Page 67 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“Avampire?” he groaned with a world-weary sigh. “Let’s not make this worse than it is. Vampires subsist on blood and have supernatural powers; they’re monsters. All we have in common is immortality. Vampires are dead people who are given life. Perennials are living people who can’t die.” And then, in a hurt tone, he added, “I know you didn’t mean it, but it’s… actually insulting and demeaning to call us vampires. It’s not politically correct.”

“Oh, pardon me.”

Sighing, Ezra tried to stand up again.

“Take one step closer to me and I’ll end you.”

“What’re you gonna do, curl me to death? I can’t die!” Looking defeated, Ezra sat back down.

Ricki stood before him, shaking all over. Slowly, she lowered the crucifix, but only because her muscles were trembling too much to continue holding them up.

“Ricki, I’m not a vampire. I’m a normal, warm-blooded human like you are. Just with some unique features.”

“Unique features,” she repeated incredulously.

“Yes. Perennials are unkillable. Plus, we don’t feel the effects of aging or get sick. Not even a common cold. We can’t catch or pass on any diseases, and we’re sterile. No babies.”

“No diseases and no babies? Then why’d you wear a condom?”

“Well, uh, because it’s bad manners not to.” Visibly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “The other major difference is that we don’t leave a strong imprint.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Meaning we don’t stick in people’s minds,” he explained. “The rule is, if I don’t have regular contact with a mortal for a month, the mortal will forget me.”

She flinched with recognition.You will forget me in a month.

“I become that foggy memory everyone’s felt at some time or another. You ever repeat a story you heard somewhere, and can’t remember who told you? That was a Perennial. You ever have a déjà vu feeling, a flash memory of a person you kinda recall but not really? Perennial. Ever look at old photos of yourself, group shots, and see someone you can’t place? Perennial.”

“Why do I remember you, then? Why does Tuesday remember you, and Ms. Della?”

“Because I see y’all all the time! A month has to pass before I’m forgotten.”

“Mmm,” she said, folding her arms against her chest. “I regret to inform you, Ezra, but there’s no such thing as Perennials. Outside of flowers like peonies, daylilies, and lavender.”

“That fella at the flea market last night? The one who said we were doomed. He was a Perennial. And he said we were a terrible idea because Perennial-mortal relationships are impossible to sustain.”

“Sure, everyone knows that,” Ricki said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me, Ezra, how did he know what you were?”

“Perennials can always see other Perennials. To each other, we look unfocused, hazy. Like watching a 3D movie without 3D glasses, a technology I’m still not convinced elevates the movie experience, by the way.” He paused for a beat. “Let me ask you something. Do you remember who I sent to buy your portrait?”

“Of course I do. It was…” Frowning, Ricki realized she actually had no idea. She strained her brain, trying to remember.

“I… well, I just…”

“You recall the person who gave you my phone number?”

“Well, off the top of my head, I don’t really…”

“You remember a name? What were they wearing? Any details at all?”

This can’t be happening, she thought, mind racing, heart thumping.None of this is real.

“She was my counselor, Dr. Arroyo-Abril. She posed as my assistant as a favor. She’s a Perennial, too. And she’s vanishing from your mind.”

Ricki was speechless. Honestly, she couldn’t recall this woman. There was a vague memory of… something? Her tuberose scent. The sound of her boots—maybe Uggs?—crunching in the snow. But the details were a pixelated blur in the way back of her mind.

“Why did you send her to buy my portrait?”

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