True Moonlight Blood in the Twilight

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout, stalwart plucky young Southern Gothic reporter,  has landed a prized interview with one of the first vampires to go public…

Sarah had fretted quite a lot before the interview; photos of Renaldo Angelicus Dramatico had revealed him to be exactly the brooding type that she used to dream about as a teenager. Which was only a year ago, before ths small-time local station morning show gig. But now that she was under the lights and before the cameras, she felt better about it. The assistant producer, Jodi from Minnesota, had tried to get her to calm down, but they couldn’t help but giggle about it, trading off-color remarks about long… fangs.

Until he walked in. A blousy white shirt, revealing smooth and hairless pectorals. A confident stride and a firm handshake, even as his eyes flicked up and down her body as if she were just meat. Which she supposed she was, in a way. His hand was dry but not clammy, smooth and uncalloused, and his skin sparkled under the lights.

As the cameras ran, Sarah felt like she babbled through the introductions: “unusual opportunity,” “learn more about these creatures of the night” whatever. The vampire merely looked on her patiently until the formalities were complete. Finally, the preliminaries were done, and he gave a little half-bow from his chair as she was introduced.

“I do hope you aren’t here to eat me,” she said, as her opening gambit.

“Ah no, senorita, I could never do such a thing. You are far too lovely to make that sort of meal.”

“You really aren’t from this century, are you,” she said, looking down at her notes. “So, tell me about yourself. I understand you’re a pacifist vampire–”

“War is such a waste,” Renaldo interjected. “All that blood running in the streets.”

“–A pacifist vampire who only drinks synthetic blood or blood taken humanely from animals under PETA’s supervision, and you are not evil but in fact are cursed to live forever with a remorseful soul to atone for horrific deeds in the past until you meet your one true love. Isn’t that a little unusual?”

“Not at all. In fact, that’s the case for about one in five of the vampire population.”

“And… and is it true that vampires have special powers, like turning into bats or smoke?”

Renaldo — no, she thought, I must think of him as the interview subject — laughed a throaty laugh, tossing back his ragged yet silky mane of dark hair. “Indeed no, my powers are not of those sorts. Really, it is all quite mundane.”

“Mundane?” Sarah leaned forward, curious.

“Yes — for example, instead of sweat, we vampires secrete rohypnol on demand, to make our victims more… pliant. Not that I ever do that. My bodily fluids have other purposes.”

“Oh my,” Sarah said, turning to the cameras and fanning herself. The producer had suggested she try this tactic at least once, to play to the audience. “And what about the whole thing with crosses?”

“Complete nonsense. In fact, most vampires become born-again Christians when they are turned.”

That caught her by surprise. “Really?”

“Certainly. After all, we know for an absolute fact that there are evil demons roaming the earth seeking the downfall of humanity. To deny this would be to deny ourselves. And we vampires are not known for denying ourselves anything.” He grinned, and for an instant, she saw his fangs flash, sharp and pointed. Her hand involuntarily crept up to her neck.

“One more question, if I may… why do you think that the public has remained so fascinated by vampires, despite the fact that you seduce young girls and murder them, tear out the throats of helpless victims, and drain them of their blood? Why is it that so many women are drawn to you when they know it is almost certain to mean a horrible fate? Except for the one case in five, I suppose.”

The vampire tilted his head down and peered up at her, eyes smoldering under his brows. The tip of his tongue darted out and licked at the corner of his lips. Sarah felt a warm flush run through her body. Her awareness narrowed to his face, as if she were prey staring into the jaws of a predator.

“I… I don’t know,” the vampire said, with disarming frankness. “It may be my Latin looks, slight French accent, and roguish Irish charm from my maternal side. Perhaps it is submissive rape fantasies and a desire to submit to a dominant figure they cannot control. A foolish dream, sometimes, of reforming the ultimate ‘bad boys,’ as it were.”

“Do you get many women asking you to… to make them vampires?”

“Ah, yes, senorita,” he sighed. “Maybe it is the temptation of their own darker sides, the awareness that they could live forever young, forever beautiful, alabaster skin and flawless complexions, never needing another Dove bar again, an ageless temptress with flowing locks and satin dresses and permission to express their inner bitch. But they are always wrong.”

“Wrong? How? It sounds like a good deal to me.”

“You know the sort we vampires are, and the sorts of girls we like — if a vampire has his pick of women to make immortal, he’s hardly going to pick someone who is going to stand up to him for four centuries. We stake the naggers and the shrews ourselves. Better the pliant teenager types. How old were you again?”

Sarah giggled nervously, unbuttoning the top button on her blouse. An errant drop of perspiration was trickling down her neck, and she defiantly tossed her head back. For a brief moment, she entertained the notion of Renaldo moving faster than the eye or camera could see, arriving knelt at her feet, looking up at her with those bold eyes, saying “Allow me,” as he bent his head to sample the salty taste of her…

He was still looking at her, his gaze steady, unblinking. So this is what they mean, she thought, by devouring with his eyes.

“And while you were hiding from us, what did you do? For a living, I mean.”

“Oh, we one in five always fight for justice. Detectives, policemen, that sort of thing.”

“Where?”

“Vancouver, but we pretend it’s somewhere else.”

“Why Vancouver?”

Renaldo finally frowned, then snarled. For a moment, Sarah saw the animal under the pale skin, and all her sweat froze, her body suddenly cold to its core. The cameraman stepped away, and Jodi the assistant producer, the girl from Minnesota, fell backwards and paper went flying.

“The damn werewolves,” he finally said, eyes flaring red. “They’re everywhere else. Everywhere we go, they follow us. Posers.” He was visibly struggling to get control of himself.

“it could be worse,” Sarah said brightly, fighting to contain her amusement. “It could have been angels, like a few years ago…”

Renaldo regained his composure, and laughed politely. “No blood at all in those. No, it’s the werewolves. They say they are out to get us. It is why we have gone public. We need protection from them. They could be anywhere, watching, lurking in the night, ready to seduce us away and bite…”

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Werewolves? Are you serious? That’s just a fairy tale.”

With that, the interview came to an end. But the next day, the word came that Renaldo was dead. Well, dead again. Really dead. Torn to pieces.

And Jodi the assistant producer from Minnesota was missing. For many nights after Sarah’s dreams were not of single jewels of rich blood tracing their way across ruby lips, but of fur.

And Nair.

Yes, I am a little sick of the whole vampire vogue. 😛