Page 14 of The Royal Street Witch
“We’ve always thought there was more to it than that,” I say, skeptical.
“We like to keep witches on their toes,” he laughs.
“Have you ever made a vampire?”
His eyes meet mine in a solemn way, almost whispering his answer. “No.”
“Have any vampires been able to endure the daylight? Any that you’re aware of?”
“Supposedly the first vampire could walk amongst humans in the daylight. But we mutated over time, and I have no idea why. Evolution? Drawn to the darkness? I honestly have no idea.”
“Interesting,” I say while writing. “During the day? How do you stay away from light?”
“Look at you.” He points to the pen in my hand, moving fastidiously over my notebook. “Thank you for this.” He tucks his chin to his chest as if his own words have made him uncomfortable, and I just blink because saying ‘You’re welcome’ feels odd. Thankfully he continues.
“We stay away from the light by sleeping. Near sunrise we succumb to the deepest of sleep, it is essential for us to rest. Some of us still sleep in coffins because they’re sealed from the light. That’s if we don’t have basements, custom beds, or a cement-sealed room. Anyway, we are tucked away in darkness during the day.”
I take it in, unsurprised by his responses. I had been told almost everything he’s saying from my grandmother but was never sure if it was fact or rumor. “And what happens when you’re in the daylight? Do you spontaneously combust? Catch fire?”
His jaw tightens, a sardonic grin on his lips. “We burn. Turn to ashes. It’s not spontaneous.” His fingers begin to tap on his knees as he contemplates more. “First the top layer of skin turns to embers and it burns deeper and deeper. And if it gets to the bones, well that’s as if gas has been added to a fire. There’s no stopping it.”
An image forms in my head, one I hope never to see. “What kills you?”
A sinister look draws across his face, and he rubs his middle finger and thumb along each eyebrow. “A broken heart.”
“Come on,” I say, and he grins.
“You now know it all. Daylight. A wooden stake to the heart. The exceptionally rare occasion of bleeding out, which I have never witnessed or known a single vampire it happened to. And then there’s a witch’s poisoned blood…”
Yes, there’s that, something we’ve never discussed. A blood curse my ancestors created to protect ourselves against anything that wished to consume us. I don’t look at him, pretending to write more notes. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Neither do you,” he bites back, and I look at him. My blood is cursed, yes. If a vampire bit me, he would die on the spot, and all the vampires of New Orleans know it. We are protective of our flailing livelihood and are no fools.
“No other poisons are fatal that you know of?”
His head slowly moves side to side in confirmation.
“What about infectious diseases? Can you catch anything from a human or vampire?”
“No, nothing infectious or sexually transmitted can attack our cells. We can’t procreate, we can’t catch or spread anything.”
Must be nice that condoms aren’t required, but I keep that thought to myself and press on. “How often do you need to drink blood?”
“We can go four days without feeding but by the fourth we are famished, starving for blood and anything will do. That’s why in the quarter we drink just a little every other night or so—your potions allow that. We can be sated, and the donor is none the wiser, not lightheaded or sick from blood loss. It works nicely.”
I clear my throat, often uncomfortable with my role in vampire feedings.
“All right, just a little more information about you specifically. When were you turned?”
His head jerks back, surprised at the personal question. “Oh, uh it was 1956.” He crosses his arms and sits up straight.
“Wow, you’re not that old in vampire years. How old were you when you turned?”
“I’m fairly young for a vampire. I was twenty-six years stupid.” His head jerks as if he’s tasted something bitter.
“Why do you say that?” I run the pen along my lip, enthralled.
“Young, stupid, and beautiful. Three dangerous traits to possess in that time.”
