“I won’t,” she promised at once. “Y’know, my husband’s on the St. Paul City Council, and I could tell him . . .”
“You’ll put in a good word for me?”
“Sure.” She started to say something else, then cut herself off again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, we’re bonding over smoothies and I’m going to brag to everyone that I met a smoothie chef and you’re gonna tell your husband that I’m not a knuckle-dragging psychotic, so it’s all good. What is it?”
“Are you really?” She laughed again—I figured it might be a nervous tic—then added, “You’re, um. It’s daylight.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I started flipping through Smoothie Nation. Glorious, lots of color pictures and the recipes looked simple. “That happens during the day a lot.”
“But you’re a vampire.”
“Or crazy,” I reminded her. Then I got it. “Yeah, I’m out in sunlight. Or I would be, if I went outside. But I didn’t teleport here, so, yeah. I can be out in the daytime.” I shrugged. “Maybe don’t believe everything you read, either?”
“Or see on random YouTube vids,” she agreed. “That’ll be what gives you the most trouble.”
“Hmmm?” What’s this? Blackberry Creamsicle Smoothies? What a time to be alive!
“That you guys break the rules. That what people thought they knew about vampires was wrong.”
I looked up. Carol’s expression was troubled, but the good news was, she didn’t seem scared. Just worried. Possibly for me, even.
“Just my opinion,” she added.
“Yeah, well, it’s a good point.” It was, and I wondered that I hadn’t thought of it before. Scary news: vampires are real and always have been. Scarier: they have a hierarchy most people never noticed. Scariest: they’re a lot harder to kill than legend indicated. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
A quick knock, and the guy who lost the coin toss was back. “Smoothie Nation?”
Carol popped to her feet. “That’s me!” She turned back to me. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
“Oh, likewise. Good luck with your segment.”
“You, too. ’Bye, Betsy.”
“Good-bye, Carol.”
And then there was one. One with a wonderful new cookbook! And I figured as far as omens went, Carol was a good one. Which showed, once again, how much I suck at predicting the future.
CHAPTER
THREE
I followed him down a hall lined with poster-sized pictures of the KARE 11 on-camera gang, wondering if I should tease him about the cross around his neck. I’d never been here before; it’s possible that was his everyday jewelry. Yeah, better not assume everything always had something to do with me, and here came a couple of interns and they had crosses, too. I rolled my eyes and said nothing. (This might have something to do with me.)
Remember how nice Carol was, I reminded myself. I also realized that one way or the other, I’d be leaving the building in twenty minutes, so all I had to do was . . . eee-yikes! Why was it so cold in here?
Coin Toss Guy—wait—was he a sound guy? Probably should have paid more attention . . . Anyway, he was wiry and efficient and fast, had opened the big double doors, and we stepped into a room so large it was like a warehouse. Tall ceiling, lights everywhere, a kitchen set, a living room set, cords snaking all over the place, gigantic cameras everywhere, and, argh, so friggin’ cold! I instantly regretted my wardrobe choice of a knee-length skirt and short-sleeved sweater. I regretted not bringing a parka. Not the shoes, though. I never regretted the shoes.
A pretty young woman with short dark hair, dressed in business-casual dark pants, a red sweater, and black flats, hurried over to me. She shifted her tablet to her left hand, stuck out her right, and introduced herself as Deb, the producer.
“Pleased to meet you,” I managed, shaking her small, warm hand and trying not to let my fangs chatter. (Yeah, that was all I needed . . . please, please don’t let someone cut themselves in here. I had zero control over when my fangs came out; one snootful of blood and the game was over.)
She watched me trying not to tremble and looked worried. “Are you sensitive to cold because you’re a vampire?”
“No, I’m sensitive to cold because I understand the difference between hot and cold and it’s really, really cold in here.”
“Sorry,” she replied, trying (and failing) not to smile. “It’s for the equipment.”
“Your equipment’s made of ice?”
“No”—she sighed, steering me toward the middle of the floor, sidestepping cables without looking—“but it might as well be. Diana? Here’s Betsy Taylor.”
And oooh, there she was! It was so strange to see someone I’d been watching on TV for more than a decade walking up to me like a real person and everything. Smoothie Nation and now Diana Pierce! What a time to be undead!
“Hi, I’m Diana Pierce,” she said with a warm smile. Like a real person and everything. Like I didn’t know who she was! Oh my God. Was I a fangirl?
“I might be a fangirl,” was how I answered, because I’m a moron. But she laughed, thank God. Marc must never know of this, I vowed to myself.
“Well, we’re real glad you agreed to come on the show.” Unspoken: as opposed to something national, or international—CNN, maybe. “No matter your, ah, agenda.” Translation: whether you’re a vampire or just a crazy lady with terrific shoes—either way, ratings!
“I’m a local,” I replied, scampering behind her as we walked into the nearest set: low dark-wood table, love seat, easy chairs. Like someone’s living room, if their living room was in a freezing warehouse and had nothing out of place anywhere and unbelievably high ceilings. “I wanted to do a local interview.” And hopefully that’d be it. I’d admit my grotesque vampire nature, foiling Laura’s plan, there wouldn’t be any Antichrist drama, case closed. To be honest, I was amazed this hadn’t blown over yet. Americans weren’t known for our long attention spans. And why couldn’t we make smoothies during the interview? That would put me at ease and, also, fill my gullet with smoothies. Well, maybe I’d hit Orange Julius on the way home. I was entitled to a Julius, the week I’d— Nuts. Diana Pierce was talking to me.
“Well, this is pretaped, as you know.” She sat and made it look easy: not a gorgeous reddish brown beautifully cut hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her red suit, not a smudge on her eyeliner or her lipstick. Me, I was trying to keep the easy chair from gobbling my behind, I’d chewed off all my lipstick in the parking lot, and my sports bra was cutting into the skin under my boobs. One size fits all, my ass! “Anything you don’t like, or don’t want to answer, we can edit that out. As we told your assistant—”
Huh? Oh, right. Tina. She’d offered to come with, but unlike me, she couldn’t walk around in the daytime. The whole point was to put people at ease, which meant creeping around in the dark of night to get to an interview because otherwise my assistant would burst into flames was a bad plan. Besides, I wanted Diana Pierce to myself. I could always use a new bestie! (Note to self: never discuss this line of thinking with Jessica.)
“—it’ll air the day after tomorrow.”
“Great.” I was still trying to extricate myself from the maw of the chair without messing up my hair or dislodging my microphone. This could be the entire interview: Vampire Queen Devoured by Chair, Needs More Lipstick, Film at 11. “That’s fine.”
Finally, I was—well, not comfortable, exactly; I was too conscious of all the cameras and the lights, so many lights. And I could feel the stares from behind the lights. Was it just me, or were there people in the studio who had nothing to do with producing this segment? What, they needed all their receptionists and office personnel to be in here with Diana Pierce and me? And the custodians? And—hey! That guy didn’t even work here! He was the UPS guy! Why were they all in here wi
th Diana Pierce and me?
(Diana Pierce and me! If there was a reality show about Diana Pierce and me roaming the countryside solving mysteries, I would totally watch it.)
Not everyone was wearing crosses, at least, and I think the fact that I hadn’t hissed and clawed at the ones who were helped put people at ease. No one in here but us regular people; nothing special going on at all except for this chair, which was the furniture equivalent of a Venus flytrap.
Because that’s what I wanted. Not the chair—the attitude. The mind-set that I was a person, like all of them. I had dumb problems and good times, like them.
“Thirty seconds,” someone said, which didn’t bother Diana Pierce one bit, but made me wriggle. Who knew navigating chairs with a microphone cord snaking out of my sweater was so difficult? What if the cord got tangled around my neck and choked me? I wouldn’t die, but eyes bulging while clawing at my throat wasn’t a good look for TV. How do people on those talk shows make it seem like they’re just hanging out? I felt like the polar opposite of hanging out; I felt on display, like a zoo exhibit. See the bitchy vampire queen! Notice how she is uncomfortable away from her native kitchen and on the watch for apex predators!
“. . . three . . . two . . .”
What? Already?
“. . . one . . .”
Ack!
“And we’re back, talking this morning with St. Paul resident Betsy Taylor, who was outed a few weeks ago as an honest-to-God vampire. Yes, you heard that right.” She looked away from the camera, straight at me. “We can say God, right?”
“It’s your show,” I replied, and got a smile for that one. “Yes, of course. Vampires aren’t at all what people assume.” Except when they were.
“Given that most people assumed they weren’t real, I think you’re right.” Her dark eyes twinkled at me—or maybe that was just the lights. Did that mean my eyes were twinkling in a friendly way? Ooh, please make the lights look like I was twinkling in a friendly way. “How did this happen?”
“My half sister, Laura, knows I’m a vampire. She’s never approved. We’re . . .” In a power struggle, except she had no power. Not since I’d taken her spot in Hell away from her and, with that, her paranormal abilities.* So she was reduced, in the most pathetic way, to stirring up shit.
“Yes?”
I decided to be nice. “Well, families fight. She thought by telling the world I was a vampire, that’d cause trouble for me. I don’t think she gives society much credit.”
“So you never considered denying it.”
Sure I did. Then I thought better of it. It had taken Tina and Sinclair some time to come around, though. I hated playing the “STFU—I’m the boss of you” card so kept it at a minimum. Which meant when I did play the queen card, it made an impression. “No, I decided it was time people knew the truth. Vampires are real. We’re your moms and your sisters and your friends. And that’s it—there’s no sinister secret conspiracy. We’re real, we’ve always been around, nothing to see here.”
Diana Pierce snorted and it was glorious because even her snorts were elegant and professional. “I don’t know that I agree there’s nothing to see here. But you’re saying that historically speaking . . .”
“We’ve been around going back to the beginning,” I interrupted. “Yes. We’ve been living alongside humans for thousands of years. Nothing has changed from a month ago . . . except now people know we’re real.” I’d hoped that by pointing that out—hey, look! Nothing to be scared of!—we could get on with our lives. Vampires weren’t running the world. Well, not overtly. Not in a way anyone would notice.
“And you’re how old?”
“What a rude question, Diana Pierce!” She laughed. “I’m in my early thirties. Not every vampire is a thousand years old and rich and has a European accent and skulks in alleys.”
“So the queen of the vampires is young, for a vampire?”
Don’t preen. “Yes.”
“And why are you the queen?” Ah, a question for the ages. “Do you have elections?”
“No . . . vampire politics are tricky, and I’d rather not discuss that right now.” Translation: My rule was foretold, I’m Elizabeth the One, nothing to see here. I just didn’t want to get into all of that.
“Okay, no problem.” She instantly shifted ground. “Some people say that this is a hoax, the way people maintain the Undersea Folk—mermaids—aren’t real, either.”
“Well, some people think we didn’t really walk on the moon. Some people are asshats.” I paused. “Can I say asshat on TV?”
“On this station, yes. So what do you say about Undersea Folk? Are they real?”
“I’m not a mermaid,” I replied. “How would I know that?” They were real. Bitchy and horrible and in dire need of a good hair conditioner—at least the one I had met—and yes, very real. But I wasn’t here to talk about them.
“Well, can you prove you’re a vampire?”
“This isn’t an audition. I’m not here to prove anything. I’m just going on the record as not denying my sister’s claims.”
“You drink blood?”
“Yes.”
“How often? From whom?”
“Mostly donations, and every vampire’s appetite is different.” Hoo boy, that was the truth. Younger vamps could drain someone in twenty minutes. Naturally we frowned on that behavior. Older ones didn’t need it nearly so often. But we all craved it. Constantly.
I wasn’t about to mention that Sinclair and I preferred “donations” from asshats usually involved in assault or rape or attempted murder. When we went hunting, we always looked for the scumbags. People minding their own business? We weren’t into it. Though, ironically, we could have had our pick. Other than reporters, most of the people haunting our block were people who wanted to be turned. Or just snacked on. Included in any way, however small.
“How are vampires made?”
“Well, my”—zombie; um, rephrase—“doctor says it’s like a virus, something passed on in our blood, and symptoms include a really slow heart rate, a metabolism that’s mostly stopped but causes light sensitivity, aural sensitivity . . . things like that. But it’s against our rules to just run around randomly biting people to try to”—turn them sounds sinister; rephrase—“reproduce.” Ugh. Nice mental image for the audience. Just think of our fangs as sharp, virile, pointy penises!
“And how long have you been around?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “There are records going back thousands of years, but I don’t think we can nail down the first vampire with any accuracy. There’s not a plaque anywhere that reads ‘On this day was chomped the first person who succumbed to a particular virus.’” I’m pretty sure . . .
“Why come forward now?”
“I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be now. When my sister exposed us, the first instinct was to deny, sure. But after some thought I realized that would be a mistake. Some of us are tired of hiding, and it’s not the Middle Ages anymore.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“People used to think all sorts of biological conditions were a result of witchcraft or whatever, like that disease that made people look super hairy, so people decided they were werewolves.”
“Hypertrichosis.”
What am I, a scientist? “Yeah, sounds right.”
“Are there?”
“Are there what?”
“Werewolves?”
“Oh.” Well, shit. I hadn’t anticipated this one. Which I should have, especially after Diana Pierce’s mermaid question. This was tricky ground, because while I was leaving out some parts, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t overtly lie during the interview. But the Wyndham werewolves weren’t mine to reveal. “I’m just here to focus on vampires.” Shades of Martha Stewart!
“Because some would say we now live in a world with mermaids and va
mpires . . . so doesn’t it follow that there are other paranormal creatures of legend we just don’t know about?”
What, like unicorns? They’re definitely not real. I was pretty sure. “I can’t talk about werewolves; I’m here about vampires.”
Pierce deftly shifted ground, finally. “Would you compare your group coming forward to the battles the LGBT community has had to fight for decades?”
“I didn’t say that,” I said quickly. “It’s not a contest for ‘most repressed.’ Look, bottom line, my sister wanted to expose us and she did. We’re not denying it. The end.”
“Some people have gone on record—
(Who were “some people”? And would beating them unconscious be a bad thing?)
“saying you aren’t just the vampire queen—that you also rule Hell.”
“Yeah, well, ‘some people’ just loooove to talk smack.”
“So you deny it?”
Definitely not being sarcastic enough here. Or she’s as tenacious as she is stylish. Damn you, stylish Diana Pierce! “Hell isn’t really relevant to the topic at hand.”
“Because some would argue that if it’s true, that if you chose, you could prove there is a Hell and, conversely, a Heaven.”
Which was exactly what Laura’s end game had been: she’d wanted to prove to the world that Heaven and Hell were quantifiably real. In her mind, that would lead to everyone on the planet converting to Christianity, en masse, followed by peace on earth forever.
Which was deeply nuts.
“I don’t know about that, I’m afraid.”
“What would you say your long-term plan is?”
“Oh, I don’t know—live my life?”
“But are you alive?”
“Of course I’m alive, same as you. Like I said, the virus slows us down; it doesn’t kill us in the way most people understand death. Viruses don’t work on dead people.” Learned that from Brad Pitt in World War Z.
“Would you consider allowing medical testing? Or providing samples of the virus for scientific study?”