Real Vampires Don't Sparkle

by Amy Fecteau

  “I can’t kill someone,” Matheus said. His voice sounded as though it came up from a very deep well.

  “The first time is always hard, but it will get easier,” Quin said.

  Matheus wanted to throw up. He shook his head rapidly. “I don’t want it to get easier. I don’t want to do it at all.”

  “You will,” said Quin. He stopped in front of a crowded club.

  Bright young things gathered around outside; cigarette smoke drifted through the air.

  Matheus felt impossibly old. He looked at men and women only a few years younger than himself and wanted to scream at them, Run! They lied, the monsters are real! Something curled in his stomach, pushing through the nausea. For the first time since he died, Matheus felt hunger. The cigarette smoke didn’t mask the scent of humanity. The smell thrust into him, feeding the growling need in his gut.

  “Pay attention,” Quin said, grabbing Matheus’ arm and giving him a shake. “I’m not going to babysit you forever.”

  “Oh, god,” Matheus moaned. Dizziness set in as he followed Quin into the club. Multi-colored lights flashed over the dance floor, but did little to drive back the dimness. Despite the dark, Matheus saw the room clearly. So many people, warm and pulsing. He sensed the rush of blood through their bodies, the taste of salt and copper in the back of his throat.

  “Concentrate,” Quin said, one hand still gripping Matheus’ arm. “Don’t lose control.”

  “There are so many of them,” Matheus whispered, grateful for Quin’s grip holding him back. A part of his mind sat separate, horrified by the overwhelming hunger.

  “Yes, they do breed like rats.” Quin pushed him toward a table in the corner. “Sit.”

  “I need a drink,” said Matheus.

  “Don’t we all,” said Quin. “No more alcohol. You’d just throw it up.”

  “Are you telling me I am going to have to spend eternity as a teetotaler? Just stake me now.”

  Quin laughed, low and rumbling. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He looked around the club with a lazy expression. He could have been any young man, looking for a partner for the night.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he said.

  “You keep saying that.”

  “It keeps being true.”

  Matheus traced circles on the table. He wished Quin would get on with it. Amazingly, Quin had found a way to make crowds even more horrible than they had been when Matheus was alive.

  “Search the room,” Quin said. “Who would you pick?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have to learn how to pick your prey.”

  “Don’t say it like that,” Matheus said. Quin’s casual attitude did not help.

  Quin ignored him. He kept one hand on Matheus’ arm as he scanned the room. The music had a heavy bass beat overlaid with moaning female vocals. A dance floor took up the majority of the club, although Matheus was confused as to what part of writhing around like a porn star constituted dancing.

  “Come on, now,” Quin said. “Pick.”

  “I don’t know,” said Matheus. “That girl at the bar.”

  She was the kind of girl they made reality TV shows about. Short skirt, barely-there top, high-end extensions, and strappy heels. She glittered with sweat and youth. The real-life stand-in for the women Matheus thought about late at night, groping the dark for release before giving up in favor of sleep.

  “Her? Try thinking with your brain and not your cock,” Quin said.

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked Matheus.

  “You’re looking for a meal, not a date. Don’t confuse the two.”

  “I thought that was part of the package.”

  “Tell me, did you usually make out with your hamburgers before you ate them? The answer better be no, or you are on your own.”

  “But the whole Dracula—”

  “It’s a story,” said Quin. “Forget what you saw in the movies. We don’t turn into bats, we don’t sparkle, and we don’t have sex with our prey.”

  “Fine.” Matheus folded his arms, drumming his fingers on his biceps. Why bother dying if he couldn’t even use his newfound status to pick up slutty club girls? “Who would you pick?”

  “Other side of the room, to the left. Dark hair, red blouse.” Quin angled his head in the woman’s direction. He’d placed his foot over the toe of Matheus’ sneaker, applying just enough pressure for Matheus to feel it.

  He wondered if Quin thought the contact would keep Matheus sane. He also wondered if he didn’t disagree. He looked at the woman. She had an understated prettiness. One hand fiddled with the straw in her drink while the other moved from hair to necklace to hemline. Matheus recalled the game played on children’s shows: one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just isn’t the same….

  “Why her?” he asked.

  “She’s like you,” Quin said. He plucked a stray bit of fuzz off his jeans. “A loner. No one to miss her.”

  “How can you tell?” Going out alone didn’t mean the woman had nobody. Everybody had a family. Well, he didn’t, but Matheus didn’t consider himself the universal standard.

  “I just can. It’s something you’ll learn.” Quin turned toward Matheus, head tilted to one side.

  Matheus recognized the light in Quin’s eyes. The last of his resistance crumbled. Caught between the hunger and Quin’s unspoken threat, Matheus felt his options disappear.

  “What now?” he asked in a small, hoarse voice.

  “Go out back and wait. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Quin stood, his gaze back on the woman.

  Panic arced through Matheus’ nerves. He glanced at the woman, a tightness settling into his chest. She tugged on the hem of her skirt, then looked around the club as though searching for someone. A brief flash of kinship zigzagged through Matheus’ mind. He recognized that look.

  “I—” Matheus said.

  “Go,” Quin said.

  “You want me to walk out there by myself?” Matheus tried not to wince at the fear in his voice. The gnawing hunger grew by the second. Quin’s presence kept him from attacking the first person within arm’s reach. Matheus didn’t think he could handle the press of people, sweat thick in the air, dozens of hearts ringing out the dinner bell. Quin frightened him, but at this moment, he frightened himself more.

  “You’ll be fine.” Quin glanced back with a sideways smile. “Go on.”

  Matheus shook as he walked toward the exit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quin making his way across the room. People shoved and twisted around him, and all Matheus could think was, Do they know? Would they know? He imagined the news report, the gossipy retellings. I was there. I might have seen him. It could have been me. Everyone loves a good murder. Matheus felt ill.

  “Oh, sorry.” A girl giggled as she bumped into Matheus, spilling her drink on his shoes.

  “N-no problem,” Matheus managed, trying not to stare at her throat. A bead of sweat slid down the smooth flesh, resting against the pulse point.

  The girl gave him a fake smile and turned back to her friends. A butterfly peeked over the top of her skirt, in the small of her back. Matheus stared at the tattoo, then jerked as something nudged at him. He glanced up to see Quin looking at him from across the room. The woman in the red blouse gazed up at Quin with heartbreaking hope.

  Matheus turned and marched out the door, shoving past a group entering. He relaxed a fraction as the smell of blood and sweat diluted in the cool air.

  The sounds of clumsy, drunken sex filled the narrow alleyway behind the club. Matheus didn’t look. While night and shadow might block the couple from human eyesight, Matheus figured he might see much more than he wanted to. He ducked behind a dumpster and stuck his fingers in his ears. That didn’t help much. This was his life now. Hiding in alleys, trying not to listen to strangers get off, waiting to commit murder. His mother would be so proud. Well, if he had a mother. Matheus rested his head against the side of the dumpster,
then remembered what the outside of most dumpsters looked like. He jerked upright, whacking his hand on the dumpster with a loud crash. The drunken sex fiends didn’t notice.

  “Oh, baby, you feel so good.”

  “Mmm, right there. Oh, yes.”

  “I love being inside you, baby.”

  Matheus gagged. Undead or not, he would find a way to vomit. Nothing else could properly express his opinion of this moment. He cursed the couple, he cursed Quin, he cursed the girl with the tattoo, he cursed the whole damn city and everyone in it.

  “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

  Get on with it, Matheus thought furiously. One would think no one had ever had an orgasm before, the way he went on about it. The couple finished up and staggered out of the alley. Matheus stood up, trying to brush the grime off his jeans. Without the couple to distract him, Matheus had a chance to notice the reek emanating from the dumpster. He risked a quick peek inside, wondering if he was about to commit murder number two. He didn’t see a corpse, but maybe the murderer had decided to put some effort into things, and split the body into separate trash bags. Matheus didn’t want to rule anything out.

  The back door opened with a slam. Matheus jumped, letting the dumpster lid bang closed.

  Quin walked out, leading the dark-haired woman by the hand. She moved like a woman twice her age, her face empty and slack

  “Come on, love,” Quin said, in a soft tone. “Just over here.” He gestured to Matheus, calling him over.

  Matheus forced his feet to move.

  “This is my friend,” Quin said.

  “Hello,” said the woman, in a dreamy voice.

  “Say hello, Sunshine.”

  “H-hello,” said Matheus, fighting the sudden urge to laugh. He dug his fingers into his thigh.

  Quin looked at Matheus over the top of the woman’s head. She lolled against him, as malleable as a sleeping kitten.

  “It’s easier from behind,” he said, passing the woman to Matheus.

  She moved without protest, a boneless warmth in his arms. Matheus bent at the unexpected weight before catching himself. This is a person, he thought. A small scar ran across the top of her cheek. Matheus stared at the pale line, staggered by an unknown history.

  “Quin, I-I can’t. I can’t do this,” he said. “Oh, god. I—”

  “Stop it,” Quin said sharply. “The hunger isn’t bad now, but it will get worse. Then you won’t be able to control it at all.”

  Matheus shook. The woman smelled so good. Not like a woman should, but like a steak dinner. He felt as if weeks, months had passed since his last meal. He’d never wanted anything so much in his life.

  “Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” Quin said. He placed a hand on Matheus’ shoulder, squeezing lightly.

  Matheus pushed up with his tongue. His fangs slid out, faster than he expected. He bit his lip at the shock.

  “Ow!” Matheus licked at the wound. His blood didn’t taste right. Maybe the woman’s wouldn’t, either. Maybe the change didn’t take. Hope swelled up, desperate and suffocating.

  “You’ll get used to those, too,” Quin said.

  The woman shifted slightly, turning to look at Matheus. Intelligence drew her features tight. She narrowed her eyes at him, placid, but questioning.

  “Where am I?” she asked. “Who are you?”

  “Calm her,” Quin said with another squeeze to Matheus’ shoulder.

  “How?” Matheus asked. Was he supposed to sing a lullaby?

  “Just…just project.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s very helpful, thank you.”

  Matheus ran his hands up and down the woman’s arms. Project, he thought. How could he project calm when his nerves bounced around as if the local mall just had a buy-one, get-one-free sale on trampolines? The last calm Matheus remembered stretched between downing his tenth Seconal and waking up in the hospital two days later.

  “You’re all right,” he said. “You’re s-safe.” He choked on the word. The woman relaxed against him.

  “You should be able to find the artery easily,” Quin said. “Do it quickly. Don’t hesitate, or it will hurt.”

  “It does hurt,” Matheus said, trying to nudge the woman’s head into position. He could see the artery pulsating against her skin, amazed that such a slim piece of flesh could hold back that pressure.

  “How would you know? You fainted.”

  “I don’t remember you projecting any calm,” Matheus said sharply. His fangs scraped over his lips as he spoke.

  “You were too wound up for it to work. Stop stalling.”

  Matheus bent his head, placing his fangs on the woman’s neck. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat. The heat of her body burned against Matheus’ chest, scorched his cut lip.

  “Do it,” Quin said.

  Matheus bit. Blood rushed into his mouth as the woman twitched. He swallowed desperately, feeling some of the blood escape his lips and trickle down his chin. He could taste salt and metal, but the experience went beyond taste to something deeper. Matheus felt the blood through his entire body, a beating in his head, sending shudders through his limbs. It raced, then slowed, drawing Matheus away from himself.

  “That’s enough,” Quin said, pulling him back.

  The woman dropped to the ground.

  Gently, Quin leaned Matheus against the wall.

  Matheus closed his eyes and let Quin wipe his face. A minute passed before he could speak.

  “Is she…is she…?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Quin. “Stay there.”

  Matheus still tasted the blood in his mouth. Warmth flushed through him; he hadn’t even realized he had been cold. He licked his lips, hoping for more, but the traces of life evaporated quickly from the drying blood. Calm settled over him, smoothing away the jittering hunger, leaving behind a lethargic quiet. All sensation dimmed. Pressing his arms back, Matheus ran his fingers over the rough brick. Around the corner, someone laughed while someone else shrieked about cigarettes and a missing lighter. Beyond them, Matheus heard the bass of the music, an artificial echo. The world filtered in, bringing the cold with it.

  “Hey,” Quin said, touching his shoulder.

  Matheus looked at him. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Quin looked concerned.

  The woman’s body rested against the wall on the opposite side of the alley. She could have been asleep, her legs curled underneath her thighs, mouth open as though to draw in a breath. The tilt of her head hid the marks on her throat; her red blouse masked the drops of blood. She looked peaceful.

  “I’m going to be sick,” Matheus said.

  “No, you’re not. Come on. We have to go.” Quin tugged at his sleeve.

  Matheus took a step forward, then stopped.

  “We’re just going to leave her here?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the police…what about the marks?” The aftermath he imagined: the woman’s face plastered all over the news, interviews with girls in glittering dresses and too much makeup, their boyfriends pompously fierce behind them. The thought made him angry. The woman didn’t belong to them; her death wasn’t theirs to glam up and trot around for cheap thrills. Matheus opened his mouth to tell Quin, then closed it again. With a short nod, Matheus moved toward the street.

  “Keep your head down. Don’t run. Don’t look like you’re in a hurry.” Quin kept his hand at the small of Matheus’ back.

  Matheus tried to ignore how comforting he found the contact.

  “Humans don’t like to think about things that aren’t supposed to exist,” Quin said.

  “What about DNA? And people saw us.” The girl with the tattoo, Matheus thought. She could identify him.

  “You’re the undead, Sunshine,” Quin said. “DNA isn’t an issue. The club was crowded. No one will remember us.”

  “I need to lie down,” Matheus said.

  They turned away from the crowd of smokers, toward the quieter section of the city. As soon
as they left Hanners Street, the people fell away, leaving only Matheus, Quin, and the streetlights.

  “Hold on.” Quin wrapped an arm around Matheus’ waist and ran. The buildings whooshed by, a gray blur streaked with lights. They arrived at Quin’s house in minutes.

  Matheus thought he’d never been so happy to see an abandoned, grime-streaked building. He didn’t protest as Quin bypassed the living room and brought Matheus down to the basement.

  “Rest,” Quin said.

  Matheus crawled onto the bed and curled up. The last of the warmth faded, replaced with a hollow chill.

  “Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered.

  “I won’t,” said Quin.

  “Matheus?” Quin pushed open the door, glancing around the darkened room.

  “I killed someone,” Matheus said. He sat on the bed, blankets shoved onto the floor.

  “What are you doing?” The mattress dipped as Quin sat down.

  Matheus didn’t look up. “I’m a murderer,” he said, tearing at his skin. “I killed someone and I didn’t even know her name.”

  Quin caught his hands. “Stop that,” he said. “It isn’t helping.”

  “Get off me!” Matheus screamed. “This is your fault! You made me this way! You’re a monster!”

  “I know,” said Quin. He sighed, raising one hand toward Matheus’ head. “I—”

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me ever again. I don’t want to look at you.”

  “Matheus….”

  “Oh, god.” Matheus wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth. “I’m murderer. She’s dead. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I-I-I—”

  Quin sat back and watched as Matheus slowly went to pieces.

  “Feeling better?”

  Matheus sat up.

  Quin stood, silhouetted in the doorway. He paused there for a second, then stepped inside, closing the door after him.

  Matheus looked at the peeling wallpaper. His arms rested on his knees, thick scratches running up and down their length. He picked at a scratch, wincing as it started to bleed, the blood a dark sludge.