Page 67 of Accidental Vampire

TIFFANY

I sat there smoking cigarette after cigarette. I could feel the burn in my lungs, but lung cancer wasn’t something I had to worry about anymore. That made me wonder what I had avoided in life because I was afraid of getting hurt or dying. A lot of sex, that’s for sure. I chuckled to myself. I guess sex always has consequences. Instead of a severe case of fire crotch, I could now find myself in a committed magical relationship that could last centuries. Would that be so bad?

I shook off that thought. I was going to do what Shaw suggested and choose between being a vampire or not. I wondered what it would feel like to have my head cut off. I’m sure it would hurt, but then I’d be dead. That’s the question, isn’t it? Do I want to be dead or not dead? And if I’m not dead, what kind of life will I have?

Shaw said the odds of becoming a vampire are one in ten. Those are some terrible odds. What was it that makes me defy them? Do I have some unknown longing for a quest I have to fulfill? Maybe Iwasjust a cunt.

I’ve spent the past ten years fueled by righteous indignation. Being kicked out at 17 did that to you. I was determined to show up on my parents’ doorstep fabulously wealthy, successful, and just say “fuck you.” That’s what kept me going when I was working two jobs and hustling as a teaching assistant to get through grad school. I just didn’t know how or when to give up. I was homeless those first few months until I bullied my way into the dorms for the summer session. That’s when I met Monique, and the struggle didn’t seem as bleak. She let me come home with her on breaks. I spent every summer sleeping on an air mattress at her parents’ two-bedroom apartment in Harlem. Until we could scrape together enough to get our first apartment.

Monique.

That was the sticky point. What was I going to do about Monique? I can’t imagine a life without her. Shaw and his people had mortals who knew about the whole vampire thing. God, she must be freaking out. I still wasn’t sure how long it had been since that day. At least a week? What a shitty friend I was that it really hadn’t occurred to me until right now to get in touch with her. There had to be a way. Maybe I could make up a convincing story, like some rich dude needed his library organized ASAP, and I headed out of the city.

I sighed. She wasn’t dumb. She’d never believe that. Or that I just fell in love and ran away, either. Aurora seemed like a good liar, maybe we could put our heads together and come up with something.

What would life as a vampire look like? This group seemed to lounge about and drink a lot. Honestly, it seemed pretty boring.

What did they all do for money? This warehouse was huge, there must be a cost to it all. I could always find some remote online thing, once things settled down. I would miss getting all dusty in forgotten basements sorting out storage and archiving solutions. But who’s to say I can’t have a normal, regular job for a few years, until people noticed I wasn’t aging?

Shit, I wasn’t ever going to get old. No crow’s feet or gray hair. No degenerative disorders. Probably no colds or flus either. I wondered if vampires gained or lost weight. I didn’t have any of my own clothes, so I couldn’t tell if my favorite jeans were still too tight. How much blood would you have to drink to gain five pounds? I assumed we could eat normal food if we wanted. Gonzo ate popcorn during movies with the Snacks.

Snacks. Oh dear God, I was going to have to eat people, wasn’t I? I swallowed hard and fumbled with the cigarette. It can’t be all bad. Everyone, including the Snacks, seemed to enjoy it. It didn’t taste terrible, the blood that is. It certainly wasn’t the ambrosia that vampire fiction would lead you to believe. It wasn’t “dark wine” or filled with electricity. Lachlan was delicious, however.

Could I do it?

Could I bite a person and drink their blood? Could I… kill a person?

Well, obviously, I could. Aurora said I did. Lachlan said he was trying to kill me. So, self-defense? I put my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths.

Maybe don’t think about that just yet.

Maybe I wasn’t done living yet.

I stood up and balanced on the edge of the roof. I wasn’t going to die, not unless I really wanted to, and then I’d probably need help to get the job done. I tried to wrap my head around that. A line from one of those self-help courses I took in college came roaring at me: “What could you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” Well, I can’t fail. Dying is the ultimate failure, right? So what could be possible if I knew I couldn’t die?

I looked over the edge. I could do anything. Finally learn Spanish. Or Japanese. I could... my brain strained out. I’ve been so limited by just trying to survive and keep a roof over my head for the last decade that I really haven’t had time to consider what I wanted out of life.

Well, now I had time to find out.

I took the last cigarette out of the holder and wedged it in my mouth. Shaw’s Zippo was battered but utilitarian. Nothing as fancy as the antique silver holder. I chuckled to myself. If I lived forever, I could teach myself how to do those elaborate Zippo tricks. Be one of those cool kids who flips it around and lights the flame with a snap. I dated this guy when I was a freshman who carried a Zippo and would snap it open with a flair. I tried to learn, but could never get the hang of it.

No time like the present. I fumbled with it to get it in the right position. Held it squeezed between my index finger and thumb, and then you... you just snap it. I tried once, concentrating. Fuck, I fumbled it right out of my hands. I stretched forward to catch it, and then I was falling, right off the edge of the building.

I hit the ground with a dull thud and the sound of snaps. The pain was blinding.

I lay on my back and looked up at the crisscross of power lines above me. A crackling pain shot through my body, unlike anything I had ever felt before. All I could do was try to breathe.

I looked back up at the ledge I was standing on. Shaw was right, this was not a good way to die. I tested moving my legs and gasped as white-hot pain stabbed me. I reached up and touched my head. That at least didn’t hurt.Feet first.He wasn’t fucking lying. I’d heal right? I had to heal? I made Lachlan cut the back of my hand, and that healed lickety-split.Lickety-split? What the fuck kind of word was that? I giggled. Great, I had two broken legs, I was lying on a deserted street and I was giggling like a madwoman atlickety-split.

“Maybe angels do fall from heaven.”

“If that’s an angel, I’m glad I’m in hell.”

I tried to scramble up at the sound of unfamiliar voices, fear numbing out the pain for just a second, before it tripled and stole my breath.

Two men stalked towards me out of the shadows. No, they weren’t men, not mortal. They were vampires. I didn’t get far, barely to a sitting position, my legs just wouldn’t work. They were both tall and lanky and wore the standard club kid uniform of designer torn jeans and Ed Hardy t-shirts like it was 2004. The only way to tell them apart was their hair color, one was blond, and the other was blond with blue tips. How edgy, if you were sixteen and in an alt phase.

I glanced nervously back at the warehouse. If I screamed, would one of them hear me? Would they come and help?

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