Page 73 of Thirsty
It was incredible having an affair with a vampire over the summer. As June wound into July it had only gotten hotter; the kind of discomfiting, sweltering heat that lasted long into the evening.
Charlie grinned to himself and pressed his leg against Lorenzo’s, as he lay next to him snoring. Being with Lorenzo was like having a cool side of the pillow he could snuggle any time he wanted. It was amazing.
Dawn was still hours away, but Charlie was always flattered when Lorenzo passed out after sex, and he knew he’d be up again soon. He liked being alone like this with Lorenzo sometimes—being able to stare at his sleeping form unobserved, and daydream.
He wondered what the winter would be like. Lorenzo’s cool skin would be less of a perk, but night was longer in the winter; that would be fun. And it would be a neat sort of challenge, trying to keep Lorenzo warm. Either all vampires got cold easily or it was just Lorenzo, but the man loved his chunky sweaters and reading books by the fire and taking long, hot baths in thegorgeous antique bathtub that Charlie’s plumber had repaired. He liked reminding Lorenzo of that fact when they were in there together.
He’d need a lot of baths in the winter. Charlie could get behind that.
He sat up in bed, suddenly feeling queasy.
He was thinking long-term with Lorenzo. He couldn’t afford to do that.
He glanced at Lorenzo, who was still dead to the world. His face looked more open in sleep; he lost that broodiness that was either all vampires’ or just Lorenzo’s, and looked...vulnerable.
Charlie pulled his shorts on and snuck downstairs, looking for a snack or something to distract him.
The first floor was dark, but he fumbled his way to the kitchen and turned on the light. There were plenty of human snacks in the pantry despite the complete lack of actual humans who lived there, but none of it looked good. Charlie slumped against the pantry door, fighting off a wave of mild panic.
He couldn’t remember why he wasn’t supposed to be thinking long-term with Lorenzo. Which is to say that of course he knew why: the column was doing so well, soon he’d be able to move back to New York and reclaim the kind of life he’d always wanted. That was the plan.
He just couldn’t remember what it felt like to want that anymore.
It would be childish and stupid to stay in Brookville forever. Who did that? Just because his memories of New York were growing gray and washed out, while his life now had never felt more vibrant? He liked Lorenzo’s roommates. He liked everything about Lorenzo. He liked who he was here.
But it was a lie. And staying was impossible.
He worried less and less now about Lorenzo figuring out his big secret. He worried more about how he’d take it when Charlie left.
Glumly, he abandoned his quest for snacks and retreated back toward Lorenzo’s room. But on his way down to the kitchen the lights had all been out; now, with the dim light of the kitchen illuminating the hallway, Charlie saw it: a smoky, translucent ooze covering the ceiling outside Isolde’s room.
He slowed to a stop, horror and curiosity crowding for his attention. As he got closer, he realized that the ooze had eyes; dozens and dozens of eyes, blinking asynchronously, looking at nothing and everything as its membranes slowly rippled.
He swallowed back a scream. “Uh,” he said, manfully. “Rach?”
“Oh. Hey Charlie,” Rachel said. He slumped at the familiar sound of her voice, though it sounded echoey and distant.
“Yeah. Uh,” he said. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Just, y’know.” She sounded distracted, or maybe stoned. The ooze pulsed indecisively. “Looking at my phone.”
“Uh-huh,” Charlie gritted out, fighting the urge to run. The eyes had started to look at him. “Uh, Rach? Could we talk, y’know—human form to human form?”
“Oh,” she said, “sure.” The ooze dropped to the floor like a bucket of water being poured out, making Charlie flinch backward; but then it was gone, and Rachel was standing there, looking gaunt with exhaustion, in a ratty purple robe. She still had a few extra eyes on her face. Charlie grimaced and tried not to look.
“What’s up,” Rachel asked, still seeming dazed.
“Rach, are you okay?” Charlie asked. “You’ve been really...um. Really poltergeist-y lately.”
Something a little more human flickered in Rachel’s eyes, and she stood a bit straighter. “Oh yeah. Sorry about that.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine, I don’t care,” Charlie said. “I mean, I’m a wimp, y’know?”
Rachel smiled a little, and he said, “Seriously, is everything okay?”
Rachel glanced at Isolde’s door. “It’s fine,” she said. “I just need to get some sleep. Later.”
He watched her trudge back to her room in silent contemplation. He thought often of Lorenzo’s maxim thatmagic is intent. It was both profound and profoundly unhelpful, because as he’d learned in his many years as an advice columnist, nothing was more mercurial or inscrutable than intent. He had a lot of theories on what was going on with Rachel, but he wasn’t ready to commit to one yet. In real life, unlike his column, people didn’t just come out and tell him exactly what was bothering them, what choices they were staring down, what was haunting them, and what they had to lose.
