Adventures of a Vegan Vamp: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (4 page)

“The blood?” she asked. “It’s part of the test.”

I gave her an exasperated look. “You didn’t get how squeamish I am when you drew my blood? You really needed to test that?”

Although that wasn’t entirely true. Usually it was my own blood that made me cringe. And, weirdly, I
knew
that blood hadn’t been mine. I didn’t linger on
how
exactly I knew that.

She looked as annoyed with me as I felt, and she practically snapped, “Vampires aren’t afraid of blood.”

I considered whether I’d heard her correctly, decided I hadn’t, and then decided I had. And that was it. I doubled over, and I laughed till I cried.

I laughed so hard that my side started to cramp up—and I kept laughing.

Several minutes later, my hand firmly clutching my aching side, I looked up to find Dr. Dobrescu standing alone near the door. Again, the big guy had managed to leave without me noticing—and this time with a huge yellow janitor’s bucket on wheels. He was a sneaky one.

“You’re a vampire.” She said as if by making the statement sound factual, it was somehow less ridiculous.

“No. I’m not. You’re certifiable.”

She clutched that darn clipboard close to her body, like a shield. Against me. The vampire. “You are.”

“I’m not. And I’m not going to play that game. Vampires aren’t real. And clearly you’re not a real doctor. Did you even go to medical school?”

Dr. Dobrescu named a prestigious medical school on the West Coast.

“Oh.” I looked around the very normal office, with its normal exam table and normal posters. There were even those little canisters with cotton balls in them. “Well, maybe you’re a doctor, but that doesn’t mean you’re not crazy.”

She sighed. “How did you lose twenty-five pounds in a handful of days?”

“Starvation and a crazy-fast metabolism.” Obviously. Never mind that the same question had been burbling around in my head since I woke from my comatose state.

She raised her eyebrows.

“What? That could happen.” That so could
not
happen. “When’s Mr. Clean coming back? Because I will not go quietly if you try to commit me. Or—” I made a stabbing motion. “You know, stake me.”

Dr. Dobrescu’s eyes grew large in her face. I thought I’d finally managed to shock her. Because me being a vampire hadn’t done it. A vampire. Come on.

“Anton has determined that you’re not currently a safety risk.”

“
I’m
not a safety risk? What about you? With your blood vials and your weird bedside manner, not to mention your delusions.”

Dr. Dobrescu stepped further into the room, gave me a speculative look, then came to some conclusion—because her attitude changed. She looked less businesslike. A little droopy, even. She sat down on the little rolling chair that all exam rooms seem to come equipped with and rolled closer to the table.

She assumed a solemn expression. “I am very sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re no longer human. A virus has invaded your body, resulting in certain…changes.”

Virus—that was a word I could grab hold of. Chew on a little. A scary word—but not a crazy one. The rest… My brain did a little la-la-la to the rest of what she was saying. “So what’s the prognosis?”

I skipped over the fact that I was asking for medical information from a woman who had clearly lost her marbles.

“Unknown. The disease will most likely progress quite rapidly, but the end result is…uncertain. It’s my understanding that vampires require blood to complete the transformation.”

“I’m sorry, did you say transformation?” I narrowed my eyes. “And what do you mean ‘uncertain’?” I looked around the room. I was in a doctor’s office and a doctor was telling me I might croak from a disease that didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. Because when a doctor says the prognosis is uncertain—that has to include the big “D.” Dead. Then I remembered: crazy lady talking. I swallowed a groan. Transformation meant transformation into an undead vampire. “Are we talking about me ceasing to breathe, turning into a bat, and being afraid of garlic and crosses?”

Now she was looking at me like
I
was the crazy one.

I gritted my teeth and tried again. “When you say transformation, do you mean I will join the ranks of the undead?”

Good grief. If ever there was a phrase I never would have thought would pass my lips, that one scored in the top ten.

“Possibly. But there’s also the very real possibility of regular dead. Not undead dead, just dead dead.” Then she winced. “Your life in any form might end.”

“Because I’m not into sucking blood? You have got to be kidding me. And, by the way, I feel fine. So how can you know what exactly this virus is doing to me?”

Mumbo jumbo doctor stuff followed, but the best I could understand, my body was supposedly going through some sort of transformation—the improved appearance of my skin, as well as other as yet undiscovered “perks”—and that this transformation was supposed to be fueled in part by the consumption of large quantities of blood.

“Hold on. I’m not”—my gag reflex kicked in, and I swallowed—“drinking blood. That is beyond disgusting.”

“That’s just it—if you can’t consume blood, you’ll starve. I suspect that had something to do with your rapid weight loss.”

“Can’t you just inject me? Give me a transfusion?”

“I don’t think so. Humans can’t digest blood, and vamps have to digest it to obtain—whatever they need from it. I’m a human doctor, and not an expert on vampirism. I’m only aware of the condition because of an incident with a client a few weeks ago. Anton was assigned to handle the resulting situation.” Dr. Dobrescu crossed her arms.

And for only the second time since I’d stepped into the office, I noticed her. Not her lab coat or clipboard, but her. Fair-skinned with dark hair and light eyes. She didn’t
look
like a crazy person.

“So, I’ll suck it up and drink some blood.” I choked back the hysterical giggle on the tip of my tongue. Who knew I’d get all punny when confronted with my own mortality?

“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple, but I hope it is. I hope I’m wrong. Again, I’m no expert—I only know what I’ve been told recently—and how to test for the virus.”

“And who to contact if there’s a safety risk.” That phrase had an ominous ring to it. Then it hit me that I was inches from being designated one. “What would Anton have done if I had been a safety risk?”

The doc looked uncomfortable. Great—that couldn’t be good.

“Well, is there at least a how-to manual? Do I get a mentor? A consultant? Anything?” I scrubbed my face with both hands, then peeked between them to look at the doctor. Her green eyes looked kindly back. “I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.”

She reached into her lab coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “Anton is a member of the Society. They’re your best resource for information on the virus and what to expect. Until I have more time…I just don’t know very much. And since I’m not one of you, the Society isn’t making what information they have available to me.” Once I’d taken the card, she tilted her head. “Ah, he did say if you feel a murderous rage coming on, call the number on the back.”

I accepted the card. “A murderous rage?”

Looking down, I found that she’d handed me a thick cream card, reminiscent of the old-style calling cards. It read simply: Anton. And underneath was a local number. I flipped it over to find a hastily scrawled number following the letters ER. Emergency room? Emergency? Ernest Riddle? Elijah Rockford? Some other random guy’s name with the initials ER?

With a sinking feeling, I realized I’d bought in completely. The freakish smell of the blood, my reaction to it, my bizarre symptoms…it all meant something. And I
was
different. On some fundamental level, I had changed. Like a knot inside me had loosened.

“They don’t expect me to last past a few days, do they?” I asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

But I did. Because if this was all real, if I really was on the cusp of vampirism, then I had to be a huge security risk. I could blab to anyone. Or could I? Because who would believe me? I scrubbed my face again.

“Any last words of advice, doc?”

“Since it seems you can hold down water, that’s a good place to start. And I guess experiment with what you can tolerate.” She rolled her chair away and stood up. “And call the number. I truly hope they can help you.”

As we walked down the hall together, she stopped suddenly. “I can’t believe that I almost forgot. Your condition has to be kept secret. There are consequences for sharing the information broadly. Or with your family. Or your friends. It’s best to just keep it to yourself.”

“Yep—I figured that.”

Dr. Dobrescu was about to walk me out the door of her clinic without taking any payment—or answering the tens of questions I suddenly realized I hadn’t asked. The most pressing one popped out as we approached the exit. “How did I catch this virus?”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by the question. “You were bitten.”

Dr. Dobrescu pushed me out the door then shut it firmly, me on one side and her on the other.

T
he clouds gathered
and the sky darkened. Like my mood. As I reached my car, the first fat drops were falling. The droplets beaded up nicely on my freshly waxed car.

I really didn’t like that car.

The low-slung seat had always been difficult to get into, and, if anything, I was more agile now, but it annoyed me. Might be time to get a different car.

I drove home thinking about the doctor’s visit. Why hadn’t Anton given me the news if he was a part of the Society and the expert about vampires? Was he a vampire? Was the Society going to be the new “in” crowd? Another place I’d never fit in? And did I really care if I was just going to keel over in a matter of days?

“Nuts.” I smacked my hand against the steering wheel. That was why Anton hadn’t gone to any trouble with me. Because my sad, little broken self wasn’t worth the effort to save. “Why not let the little weirdo who can’t drink blood croak? If she happens to survive on her own, we’ll have a chat with her. The nasty, slimy little toad.”

A chill creeped across my skin. What if I told someone? What if I leaked the big secret and someone actually believed me? I’d bet dollars to dimes Anton would show up and do something
then.

If my alternating peevishness and terror were any indication, I’d fully embraced this alternate reality—this really crummy alternate reality in which it was very possible that I didn’t live much longer.

I really didn’t get how I was supposed to be so horribly ill. I felt fine. Thirsty—but otherwise great. I glanced around the car—but I’d wiped out my bottled water stash already.

I was pretty wrapped up in my personal drama—dying was not an everyday occurrence for me—and I was
really
thirsty, so it was no shock that I missed a turn on my way home. The clinic was in south Austin, and I was a downtown girl. I didn’t know the area at all, and my GPS had decided it needed to fritz as I was cruising through the unexplored wilds of south Austin.

I ended up meandering through a small neighborhood as my GPS flashed “rerouted” and provided no alternate route.

“Well look at you, you little darling.” I pulled my snazzy red sports car to the curb and pulled out my phone. In the drive was some kind of Jeep—rugged and fun—with a for sale sign in the window. I dialed the number.

And twenty minutes later, I was the new owner of a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I hadn’t known what a Cherokee was until today, but heck—if I only had a few days to live, I might as well drive a car I liked. I called the Audi dealer and made arrangements to have my other car picked up at the house of Mr. Saldana, the nice gentleman who sold me the car. An exceptionally nice man—and trusting; he took a personal check.

Mr. Saldana, or Michael, as he insisted I call him, spent a few minutes reviewing the basic features of the car and I was off in my nifty little boxy almost-truck. It was perfect.

My GPS finally cooperated, and I resumed the trek home. Not five minutes into the drive, my phone rang. I checked it, hoping and worrying it might be work. Maybe they had an unsolvable problem and needed me.

But no. It was my mother.

“Hi, Mother.”

“Darling, how are you?” But in her typical style, she didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve called to ask you to accompany me to a luncheon. Since your father’s death—” She paused for dramatic effect. It certainly wasn’t grief. The man had died five years previous as they were in the midst of a nasty divorce. “Well, you know how much I dislike attending these functions on my own.”

“Does Francesca have other plans?” My mother’s go-to tennis and bridge buddy, Francesca enjoyed the outings, which was why Mom usually asked her first. I was her last-ditch choice.

“Dear, Francesca and I aren’t spending as much time together these days.” Mom sniffed. “She’s dating a
very
young man. I do not approve.”

“Hm. Mother, can I call you back when I get home? I just picked up a new car and I should probably be paying closer attention.”

“Oh, but your lease on the Audi isn’t up yet, is it? Did you have an accident? Are you all right? Why didn’t you call?” This time she did wait for a response after her barrage of questions. Because as annoying as my mother could be, the woman did love me.

“I’m fine.” No need to expound upon the vampire thing. If I was dying, I wasn’t spending my last few days in a mental institution. Or being hunted down by Mr. Clean. A tiny spark of an idea was forming in my head as to how I might spend those days. “The Audi doesn’t suit me any longer. I bought a Jeep. A preowned Jeep.”

And I waited for it.

Silence followed.

I could practically feel the shock. The surprise. I bit my lip to keep from giggling.

“But it’s been used. By someone else.”

“That is what preowned means, Mother.” I watched the dust motes dance in the sunlight. “I’m sure the previous owner thoroughly cleaned it before they put it up for sale.”

Best not to mention the minor hail damage or the colorful Kinky Friedman bumper sticker.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t sound like yourself. And it’s just so hard to imagine you in a…a
used
car.”

“I’m good. I feel lighter. Like I’ve shed a burden.” And I didn’t mean that twenty-five pounds. “I’m freer.”

“Honey, you’re not high, are you? I know there’s a lot pressure at work and lots of the kids do it—”

“Mother, stop. I’m thirty-nine. I’m not influenced by what the
kids
are doing.”

“You know what I mean—so you’re not taking drugs?”

Mom sounded so concerned that I almost offered to go to that luncheon with her—but then I realized I couldn’t see her. We’d had lunch just a few weeks ago. She’d never believe how much weight I’d lost. Fake tanner would be an easy enough explanation for my newly even skin. Mom had recommended it often enough—but there was no easy fix for my weight loss. “No, definitely not taking drugs.”

“Oh, I know—it’s a man, isn’t it? You’ve finally met someone!”

“No. Have to run. New car, driving…” No need for her to know I was in light traffic and having no difficulties with the new dashboard controls. “Bye now.”

“All right. Let’s talk soon, though.” Mom sounded a little forlorn, but she did finally hang up.

The rest of my drive home was uneventful, except for three rather startling realizations that occurred almost one after the other.

I was moving to the ’burbs. The little detour I’d taken through the south Austin neighborhood where I’d found my new car had appealed even more than my new ride. I’d worked hard my whole life, didn’t spend extravagantly, had saved—and my home didn’t feel like much of a home. I wasn’t really excited about moving, but living somewhere like the tiny neighborhood where I’d found my new car—that appealed.

Which led to my next realization. I used to love my apartment. The sparseness of it let me keep a clear head. I’d been able to breathe in that apartment. But now it felt bare—barren, even.

I used to love my Audi, but clearly that ship had sailed. And my clothes. I was wearing a T-shirt I usually slept in. And that conversation with my mother.

I was the same person as I’d been a week ago—but somehow different. It was like a whole heap of insecurities and fears had fled. I wasn’t worried about going broke—I could spend a little money. Granted, retirement seemed a little pointless with a death sentence hanging over my head. And the untidiness of a house in the suburbs seemed appealing—because I’d have my own tiny patch of grassy yard. And maybe roses. I’d like some roses. The idea of dirt and bugs didn’t make my scalp crawl—so yeah, roses would be great.

But the last realization was the most important. I was hunting down the rat who’d bitten me and screwed with my life. Or, rather, the vampire. Whatever he was, I was hunting him down.