~ One~

 

 

No one understood. They had it all wrong. The funny part was, it had become such a suddenly and annoyingly popular topic that everything about it was just as suddenly meaningless. The truth had slipped into the realm of irrelevance, dragging her own life with it.

Vampires. Everyone on the planet was writing, talking, reading, and watching whatever was being spewed out about them. Books, magazine articles about movies about books about vampires. Popular scandal rags shouting unlikely headlines from the impulse-buy shelves at grocery store checkout lines about those who played in the movies about books about vampires. And blogs. First hundreds, then thousands, then millions, and now? No doubt well into government-deficit-like numbers by this time.

But they had it all wrong. Granted, one of the shortest name lists was probably "Vampires with Suntans," only it wasn't because they sparkled in the sun, burned to a crisp in daylight, or needed the native earth of Transylvania sewn into the soles of their shoes to avoid going all crunchy when the sun was up. Nope. The only reason their SPF rating was off the charts was because they simply didn't go out enough during the day. Why? Sunlight hurt their eyes! That was it. Nothing more radical.

"Hurt" was only a euphemism in this case, though, which was why sunglasses were useless. "Destroyed with mind-numbing agony" was more accurate. In fact, while she'd often gone outside during the day out of some necessity or other, she'd done so with a thick, black rubber blindfold over her eyes, a hooded jacket, and a seeing-eye dog a blind friend let her borrow for such emergencies.

It was very, very aggravating (she avoided saying anything "sucked," since that was yet another misconception that had been turned into a horrible pun).

Oh, and no one had bitten her. She'd been born with the condition, a genetic one she inherited from both parents, who had not surprisingly met at a Dungeons and Dragons convention. They weren't into drugs or alcohol, but they were hippies at the time, and after she'd been born, had celebrated with just a wee bit too much Boone's Farm Strawberry Wine and named their poor newborn Elvira. As soon as she was old enough to realize the connection to her vampirism, she had threatened to bite both parents for real, and promptly changed it to something a little less...stupid. Then, upon reaching majority, she'd gone to court and had it changed legally. There had been some satisfaction in that, but she still couldn't go out for lunch when most people did, and had to live with the infuriating social compost of vampire-lit.

That's how she saw it, anyway. Her friends told her she was a terminal grouch and continued enjoying every vampire story they could find.

Meloria Westfall, as she now signed her checks, was a night clerk (ha! imagine that!) at the convenience store two blocks from her apartment. She hated it. Not for the reasons one might expect, however. She wasn't worried about the kind of people who wandered in at crazy hours of the night and early morning, and the pay was actually rather good. No, she hated it because it wasn't what she felt she ought to be doing. "Overqualified" was an understatement, but getting work in her field of interest was next to impossible.

For one thing, there was the problem of food. The traditional lore about exclusively drinking blood was only partly false. She didn't exactly do that - she ate it. In the form of raw meat. One of the symptoms of her condition was the need to ingest raw animal protein, a practice that in the past had often resulted in a multitude of digestive disorders for most of her kind. The current trend toward organically raised beasties, however, had made life much better, if no less weird.

The family's holiday table was usually piled high with freshly-killed poultry, just-slaughtered beef or venison, and fruit. Yup. Fruit. Lots and lots of fruit. They all spent a great deal of time in the bathroom on most days. Which was yet another problem with the kind of job she really wanted to do. Lunch would become a horror-show for fellow-employees, and the number of bathroom breaks required would never be tolerated. So she worked at the convenience store two blocks from her apartment.

Valentine's Day was just around the corner when Meloria decided she hated that, too. It had never been a favorite, but had suddenly become intolerable. All those hearts - they weren't even shaped like real ones, for goodness sake! And the number of guys who bought those cheap, perfume-spritzed fake roses was downright staggering.

The week before V-Day, she was busy restocking cigarettes under the counter when she heard someone clear his throat, and she looked up. A man who was approximately I'm-way-older-than-I'll-ever-admit years old was standing there with one of those freaking roses, eyebrows raised with some generic brand of impatience.

"May I help you?" Meloria asked sweetly, refusing to look at the offending rose-wannabe.

"Well, uh, yeah." He thrust the object of her disgust right under her nose.

She winced involuntarily. "Oh. Er, just that, then?"

"No, I also need a pack of Dunhill cigarettes - blue box."

An almost imperceptible flare of her nostrils was the only indication that she was mere nanoseconds away from finding out how raw human meat tasted. Dunhill. Imported, expensive as hell, and all he could offer some poor (and obviously confused) girlfriend was a chintzy convenience-store fake rose? She nodded and took a deep breath as an alternate possibility occurred to her.

"The Dunhills are part of the gift?"

He blinked.

"Never mind." She blinked back, her gorgeous cobalt-blue eyes glinting with a fury that contradicted her smile. "Blue box." She ducked down behind the counter, coming back up a moment later with the item, and placed it with exaggerated care on the counter. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Nah, that's it. Think she'll like this?"

Meloria was about as close to speechless as she'd been since her birthday - her first one.

"I got her a stuffed bear last year, and she didn't seem too happy with it," he continued, pulling his wallet from a back pocket.

"It isn't real," she managed, her voice tight.

"Well, no, but she has really bad allergies. I just hope the crappy perfume on this thing doesn't bother her." He lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and made a face that echoed Meloria's earlier wince.

Allergies? Had she been wrong about the guy after all? "Uh, is that all you're giving her?"

"Nope. Got her a car, too." A huge grin followed, and he suddenly didn't seem like such a - a putz.

"A new one?!"

"Of course. No point in putting a big ol' bow on some used piece of garbage, right?"

Speechlessness settled over Meloria for yet a second time. She nodded, took the rose, scanned it; she scanned the cigarettes, too, told him the total, and took his credit card.

"Hey, mind if I ask you a question?"

"You, er, just did."

He laughed. "Right. Another one, then."

"Sure."

"What, um, what's up with your eyes?"

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "I've never seen - they almost don't look human. They're too...too blue and, and luminous, I guess. Are you wearing contacs?"

"No. I'm a vampire."

The Speechless Bug leapt off Meloria, crawled over the counter, and attacked the customer.

She grinned, handing him back his card. The cigarettes and rose went into a white plastic bag, which she gave him as she said, "Have a great night!"

He took the bag, relaxing as he seemed to make up his mind that she was just kidding, and bid her good night in return. As he went out the door, she could swear she heard him mutter "Vampire, my ass..."

She was still laughing when her manager came out into the store from the stock room.

"Should I be alarmed?" he asked drily, sounding ominously like Alan Rickman without the accent.

"Why? Because I'm amused about something for a change?"

"Hmm."

"It's nothing."

He frowned at her for a few seconds, then pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his ample chest. "You told someone else you're a vampire, didn't you."

"I did."

"Meloria. Really."

She shrugged. "Some people can't handle the truth, I guess."

"You can be such an ass sometimes."

"Bite me."

He gave her a narrow stare. "Not funny." Shaking his head, he went to the coffee urns and checked their contents. "So tell me, Mel," he said over his shoulder, "why are you working here if you hate it so much?"

"It's not my calling."

"Your calling?" He turned around, smirking, and rolled his eyes. "So what is? Are you a closet rocket scientist or something? I keep asking, but you always avoid giving me a straight answer."

"Hold on." She ducked down again and finished putting the last of the cigarette packs away.

"By the way - "

Meloria contained a shriek. He had leaned over the counter and was mere inches from her face. "Personal space?"

He straightened. "Sorry. As I was saying, vampire girl, would a stake through the heart kill you?"

Some people..."A stake through the heart would kill anyone, you idiot."

"Yes, but isn't that the only thing that would work on you? That and daylight."

She had told him about her condition when she'd applied for the job, listing it on her application as the medical anomaly that it was. At first, he'd thought she was playing a prank, but after further consideration - after all, she was twenty-two and actually looking for work - realized how silly that was, and they'd talked at length about it. Despite her explanations, though, he'd never been able to completely shake his pre-programmed beliefs about vampires.

"Look, maybe if I say it very slowly you'll get it this time." She wasn't afraid he'd fire her for being rude, knowing full well she was probably the only person around for miles who honestly wanted the late shift. "Daylight doesn't hurt me. It just hurts my eyes. If you cut my throat, or - or rip out a lung, or if I get brain cancer or something, I DIE! Just like everyone else, okay? And I don't drink blood, I don't go around biting people in the neck, I can give a wicked hickey without killing the guy I gave it to, and I can't control your mind or turn into a bat. I also don't sleep in a coffin, I happen to love garlic, and I can enter someone's house without being invited. Anything else? Are you smarter than a second-grader? Come on, Toby! We handled all this stuff months ago!"

He took a slow, deep breath, nodding. "I know, kid. Sorry. But I gotta tell you - your eyes really freak me out sometimes, especially like now, when you're kind of upset about something."

"Why?"

"Because they glow, sweetie. You, er, can see your own reflection, yes?"

"Yes, you nit. I'm not dead."

"And you never noticed how your eyes get, like, I don't know, back-lit when you're emotional?"

She shook her head, wondering vaguely if he was just pulling her chain. "No. But maybe that's because looking at my reflection is normally not the first thing I think to do when I'm upset. I mean...I'm not like, 'You've upset me terribly, you horrible person! Now I have to go look at myself!' Know what I mean?"

"Good point. But still."

"If I find out you're making that eye thing up, I will bite you in the neck. Or, no...ew! Never mind. But I might throw something at you."

Toby chuckled. "All right - truce. And I'm not making it up. So what would you rather be doing? Really."

"Well, I have a Master's Degree - "

"What? Why isn't that on your resume or application?"

"Because I didn't think you'd hire me; you know - the whole 'overqualified' thing?"

"Probably right."

"Anyhow, I have a Master's in Genetic Science. I figured if I could work in that field, I might one day find a cure for what people like me have." She gave him a one-shouldered shrug.

"Makes sense. Your folks have it too, right? Guess it must bother you terribly sometimes."

"All the time."

Before Toby could respond, both glass doors were pushed open with the kind of violence that only those with evil intentions would employ. Two individuals in dark green ski masks rushed into the store and up to the counter, guns drawn.

"Touch the alarm button, and it'll be the last thing you ever do!" one of them yelled, peppering the sentence with more than one four-letter adjective.

Toby, eyes so huge with fear that he looked like a chameleon for a few seconds, raised his hands and backed away from the counter until he was stopped by the back wall.

"You, too," the second man said, only his demand ended with another, very nasty, word. He waved his gun at Meloria, nodding at her to move backward.

"Are you nuts?" she asked quietly. "And what do you think this is? The Jerry Springer Show? Don't you dare talk to me like that!"

They looked at each other, their incredulity obvious even with their faces covered.

And in that momentary lapse of concentration on their dirty deed, Meloria shoved Toby to the floor, hissing at him to stay down, and bounded over the counter in a single, cat-like leap. The men had been standing very close to said counter, so both of them were knocked backward to the floor with the momentum of her jump.

"Bastards!" she growled, going to one knee by their feet, and raised a hand.

To the total disbelief of the two, her fingernails lengthened into thick, black talons. "Move so much as an inch," she whispered, "and you'll both be eunuchs long before you can fire those guns."

Their only response was heavy breathing, and not the kind associated with an obscene phone call.

Satisfied, she called out, "Toby! 911! Now!"

The sound of the manager scrambling about on the floor trying to regain his feet joined the rasps of fear emanating from behind the ski masks. A few seconds later, voice shaking, he was talking to the 911 Operator.

Meloria really didn't want her boss to see the other symptom of her condition, the only one that she hadn't told him about, so positioned both hands out of view but uncomfortably close to the would-be perpetrators' family jewels, her smile wicked.

By the time the police came along, one of the men had wet himself, the other had hyperventilated and passed out. Upon the entrance of the officers, Meloria's claws retracted. She stood, glad to be done with her part, and joined Toby by the Slurpee machine.

"How can you be so calm?" the man asked, still quaking with residual fear.

"No point in wigging out."

"Well, all I can say is, I hope you never quit - you told me you could move fast, but hell! And - and you're incredibly brave. Thank you."

She turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"I don't know, for saying that. It was nice."

The two men had been hauled out to the police cruisers by this time, and the remaining officers approached Meloria and Toby, their electronic clipboards activated and ready to take their statements. The whole process was quicker than the girl had expected, and she was back to stocking shelves in no time. Only now, as she worked, she was smiling.

It had finally occurred to her that maybe her life really wasn't irrelevant after all.

~Two~

 

The social life of a vampire is, understandably, somewhat limited. Flirting isn’t a problem, nor is getting someone to flirt back. That part is no different for the vampire than it is for any other human being. Well, unless the vampire in question is tragically ugly, has chronic flatulence, or displays the social graces of a pissed-off Tasmanian devil. Again, the same as for those not afflicted with the vampire gene.

The real problem, alas, lies with keeping the new acquisition around once the vampire’s nature is discovered and/or explained. Sadly, most people labor under the same misconceptions about this disorder as they do about so many others that are basically harmless to them. After all, if you touch a person who has warts, you won’t automatically become warty. It’s gross, sure, but not contagious. If you kiss someone with a heart condition, you won’t get it, too (unless the experience is unusually horrendous and your own heart spazzes out in disgust). Well, the same holds true in the case of vampirism. But because of the hype in both book and movie form, most people expect to get bitten once they find out the cute whoever they’re dating is a vampire.

Really? Then why didn’t the vampire bite that person before confessing his/her true nature? Eh? That would certainly make more sense. And those who do comprehend that the vampire thing is a genetic problem, still get worried over being “turned” and start whining about how they don’t want to have to get a night job.Because of all this, Meloria wasn’t dating anyone. The last guy who’d shown any interest claimed to be fine with her condition for four dates; on the fifth one, Mel went to the ladies’ room at the restaurant/bar they were in, only to return in time to hear him telling some random guy at the next table that his poor girlfriend was a bit whackadoo, believing herself to be a vampire, and that he was putting up with it until he could get her into bed. Then she’d find out who…he muttered something that included the word “sucking” and Meloria came really close to introducing him to that other symptom waiting impatiently in her fingertips.

Instead, she found their waiter, told him that her date was also paying for everyone’s bar tabs, and snuck out the back door while he was still regaling the random guy with his plans for her.

The guy before that had been way too enthusiastic about her condition, making it clear that he really didn’t get that she wasn’t a Hollywood-type vampire. He started to get obsessive about her, so she decided to dump micro-glitter all over herself, purchase fake vampire teeth, and go to his apartment at four in the morning to scare the living snot out of him. He might have laughed at her efforts had her eyes not been glowing, but since she didn’t realize that was happening, was convinced her vampire get-up had been what caused him to pee himself and then scamper out of the room on all fours, totally unable to find the strength to simply run away.

Had she owned a social calendar, it would have emitted the lonely sound of crickets every time she opened it. But did she mind? Did the lack of a love-life even remotely disturb this strong-willed, self-assured young lady? Did the fact that her friends were numbered in single digits, or that she could only see them for brief intervals after the sun went down, mean anything of any significance to her? Uh, yeah. A whole lot more than she was willing to admit, actually.

Out of necessity, her parents had home-schooled her (she was the only kid she knew who took classes at night). The obvious consequence of this was loneliness. Her parents did their best to keep her entertained, but there was wasn't much they could do with a child at night without getting investigated for having her up and out so late.They’d tried taking her to the park so she could play on the swings and such, but a policeman had come by the first time, wanting to know why she wasn’t home in bed. After convincing him that they were trying to wear her out so she’d fall asleep, they decided they probably couldn't pull that excuse off a second time. So they’d gone to a different park about a week later, but discovered that it became a recreational club for stray dogs once all the humans had abandoned it for the night. The only way they'd been able to scramble back over the fence without getting torn apart, was by all three of them snarling insanely at the beasts while threatening them with terrifying objects like Mel’s shoe and her mother’s purse. After that, they confined themselves to the back yard and hoped none of the neighbors suffered from insomnia.

Currently, her life mainly consisted of work, food, and sleep. She did have that small group of really good friends, though, which while few in number, were greatly supportive. They were “night people,” individuals who were more alert during the wee hours than they were during the day. Most of the year she was okay with the way her life was going, but several holidays that were on her Days I Could Do Without list caused her to dread certain seasons. Halloween was one, because to her deep chagrin, all of her friends made a gigantic deal about her condition, saying it was “her night” and that she could not only dress the part, but play it for real. What the hell did that mean? she found herself wondering on a yearly basis.

Another was Valentine’s Day. Why? Obvious. She’d never been anyone’s “valentine,” and wasn’t even sure she understood why the stupid holiday existed in the first place. Who in blazes was this St. Valentine, anyway? Did he invent those dumb little cheapie cards with their inane sayings, or maybe the chalky, gross heart-candies printed with sentiments that made less sense than the nonsense found in a fortune cookie? No, he was from a long-ago time when people didn’t send each other useless crap, sign it “Your Secret Admirer,” and hope the person would figure out the identity of the borderline stalker. She was pretty sure this Valentine character had had no idea that an entire day would be named after him, much less predict the silliness that would go along with it.

The evening after the attempted robbery, she stood in front of her mirror checking for zits. Since her complexion was always perfect, this was simply an attempt to find something about which to go “aha!” As always, only flawless skin peered back at her, and she sighed. Impulsively, she smiled a fake coquettish smile and batted her eyes at her reflection. “Be my valentine?” she asked in a simpering voice. Then she blew a raspberry at herself, muttered, “Stupid girl,” and turned away. She was already dressed for work, but really, really, really didn’t want to go. She’d signed on for a seven-night shift schedule because she literally had nothing else to do, but this one night she didn’t even feel like working. Toby was a cool boss, some of the customers – her regulars – were always nice for a quick chat, but overall, a long, horribly boring night stretched ahead and was sneering at her. No boyfriend again, eh?

She dragged herself into the kitchen and took her “breakfast” out of the fridge – a few slices of raw, organic veal pounded into thin cutlets that she’d rolled up with chopped apples in the middle. Orange juice and a cup of black coffee completed her repast; she munched without enthusiasm, washing it down with alternating sips of her two beverages. As her mind wandered around humming tunelessly to itself, it got careless and tripped over an image of her parents kissing.

They always had a good Valentine’s Day, didn’t they! she grumped silently. In fact, it was disgusting how cloyingly sweet they were to each other in February, what with her mother dropping gift hints that were about as subtle as a pie in the face. As for her father, well! He would act like he had no idea what she meant, but since his acting ability was on the same level as that of a catfish, his beloved wife would be overcome by giggling fits and Meloria would either have to leave the house or beat them to death with her mother’s heart-shaped cake pan. This year, she’d managed to avoid them completely during the Valentine season, and hoped that with only a few days left before the actual day, she’d escape having to see them behaving like teenagers in heat.

She finished her meal, cleaned up, and went out to the hall to get her purse and jacket. As she headed for the front door, a sly smile appeared on her face as an idea took hold and began to congeal. Surely she wasn’t the only person on the planet who hated Valentine’s Day – in fact, there were probably hundreds, maybe even thousands, who despised it as much as she did. Their reasons would be unimportant, of course, the only salient fact being their disdain for it. So…why not devise something that reflected those feelings? A kind of Anti-Valentine’s Day line of products – now this was an “aha!” moment worth noting!

The familiar walk through the evening darkness went quickly, her mind fully occupied with her new idea. The first “sacred cow” of Valentine’s Day that she’d go after was the candy. She’d have the pastel hearts in her inventory, only the messages on them would be antithetical where this holiday was concerned. On their powdery little surfaces would be words like, “Kiss My Ass,” “Be My Enemy,” “Drop Dead,” “Get Lost,” or (her favorite so far) “Bite Me.” Yesss! As for the dumb cards, they would be –

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. She stopped without turning around and said, “If you aren’t either someone I know, or someone looking for directions, I suggest you run far, far away.”

An obviously male individual cleared his throat before replying, and she crossed her arms, still refusing to turn and look at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m neither. Uh, but I saw you walking along, apparently oblivious to the three guys following you half a block back, so I got out of my car and came over here to talk to you, hopefully discouraging them from trying anything.”

Meloria frowned – was this merely a clever ruse to…she mentally smacked herself for thinking words that sounded like a badly-scripted thriller and finally faced him. She swallowed, willing herself not to freak. He was flipping GORGEOUS! Her inner teenager started fanning itself with one hand as it squeaked, “ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!” Aloud she calmly asked, “Where? I don’t see them.”Of course you don’t! she yelled at herself. You’re only looking at him!

She tore her gaze away from his beautiful features and tried to look over his shoulder, but it was blocking her view, so she leaned sideways to peer around him. The words, “Damn, you smell good!” almost burst from her lips, but as she caught sight of three thuggish-looking individuals walking purposefully toward them, the words “Holy shit!” muscled past, making him glance quickly over his shoulder. “Holy shit, indeed,” he murmured, grabbed her arm, and propelled them forward. “Where were you going?”

“The Easy-Mart on the next corner.” She nodded unnecessarily at the glowing green sign ahead and wondered if this guy was actually a jerk in real life. She hoped not.

“Oh – you work there, then?”

“Yeah – how did you kn- ”

“Nametag. Your jacket is open.”

“Oh, right.”

The footsteps of the three youths behind them had grown louder, indicating how much closer they were. “Objects in Eardrums are Closer Than They Sound,” her mind babbled. She was terrified – not of being attacked, but of what she would do to them if they did, which would probably send Mr. Magnificent screaming off into the night.

Meloria and her yummy rescuer reached the parking lot before breaking into a dead run, realizing they would otherwise be overtaken by the three youths. Once inside, she grabbed the store phone from behind the counter and put it to her ear; the trio was standing outside, leering at her through the glass, but when she gave them a significant stare and pointed at the phone, they proved that stupidity didn’t always accompany bad behavior, and left. She heaved an audible sigh, replaced the phone, and leaned back against the counter.

“You okay?” asked Eye Candy.

“Yeah – thanks. I really appreciate your help.”

He smiled, and she nearly asked if he would mind having is ear nibbled on. “I’m just glad nothing bad happened. You, uh…” he trailed off, seeming to lose the rest of his intended sentence as he took a more detailed look at her. He cleared his throat. “You…you know, you…look, I’m not…I seriously don’t make a habit of saying things like this to girls I don’t know, but you have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen.” And then he actually blushed, and Meloria had to hold herself back from doing, oh, maybe seven or eight very naughty things to him.

“How kind of you to say that,” she managed instead. Her voice was surprisingly free of huskiness, and she promised it a nice treat later for being so cooperative.

“Hey, it’s Vampire Girl!”

Because Meloria had had years of practice in controlling her temper, Toby would never know exactly how close to death he’d come that night.

Cute To The Hundredth Power regarded both of them with a frown that Meloria’s libido filed under “Ain’t That The Sexiest Thing You Ever Saw!” and put his head to one side. “Why would you call her that?”

“What – she didn’t tell you?” Toby shook his own head (again not realizing he was mere nonoseconds from not having one to shake) and chuckled as he made his way to the small door that gave him access to the other side of the counter.

“Tell me what?”

“TOBY!” Okay, that had come out a lot louder than she’d intended and she tried again. “Er, Toby, this lovely gentleman saved me from getting mugged on my way to work.” Lovely gentleman? What am I? Katherine Hepburn?

“Really!” The store manager lowered the empty cigarette cartons he was crushing and gave the young man a curious look. “How did you do that?”

“Wait – I’m sorry,” said Meloria. “I never introduced myself. I’m Meloria Westfall, and this is my boss, Toby Green.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he replied, grinning in a way that made her have to grip the counter behind her to keep from squirming. “I’m Melvin Carrington.” He put out a hand, which Toby leaned over the counter top to shake.

MELVIN?!?! You have GOT to be kidding me!!!! She nearly wept. Why was there always something screwy with every guy –

“Everyone calls me Mel, though.”

Hope made a cautious appearance on her horizon. “Really? That’s what everyone calls me, too!”

“Ha!” Toby slapped the counter with one hand. “Mel and Mel! Guess you guys have to start going out now!”

For a third time, Toby’s demise seemed pretty much inevitable. In fact, the only thing that saved him now was the way Mel(vin) was biting his lower lip and giving Mel(oria) a considering stare. A few seconds later the young man took a step closer to her and whispered, “What do you think?”

“About what?” The idea of jumping you right here in front of God, Toby and, well, God and Toby?

“Going out.”

A million – or some stupidly high number – objections started shouting at her, reminding her of this or that problem with going out with the guy, and she looked down at the floor to hide her sudden conflict. She told the raging crowd of nay-saying thoughts to shut the hell up so she could think, and stared at Mel(vin)’s shoes while another thought reminded her of what was filling those Nikes. Knowing how bad it could be to respond impulsively, she took a slow, deep breath, raised her gaze until it met his, and shook her head “no,” yet somehow heard her very own voice say, “Why not?” and angrily retracted the offer of a treat.

Immediately, the sun came out. Not really. Mel(vin) had smiled a huge, happy smile, and Mel(oria) thought she was going to go blind. Had this been a movie, sappy music would have slowly crescendoed from somewhere and the joyous couple would have shared their first, tender kiss.

“Did you clock in?” Toby was batting a thousand.

“Not yet.” You vile man.

“Oh, hey, sorry – you have to get to work and I’m holding you up.”

Melvin's apology yanked her mind away from the image of Toby being crammed into a leaf-shredder. “Not at all,” she said, wishing he was holding her, period.

“Yeah, I am. Here.” He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and removed a silver business card which he offered to her. “My cell number is the one on the right, under my email address. Please call me?”

“Sure.” She took the card, stopped herself from slipping it suggestively into her bra, and dropped it into her purse instead. “I will.”

“Cool.” He turned and went out, looking pleased; she wasn’t sure he’d heard the weak-kneed “Thank you” she called after him.

And then he was gone. She spun around and glared at Toby. “Not a word,” she warned, “not a syllable. Got that?”

The man raised both hands in a sign of surrender, but that didn’t stop him from uttering a close-mouthed snort of laughter. Near-fatal moment number five. She heard a distant Dracula muppet go, "Five! Five near-fatal moments! Ha, ha, ha!" Meloria groaned and went to the back to clock in.

Another thought assaulted her as she was shoving her card into the punch-clock, a thought that reminded her in a taunting kind of way that Valentine’s Day was almost upon her, and that maybe this year she wouldn’t be all alone. Then it elbowed her in the ribs, winked, and wandered off, chortling.

She sighed, decided that none of this was going to prevent her from looking into the Anti-Valentine’s Day concept, and then wondered how this other Mel was going to react when she told him about her condition.

~Three~

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” asked Meloria. She was sitting on the pool deck at her friend Carlina’s house, basking in the light of a full moon. Through the open French doors behind her came strains of Enya, which normally drove her crazy – she couldn’t stand New Age music in any form, and had once told her friend that if she played “Orinoco Flow” one more time, the only thing that was going to flow was blood. Carlina’s, to be exact. Her friend had laughed heartily, knowing Meloria well enough to be amused and nothing more by the threat. On this evening, though, the irritating melodies simply oozed around her, meaningless, and yes, she was smiling.

“Like someone with a really delicious secret,” said Carlina who was sitting next to her on another folding deck lounger.

“Hmm. No.”

“What? You are, too, you brat! What aren’t you telling me?”

Mel’s smile became a grin, one she realized she absolutely could not control. “Shut up, Car.”

The other girl gasped, swung her legs off the side of the lounger, and sat up. “Mel! You met someone, didn’t you!”

“Who, me? Vampirella? Come on, you know that isn’t possible.” She almost giggled.

“No, I don’t! Why do you always sell yourself short? I mean, fine, you can’t go out in the daylight, and you have gross food needs, but you’re gorgeous, have a figure even I’d kill for, and any guy who could keep up with you should count himself lucky to even be in your presence!"

Mel sighed, giving her friend a fond smile. “You’re a trip, you know that?” Her momentarily controlled expression disintegrated once more into its former grin-self. “But you’re right.”

“Ha! Ha! I KNEW it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“Are you telling me you knew it?”

“I am, indeed. Ha!” She jumped up and headed inside. “This calls for something besides soda,” she called over her shoulder.

Mel had a sudden flash of Mel(vin)’s face looking simultaneously horrified and incredulous because he’d just learned the girl he thought was so wonderful had a bizarre genetic disorder…“Something besides soda, eh? Like what – hemlock?” she muttered. Then much louder, “I’m fine with soda!”

“What?”

“I said - ”

“Can’t hear you, hon! Hold on!”

“Grr.” Yes, she growled. This simply wouldn’t do. Getting up, she walked quickly into the house before her friend could get back with the drinks, hoping to stop her.

Too late. Carlina had taken out two shot glasses. Both were already filled from a bottle of Glenlivet she’d swiped ages ago from her father’s liquor cabinet, and two bottles of icy cold beer sat beside them, one of which she was emptying carefully into a pilsner glass.

“Aw, come on, Car, don’t you think you’re going a bit far with this?”

The other girl looked up from what she was doing. “Are you kidding? God, Mel, when’s the last time you even had a date? And when - ” she paused to finish pouring, making sure the foam didn’t overflow, “when was the last time you had a date on Valentine’s Day, or even close to it?”

“Hmm, let’s see…” She leaned forward on the breakfast bar, propping her chin in her hands. “Uh, never?”

On the other side of the bar, Carlina started to fill the other glass. “That’s exactly right, my pale friend. Never. And that is why we’re celebrating!”

“But we haven’t even had a date yet. Which means I haven’t had a chance to tell him anything, and I – what? Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing. You remind me of Edward when – ”

“Oh, no, you don’t! I assume the Edward to whom you refer is not Scissorhands?”

“Why won’t you watch ‘Twilight’? Even if you hate it, at least you’ll know what we’re all talking about most of the time. Here.” She pushed a shot glass and the beer closer to Mel. “So what’s his name?”

“His name.” She took a quick, deep breath and downed the shot of whiskey, buying time. “Ack! I forg…” she choked out, and after making a number of grotesque faces, tried again. “I forgot how awful that stuff tastes! Yuk!”

“It’s very expensive.”

“And I’m sure you and your dad find it mahvelous, dahling, just mahvelous! But you and your dad are normal human beings who don’t subsist almost exclusively on fruit juice and coffee.” She shook her head quickly and shuddered as the liquid sent her esophagus into heat shock.

“I’ve seen you drink wine, so what’s the big deal?”

“Spritzers, Car. Wine spritzers. Wine diluted with soda. Not hard liquor. Blagh!” She grabbed the beer and guzzled almost half of it to cool her throat. Beer was okay, too, once in a while.

Carlina gave her friend a pitying look. “I don’t know – you can dress ‘em up, but ya can’t take ‘em drinking.”

“And who is ‘them’ if I may ask?”

“Vampires, of course. Silly.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah, well, you still haven’t told me his name.”

Oh, lord, that again. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Why not? Think it’ll jinx things?”

Mel frowned. “Jinx…what are you talking about? I’m not naming a new pet or having a kid or something. The reason I don’t want to tell you is, well, because his name is kinda dorky. I mean, he’s not, but his name is.”

Carlina leaned closer. “Ooh, now we’re getting somewhere! Tell me first what he looks like, then.”

A dreamy smile lit up Meloria’s features, her eyes seeing something far nicer than her surroundings. “He’s tall – in fact, he’s got to be at least six-four. I’m six feet and the top of my head barely reaches his shoulder. He seems to be sorta buff, but he’s also slim – ”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don’t. I haven’t exactly seen him without his clothes on,” she said, as the word “yet” seemed to float in the air somewhere between the top of Mel’s head and the ceiling. “And, yeah, he’s…Car, he’s beautiful! Blue-green eyes, dark lashes, incredible features, dark hair…” She ran out of descriptives and heaved an audible sigh.

“Wow.”

A silence of near-reverential proportions overtook them. For Meloria, the moment was the first of its kind in her life, and she really wished the practical side of her would quit poking her with its common-sense stick. Feeling like someone with a multiple-personality disorder, she drifted between story-book visions of her dancing with him on a ballroom floor, both of them dressed like some kind of royalty, and the mental image of him backing away in disgust as she pleaded with him to give her a chance…

“How did you meet?”

“Huh? Um, well, I was walking to work, and he saved me from being jumped by three guys.”

Carlina goggled for a second. “You say that so…so nonchalantly! Holy cow, Mel! You nearly got mugged?”

“Yeah, right.”

Her friend knew what she meant – she’d witnessed Meloria’s transformation once when their little group had gotten into an argument with another group who tried cutting the ticket line at a play; at first, there had been quiet outrage, but this was soon followed by the offenders suddenly turning very nasty and threatening to beat the dead skin cells off of Mel and her friends. One of them pulled a switch blade, and Meloria, her eyes glittering in that scary way she didn’t seem to know she had, did a Crocodile Dundee on them. She actually said, “That’s not a deadly weapon – now these…are deadly weapons!” She'd raised her hands, displaying a terrifying set of long, black talons, drew one hand back to strike out, and the group of baddies had shrieked like little girls and run away. Then, as her friends watched, the talons had retracted, Meloria took a slow, deep breath, and said, “Well! That was stimulating!”

After that, none of the three guys in their circle felt the need to worry a whole lot about the girl they had formerly considered poor, defenseless Meloria. Thinking briefly about the incident, Carlina realized that her friend’s “rescuer” had in reality saved the three would-be muggers, and she chuckled.

“You think it’s funny, do you?”

“Sorta. So what happened?”

Mel shrugged. “He walked me – no, we ran, I think – anyhow, he came into the store with me, the idiots chasing us stood outside leering at me for a few minutes, but then I showed them that I was on the store phone and made it obvious I was calling the police, so they took off.”

“What did Toby think of all that?” She took a sip of beer.

“Toby! What a troll! The first thing he said was, ‘Hey, it’s Vampire Girl!’ I sooo wanted to hurt him! Then he kept saying stuff, like, ‘didn’t she tell you?’ and ‘you guys have to go out…’ Huh. That one had to do with his name.” She paused, her friend raising her shot glass like a salute and knocking it back in one gulp.

“Okay, I’m ready – what’s his name?” Carlina rasped, proving the liquid’s price didn’t stop it from being any smoother for her than it had been for Meloria.

“If you laugh, Car…”

“Never.”

“Don’t say that. You know you…fine. Melvin.”

Carlina’s eyes bugged slightly, giving her that urban lemur look her friend had grown accustomed to seeing whenever something bizarre happened – or when she was trying not to laugh hysterically.

“He said everyone calls him ‘Mel,’ okay?” Mel grated, hoping to ward off the worst.

“Me – heeh.” Carlina grabbed her beer and tried to drink it, but only succeeded in spitting it out all over the counter, drooling what was left in her mouth back into the glass.

“Oh, gross!” Mel shouted. “And you say what about my food requirements?”

The other girl put up one finger, obviously unable to speak, and dashed off to the bathroom.

Defeated, Mel headed back outside with her beer. She stared up at the moon for a few minutes, happy in its fragile, borrowed light, and thought about Melvin. Two days had passed since the almost-mugging incident, and she still hadn’t called him. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t even looked at his business card. Why? Probably because daydreaming about the possibilities was so much less threatening than trying to bring them to pass. She knew she’d have to tell him about herself right away, and knew, too, that she was procrastinating out of pure fear of his reaction.

“Bummer, Dude,” she murmured, quoting her hippie father. Her purse was on the ground next to the lounger; biting her lower lip, she put her glass on the ground, picked up her purse, and pulled out the shiny silver card. “Huh – that’s different. Who uses silver business cards?” She shrugged and raised it slightly to the light, barely making out the words printed on its surface in spidery black letters. “Well, what d’ya know… ‘Gothic Gems’… ‘Silver, Platinum and White Gold Jewelry for Role-Playing, Renaissance Fairs, and Night Pursuits’… What? What do they mean by ‘night pursuits’? Do I really want to know?”

Below these lines was the address, website, store e-mail address, and the words “Brian Cullen, Owner/Proprietor,” and below that, “Seriously. That’s My Real Last Name.” Meloria cackled. On the very bottom left was printed “Mel Carrington, Sales Representative,” and on the bottom right, an e-mail address with a phone number under it. His number, he’d said.

She heard Carlina doing something in the kitchen and figured this would be as good a time to call as any. She’d been somewhat fortified with alcohol, her friend was right there for support, and – she gritted her teeth and took out her cell phone. After a final moment of hesitation, she punched in the number, put the phone to her ear, and waited. And waited. And waited. At last, a canned voice-mail recording told her that the party she was trying to reach was unavailable, and to please leave a message at the tone, blah, blah, blah. When the beep…beeped, she bit the proverbial bullet and said, “Hey. Uh, Mel. This is, this is Mel. Heh. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner, and if you don’t remember who I am, no sweat. Give me a call if you’d like – you have my number now, so, yeah. Bye.”

She hung up, stuffing the card in a back pocket of her jeans, feeling like a complete dweeb. God, how she hated leaving recorded messages! She always felt awkward, and knew her words reflected that fact. Not that she could do anything about it now, she told herself, dropping the phone back into her purse. Which was the exact moment when her ring tone signalled an in-coming call.“Crap!” Fumbling a little, she managed to retrieve it before it stopped playing the silly music pre-programmed into its circuits and quickly pressed the “answer” key without looking to see who it was. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mel! It’s Mel.”

What a soothing, deep voice he had, her melting psyche whispered. “Uh..oh. Hey!”

“Sorry I didn’t pick up when you called. I didn’t recognize the number, so I waited to see if the caller left a message, and you did, so, I called back.”

Perfectly logical. “Okay.”

“So…what’s up?”

Oh, right! I called him first! “I, um, you asked me, I mean, you gave me your card, and – wow. I sound like a blithering social pariah.”

He laughed, and what was left of her psyche completed its transition into a meaningless puddle. “No you don’t. I mean, we don’t really know each other, so it’s hard to think of something to say that doesn’t come across as stupid or whatever, yes?”

“Yes. Uh, I mean, you’re right.” She cleared her throat and lowered herself onto the lounger, which chose that moment to stop functioning as a lounger and instead became an accordion. She uttered an involuntary shriek as the thing folded up with her in it, which brought Carlina running outside in a panic.

“Oh, my god! Mel! What are you doing?”

“Getting squished by your chair, it would seem,” she managed, struggling to extricate herself, and succeeding only in making it tip over, whereupon the phone flew from her hand and into the pool. From her sideways position on the ground, she observed the tiny splash; without even trying to get up, she groaned and said, “Please shoot me.”

Carlina, meanwhile, was doubled over with laughter, part of her obviously wanting to help her friend, the other part working overtime to re-establish a pattern of breathing.

“Never mind,” Mel whimpered. “I’ll just stay like this. It’s better this way, I think…”

Several minutes later Carlina, once again in control of herself, sidled toward her stricken friend. “Um, are you going to kill me?” she asked in a small voice.

Meloria, who still hadn’t moved despite a growing ache in the shoulder that was pressed against the cement, said, “No, Car. There’s no point. My life is over anyway. But I would appreciate it if you’d give me a hand here. And then, after you honor my request to shoot me, please shoot this chair. It really doesn’t deserve to live.”

Still a bit unsure, Carlina bent down and tugged at the back of the lounger, opening it enough for her friend to pull herself free. She straightened and backed up a few feet, surprised Mel wasn’t at least yelling at her.

“Thank you,” said Mel, smoothing the front of her sweater. She walked the two steps to the side of the pool and peered down into its shimmery blue depths. Why on earth her friend had water in the pool at this time of year was beyond her – maybe she liked the smell of chlorine – but it hardly mattered. Had it been empty, the phone would have been smashed when it hit the bottom anyway. She sighed. It had been an expensive piece of technology that she’d neglected to get insured, and replacing it would be difficult.

Not wanting to startle her friend for fear she might fall in, too, Carlina cleared her throat very gently.

Mel turned. She raised an eyebrow. She rubbed her shoulder while shrugging the other.

Carlina gave her a confused look. “Are you trying to say something?”

“Do you know who I was talking to when the chair decided to eat me?”

“Uh…no?”

“Mel. I think the last thing he heard after my blood-curdling scream and before the splash, were the words, ‘squished by your chair, it would seem.’ Tell me – if you’d heard that, what would you think of the person saying it?”

Completely at a loss, Carlina shrugged both shoulders. How should she answer that without inspiring wild rage in her friend?

“Well,” said Mel, “personally, I would think that person was, a) slightly insane, b) the world’s biggest loser, or c) trying to avoid a conversation with me.”

“Or, d) was hurt and needed help.”

“I need help…yup. I’m sure he’s convinced of that.”

“Aw, come on, Mel, that isn’t what I meant. Anyhow, why don’t you call him back from my phone and let him know you’re okay. He might be worried.”

“About what? That he’d given his phone number to a whacko?” She barked out a sour laugh. “Ha! If he still agrees to see me again after this, can you imagine his reaction when he finds out that on top of being randomly uncoordinated, I’m a freaking vampire?! Oh, he’ll want to introduce me to all of his friends and family, for sure, then!”

Carlina crossed her arms and tapped one foot, beginning to look annoyed. “You really need to stop that. You had an accident, it wasn’t your fault, and you’re making him suffer? Obviously, the guy likes you – don’t delete him like that. It isn’t fair.”

Meloria walked slowly past her friend and into the house, where she threw herself – carefully – onto the sofa in the living room. When she could sense Carlina hovering over her she said, “You’re right. May I use your phone, please?”

Controlling a whoop of joy, Carlina went to fetch her phone; while she was gone, Mel closed her eyes, saw herself as she must have looked when the lounger collapsed, and burst out laughing. A video of that put up on Youtube would have netted a huge number of hits…She pulled herself together in time to take the phone from her astonished friend’s hand, took the card from her pocket, and called Mel back, hoping this time, it would go a little better.

~Four~

He’d wanted to take her to lunch. When she’d balked, using her late-night schedule as the first excuse that came to mind, he had offered dinner and a movie. That would still mean her needing to get up way too early, so she’d suggested the beach after work. Since her hours were 9:00 pm until 5:00 am, he would have to get up at 4:00 in the morning, pick her up from work and have only about two hours with her before she had to get home.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” she told him, hearing his sigh of frustration. “See, I have…well, I have this unusual medical condition, and if I’m out after sunrise, I could go blind.” She frowned, wondering how he’d take that.

“Really? Huh. What kind of condition would do that?”

Carlina had excused herself as soon as Mel had begun talking; biting her lower lip, Mel sat straighter on the sofa and stared blankly at the large, empty room. How could she answer that without getting into the details. “What are you doing right now?”

“Getting ready to take a shower and go to bed.”

Why did he have to tell her that? Her mind, grinning wickedly, conjured up an image of him standing in nothing but his skin while water slid sensuously down his…

“Aha! I see! I mean, I don’t really see, I understand. Yeah. I’m babbling. Look, I guess what I’m trying to say here is…could you come over? Now? I really need to talk to you. There’s, er, something I have to tell you, but I refuse to discuss it over the phone.”

“Are you a felon or something?”

Meloria’s brows shot heavenward. “A what?! Oh, God, no! Nothing like that! It has to do with my medical problem.”

On the other end, Mel seemed to have stopped breathing. “Is…is it…something…contagious?” he finally asked, and she could actually hear him wincing.

“No, Mel.” She smiled, relieved to be able to say that honestly. “It’s a genetic disorder, something I inherited from my parents, and nothing you could possibly catch. In fact, it’s more of an inconvenience than anything else, and in no way life-threatening.” Unless you try to hurt me, she added silently.

“Ah. Sorry. Um, sure. What’s your address?”

As soon as she’d hung up, she’d shouted to Carlina that she had to get home, raced out to her car, and zoomed home in record time. An officer in his police cruiser saw her speed past, but he recognized her car and decided to ignore it. He was still recovering from the last time he’d pulled her over.

Since she lived so close to the convenience store and was able to use that as a point of reference, he found her apartment with no difficulty. Fortunately, she was a rather tidy individual and had little to straighten up, and a good thing, too, since she’d only beat him there by a few minutes. At the sound of his knock (there was no buzzer on the downstairs door – a security risk that had enabled her to talk the landlord into a slightly lower rent), she took a few fortifying breaths, told herself to stop reacting like a twelve-year-old at a school dance, and opened the door.

“Come in,” she said brightly, wanting very badly to touch him. Instead, she stepped back, and he went past her into the living room.

“Wow, nice,” he remarked, looking around.

“Thanks. Have a seat.”

He parked himself on one of the two chairs facing the sofa, she sat in the other one, and they turned sideways in order to face one another. She took a deep breath, knowing that the best way to deal with this was to be direct. She forced herself to stop staring at various parts of his anatomy and get serious – this might be the last time she would ever see him, but better that than get any deeper into it, only to scare him off later when it would really hurt.“I have…I’m a vampire.”

His eyes got bigger, but he said nothing, so she continued.

“Not like in the books, but there’s no other way to describe what I have because of the symptoms. See, the worst side-effect is ocular photo-toxicity. That means sunlight is toxic to my retinas, and if exposed to even normal daylight, my eyes will literally burn, and I’ll be permanently blind. I can’t go outside in the daytime unless I’m really well-protected by a thick blindfold.” She shrugged, giving him an apologetic look, but he still wasn’t reacting, so she continued. “Because I get so little exposure to sunlight, my skin has built up no stores of melanin, and I get horrible sun-poisoning – a third-degree sunburn, in other words. Once in a while, something comes up that makes it imperative that I go out during the day, but when that happens, I have to cover myself up in addition to the blindfold, and I, er, borrow my friend’s seeing-eye dog to help me get where I have to go, unless one of my few friends happens to be available to go with me. Another side-effect of this disorder is the inability to process cooked food, especially anything that isn’t protein. I eat raw meat, you see, but also need a lot of fruit to aid in its digestion. I’m really not sure how that works, but to most people, my eating habits are really gross. I can go out to dinner, but have to order either sushi, or some kind of tartare. And I spend a great deal of time in the bathroom, also gross, but I need to tell you everything. Um, I’m also told, although I’ve never seen it myself, that my eyes glow when I’m pissed off. And one last thing. When I’m angry or very frightened and go into survival mode, my fingernails grow into black talons, which I can retract once the danger is past. There. That’s it. I felt I should let you know all of this so there would be no surprises if by some miracle you still wanted to see me again - ”

Her sentence was cut short when, with a sudden movement, he was kneeling beside her chair, his mouth over hers in a warm, very tender kiss. Amazing, noted the part of her mind that wasn’t overwhelmed. She’d honestly expected that sudden movement to be him tearing out of the room toward the front door.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes, his own crinkling at the corners, a pleasant complement to his smile. “You’re awesome,” he told her. “Anyone else with such a strange ailment wouldn’t have told me about it until much later, if at all. You’re honest and brave, and even if you weren’t already beautiful, your heart would make you beautiful to me.”

Meloria was unable to speak for a few minutes, but not because she couldn’t think of anything to say. She had too many thoughts and words trying to express themselves for any of them to push past a sudden verbal traffic jam and be vocalized. So she raised a hand and tenderly traced the side of his face with one finger, hardly believing that he hadn’t been repulsed by what she’d told him. He also appeared to have believed her, and she almost cried. A moment later they were kissing again, but this time it was somewhat less tender and a whole lot more passionate.

“Are you watching this, St. Valentine?” she asked silently, sinking further and further into bliss. As things progressed toward that forbidden point of no return, she thought of another word for her candy hearts: Mine!

Impressum

Texte: This work is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America, and may not in any manner or form be copied, quoted, or used in any way unless expressly permitted, in writing, by the author.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.02.2011

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