Page 38 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
We crossed into Maine some time ago, and I can see the silvery shine of water behind the houses tucked along the coast. He pulls over in a gravel lot outside of a boarded-up oyster bar and gets out of the car as I crawl into the backseats to do a quick change.
Once we’re back in our seats, his eyes drift to my crossed legs. I pull the stretchy black fabric down to cover my thighs.
“One more thing,” he says. “My friend, Faith, she’ll likely expect me to stay in her room.”
“Ok. So you and this friend have a thing?”
“I wouldn’t say we have a thing, but I need to feed and–”
“Got it. You don’t have to explain your feeding habits to me,” I say, cutting off the explanation. I try not to think about how it felt when he licked droplets of blood from my fingertips. I can see how a human could get caught up in that sensation.
“So, that’s the favor you owe her—company for the night and a ghost cleanup crew in exchange for blood?”
“Not a simple blood exchange.” He sounds like he’s annoyed that I’m picking at this specific topic. He sighs, then says, “I owe her a debt for leaving me alone. She used to hunt me, and then she stopped.”
That’s not what I was expecting him to say.
“She used to hunt you?” I ask as he pulls into a long, sandy drive. What kind of friend are we visiting?
We come to a stop, and he gets out to open an iron gate. My stomach turns at its ominous creaking, and Dennis looks ruffled when he climbs back in, shoving a rusty key in his pocket.
A looming mansion lies ahead of us, nestled far away from the strips of shops and homes we passed. Gargoyles look out from their shadowy posts, and statues of angels glimmer faintly in the lamplit gardens. Thorny vines twine their way up to the second floor of the façade. I’m still gawking at the place when he speaks.
“Faith was born into a long line of vampire hunters. That’s why she needs our help—her ancestors aren’t too happy with herpreferencesfor supernatural creatures.”
“A former vampire hunter who likes getting drained. Can’t imagine why they’d be disappointed.”
He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh as we park and start to climb up the steps to the wraparound porch.
“Just be careful, Beatrice. You might find her a bit odd. I wouldn’t have brought you out here if she didn't insist. She wasn’t easy to shake off during the years she was after me, so I’d appreciate keeping the peace.”
Years?
A brass ring protrudes from a door knocker in the shape of a bat, and he raps it several times against the wood. A few moments later, a tall woman in a sleek high-collar dress answers. Her brown hair is pulled back in a bun, and the gray at her temples only serves to make her features look sharper, prettier.
“Hello Dennis,” she says, welcoming us in. I don’t even have a foot down on the welcome mat before I sense the presence of swarming ghosts.
“You look as gorgeous as ever, Faith.”
I roll my eyes as I hear Dennis talking over the loud whispers of the dead in this place. The hum grows louder as Dennis and Faith speak in the dark hall.
“Beatrice…Bea,” Dennis says, snapping me back to attention. “Faith was just saying how nice it is to meet you.”
“Yeah. You too,” I say, shaking away the voices. “You have a beautiful home.”
She smiles tightly and lifts a bar from a door at the end of the narrow passage. I realize the place is safeguarded to keep sunlight from spilling into the living area when she opens it to reveal a huge room lined with bookshelves and lit by smoking candelabras. The lady is dedicated to her vampire kink.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, gliding to a few chairs around a coffee table. There’s a weathered tome sitting on top of it that I'm scared to even look at as I take my seat across from Dennis. She sits down next to him. “The past twenty years have been rough, to say the least. My family likes to keep me up at night to remind me of their disapproval.”
I glance at a row of picture frames hung above the wainscot panels behind her. Each portrait shows a fierce figure holding a stake and a bible.
“Sounds annoying,” I murmur. I know the weight of my mother’s expectations. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have generations of people looking down on your lifestyle choices.
“Indeed.” She flicks a lighter and takes a drag from a cigarette, its embers flashing with the pull of her breath. “That’s why I need you to do one of your little seances. I’d like some peace and quiet.”
“It’s not really a seance,” I start, then feel the rubber band of the veil snapping back into place, warning me not to say anymore.
“How does it work, then?”
