her with my girlfriend.

  “Well.” I squint at the road, trying to think of something pleasant to say. “I hope you get a good story tonight,” I force out, feeling uneasy. “Just...be careful.”

  “Love you, Court.”

  “Yeah. I... I love you, too, baby.”

  Mia hangs up first. I toss my cell onto the passenger seat and then turn into my driveway, shutting Colonel Mustard off with a sigh.

  Chapter Two: Dancing in the Dark

  There's nothing in my mailbox besides another SANG brochure—they must have financial backers, because their marketing campaign is topnotch—the latest Cincinnati Times and my overdue electricity bill. I throw the mail and my phone onto the kitchen table, along with my car keys, and then scoop a purring Colette up from the floor. At six years old, Colette is still the size of a kitten. The vet says she's fine, just naturally small, and she compensates for her littleness with a big personality. And a big appetite.

  I nuzzle her brown tabby head, and she licks the tip of my nose.

  “It's just you and me tonight, Cole.”

  Still purring, she climbs onto my shoulder and meows in my ear. It's a familiar and piercing meow. Translation: Enough cuddling! I'm starved! She emphasizes the point by sinking her tiny claws into my neck, kneading until she draws pinpricks of blood. I've never heard of a feline vampire, but I have to admit—sometimes I wonder about Colette. She is, after all, supernaturally cute.

  “All right, all right, I get it...”

  I feed Colette and then grab a Tupperware container from the refrigerator. I made vegetable lasagna for Mia last night, and there are plenty of leftovers. Colette crunches on kibble contentedly at my feet as I reach for a knife.

  And then the world goes black.

  I'm so startled by the sudden darkness that I drop the knife and scream, terrified that the blade might fall on my cat, but it connects with my wrist, instead, gashing the skin before clattering into the stainless steel sink basin. The lasagna follows behind, making a sickening plop.

  “Oh, God...”

  Great. A power outage. And if the searing pain is any indication, this cut is deep. I press my palm against it and feel hot blood seeping from the wound. A lot of blood. I fumble with the hot water knob and wash the blood from my hand; then I stand in the middle of the kitchen uselessly, clasping my wrist from underneath. The first-aid kit is in the bathroom upstairs, but given the power outage and the black-as-night, stormy sky, I can't see my hand in front of my face...

  Maybe the lights will come back on soon. Power outages don't usually last long in my neighborhood. I mean, if this even is a power outage. What if the electric company shut off my power because I'm two months behind on payments? God, that would be such a spectacularly crappy ending to my already crappy day...

  I peel back the curtain over the sink; the whole street is dark. Relieved, I lick my lips, and my shoulders relax. But then I lean closer to the glass.

  There's a ball of light in the yard of the vacant house next door, and it's bouncing closer—

  “Hello?” A woman's voice, heard clearly through my open window.

  I drop the curtain and take a step back.

  “Hello? Are you all right?”

  Is she talking to me? Cautiously, I draw the curtain again, but the light is gone, and it's too dark to make out any shapes beyond the window.

  I squint into the blackness.

  And someone knocks at the kitchen door.

  “Who—who's there?�
� I stammer, leaning back against the sink. Colette is still at my feet, unbothered and nibbling away; I nearly trip over her as I move in the general direction of the door. To prevent myself from hurting her, I perform the time-honored cat-trip ballet and throw my weight forward, colliding with the refrigerator and nicking my temple. “Oof,” I mutter. Smooth, Court. Real smooth.

  “Hello?” the voice calls out again. An oddly familiar, low voice. “I heard a scream when the lights went out. Are you hurt?”

  “Um...” I reach the door and place my hand on the knob, but I don't unlock it. There's actually something very familiar about this woman's voice. I can't place her, though. Of course, I don't know everyone on the street. I've lived here for three years, as long as I've been in charge of the bookstore, but I spend so much time working that I rarely see my neighbors in the daylight. Besides, as a single lesbian living alone, I carefully consider the people I take into my confidence. Colette is a fierce little feline, but she isn't exactly a guard dog.

  Right now, though, given the fact that I'm bleeding and stumbling blind in the dark, maybe I should throw caution to the wind and accept this offer of help. Mia's always saying I need to be more spontaneous. I'm just not sure if inviting a stranger into my home is spontaneous so much as reckless...

  But what the hell.

  I unlock the door and open it just a crack. “Hi—oh! Hi.” My lips part, and for a moment, I think I must be hallucinating. Maybe I've lost more blood than I realized...

  Because standing on my back deck with a glowing camping lantern in one hand is Valeria Máille. Lare, the alchemy-inclined vampire.

  The sexy, alchemy-inclined vampire. Her sugared lily scent wafts toward me, and I start to feel even more lightheaded.

  I start to feel...other things, too.

  But—wait. Did she follow me here? Oh, God, Courtney, don't be a bigot. She left the store before I did, so it's unlikely that she stalked me to my house. This isn't Interview with the Vampire. This is real life. In real life, there are power outages. In real life, friendly neighbors offer assistance.

  But Lare isn't my neighbor. Is she? This part of town is Code A, Free Residence, meaning vampires are permitted to move in without neighborhood petition, but I wasn't aware of any vampires living nearby. And I really think I would have been aware of Lare living nearby.

  “Um, hi,” I say again, flustered. Then I blink and shake my head, smiling nervously. “What are you—how did you—I mean, do you live around here? I've never—”

  “You're bleeding,” Lare says, and her eyes, lit up by the lantern, widen and gleam. They're so reflective that I can see myself in them; I look crazed, scared. I guess I am scared. But kind of...excited-scared. Roller-coaster scared. Cake-for-dinner scared. You know it's bad for you—but you want it, anyway.

  You want it a lot.

  Mia, Courtney. Remember Mia...

  Mia—who's probably making puppy dog eyes at Drew Yarrow right now.

  Sighing, I push my hair behind my shoulders and bite my lip. Logically speaking, I should be plain old scared-scared, because it's dark, and there's a vampire at my door, and she's staring, mesmerized, at my bloody arm.

  Reflexively, I cover the wound with my hand. “I don't think the cut's serious—”

  “You might need stitches. Can I take a look?”

  “Um.”

  What's the proper etiquette for this situation? On the one hand, I don't want to offend a potential customer. On the other hand, I'm not sure if presenting my bleeding appendage to a vampire is a wise move.

  Lare shifts the lantern lower, and her eyes lose their mirror-like quality. Now they're shining pools of deep, dark blue. I gaze into them, fall into them...

  And then I hear myself say, “Sure, why not?”

  Sure, why not?

  My blood runs cold. I freeze in place, eyes as wide as saucers.

  Lare's mouth curves up on one side, and she leans against the door frame; her face is inches away from mine. Her red waves are caught in a gust, and they brush against my face, soft as silk—and a little damp... “Mind if I come in, then?” she asks, voice low.

  “I—”

  “Because I'm getting pretty wet out here.”

  It's only then that I realize that Lare is standing in the rain. Her white shirt is soaked through—she's no longer wearing the pinstripe jacket—and tiny droplets of water cling to her lashes. As if on cue, there's a crack of thunder overhead, followed by an eye-burning streak of lightning, illuminating my darkened yard and backlighting Lare like a sexy, dripping, rock 'n' roll star.

  “Sorry. God, I'm sorry. Come on in. I'll find you a towel.”

  She chuckles. “Thanks.”

  By the time Lare has dried her hair and scrubbed some of the dampness from her clothing—I'm trying hard not to stare at her shirt (honestly, I am), but it's wet and it's white, clinging to her lace-patterned bra—my wrist begins to throb. I fall into one of the chairs, resting my arm on the kitchen table's cluttered surface. Colette curls up into a tabby-striped ball at my feet.

  Lare places her lantern in the center of the table, and when she sits down across from me, I realize, horrified, that the SANG brochure is brightly spotlighted by the lantern's white bulb.

  Her eyes flick toward it, pause, and then lift, with meaningful slowness, to meet my gaze.

  I feel the color drain from my face. “I don't—I'm not—”

  “Junk mail. I know. I got one of these, too.” She picks up the brochure and examines it, smiling faintly. “SANG: Society for the Abolishment of Nocturnal Ghouls,” she reads, one eyebrow raised. Then she smiles softly. “Funny thing is...vampires aren't really nocturnal. We just don't sleep as often as you.”

  “Me?”

  “Humans.”

  “I'm...sorry. I was going to throw it away, but then the lights went out—”

  “You don't have to apologize for other people's ignorance, Courtney.” Her silver-blue eyes bore through me; I feel hot and cold all at once.

  “It's just... Well, to be honest, I don't know a lot about vampires myself. I feel like I keep, well, offending you, and that's the last thing I want to do—”

  “You haven't offended me.” Lare leans forward and reaches across the table, stroking my open palm lightly with her charcoal-polished nail. I flutter my eyelids as a delicious shiver moves through my body; for a moment, I forget about my cut, about Mia and Drew, about my broken-down car and the flimsy financial state of the bookstore. I forget about everything, feeling nothing but this sensation, this...longing—

  “Courtney.” Lare's voice is soft, husky. I shiver again, staring into her color-shifting eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  She draws back her hand. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  I swallow, will my hammering heart to slow, and then nod my head. “Upstairs.”

  I give Lare directions to the bathroom; she takes her lantern and returns a few minutes later with a damp paper towel, antibiotic cream and bandages. Then, like a knight in a Pre-Raphaelite painting, she kneels in her soaking clothes in front of my chair and reaches for my hand. Her eyes catch mine; they're glinting impishly. “Don't worry. I'm a doctor.”

  I laugh—nervously, too loudly.

  “No, really.” Her warm fingers stroke the delicate skin of my wrist, just above the wound. “I'm not practicing right now, though. I'm doing some research at GLT.”

  “GLT?” I'd noticed the acronym on the business card she gave me at the store.

  “Give Life Technologies—the big gray building over on Truman Avenue.”

  “Oh, right.” That's the building everyone calls Blood Mart; it's where the packets for the local Safe Center are produced. I didn't realize it was a research facility as well as a production plant. “What sort of research do you do?”

  She smiles. “Well, right now my work is at a standstill. Which is why I'm eager to read any writings by or about Maximinus that you're able to track down.” Gently, Lare moves her hands to the underside of
my arm and lowers her face nearer to my wound. To look at it, I'm sure. Not to lick it. Not to bite it...

  “Um.” My mouth has gone as dry as sandpaper, and I feel two breaths away from fight-or-flight panic. “I appreciate your help—it was really nice of you to check up on me—but I'm just kind of... Well, you're a... You're a vampire. And I'm bleeding. And—I don't mean to—oh, God, sorry. I'm just...clueless about all of this.” I rake my free hand back through my hair, which is so tangled that my fingers get caught up in knots; with the grace of a grizzly bear on stilts, I yank my fingers free—nearly knocking the lantern over in the process. I right the tilting lantern and then sink down in my chair, humiliated.

  Despite my faux pas, a smile teases the corners of Lare's lips. “I promise you: I didn't come here to”—her eyes trail over my throat—“bite your neck,” she finishes, in an exaggerated Dracula-style accent. She chuckles lightly.

  “I know. I mean, logically, I know that.” After all, if she'd wanted to, as she put it, bite my neck, she could've done so right away, when I let her into the house. “It's just...” My smile is uncertain. “Okay, I have to ask...” I give her a pleading look. “Did you follow me? I mean, it's...strange, your showing up at my door tonight. Coincidental. We met at the bookstore today, and then—”

  “I just moved into the house next door.” Lare tilts her head of red waves, gesturing vaguely toward the window and the brick one-story that had been vacant since last winter. “I'd been renting an apartment on the west side, but my contract with GLT was extended, so I wanted a more permanent residence.” She smiles at me softly. “I'm sorry, Courtney. I thought you realized I'd moved in. I shouldn't have assumed. But didn't you see the U-Haul yesterday? It was parked next to your driveway.”

  Yesterday. I bite my lip. Yesterday I came home from work, made dinner for Mia, had sex with Mia...and then slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the stressed and exhausted. “I guess I was distracted.” Another thing I'd failed to notice, or remember. When did I start sleepwalking through life?