Real Vampires Don't Sparkle (4 page)

The first floor contained the kitchen, a living room, and a dining room converted into a depository of antique weapons. Some attempt at order had been made, before being abandoned in favor of lazy chaos. Only a few of the weapons approached auction quality. The room looked like the stall of a deranged flea market vendor. Matheus kicked a rusted mace, raising an eyebrow at Quin.

Quin shrugged. “You get bored,” he said.

“This is all junk,” Matheus said.

“Of course it is,” said Quin. “What is your point?”

Matheus shook his head, and followed Quin up the servant’s staircase. The second floor consisted of a study messy with stacks of papers and books, and a large, empty bedroom with a master bath attached. They skipped the third floor. Quin didn’t use it, and Matheus had already seen enough spider webs for the night.

He trailed after Quin to the basement, then pushed past him, skipping the first door, Quin’s room, and going into his own. Matheus’ anger ebbed away, leaving behind a dull emptiness. With a sigh, he dropped face-first onto the bed.

“Would you like to be alone?” Quin asked.

“Mmm,” said Matheus, refusing to lift his head. He tugged on the blanket, enveloping himself in thick dark, trying for the illusion of ignorance. He heard Quin shift, the smooth planes of his suit brushing together, then a soft click as the door closed. Matheus didn’t move again, still trapped under the blanket when the sun rose.

Matheus understood why the boarded-up windows didn’t attract attention. Quin lived in a run-down neighborhood, the surrounding buildings abandoned for decades. A few people were out, squatters from the nearby houses. They nodded at Quin, surprisingly unfazed to see a man in designer jeans and a five-hundred-dollar leather jacket. Matheus received the odd glance, but mostly, people ignored him. He was okay with that. People with enough jewelry in their face to appear in
National Geographic
made him nervous.

“Where are we going?” Matheus asked. He felt like a slob walking next to Quin. He wore ten-year-old jeans, desperately out of style, and stained with India ink from a drawing class he’d been forced to take as an undergrad. He had better clothes, but he’d already been wearing the jeans and couldn’t be arsed to change.

“To get dinner,” Quin said.

“You mean…I can’t!” Matheus paused mid-step, the implication of what Quin said hitting him.

“You can. Or you’ll starve.” Quin didn’t stop, and Matheus had to jog to catch up.

“Can’t I eat, I don’t know, cats or dogs or something?” he asked.

“No. You need human blood.”

“Why don’t why we knock over a blood bank?” Matheus tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“It has to be fresh. Drinking donor blood is like living off Twinkies. Besides, it tastes like plastic.” Quin made a disgusted face. He turned the corner, heading in the direction of Hanners Street. Packed with bars and clubs, and nestled between two colleges, Hanners had infamy in spades. No place better to forget a day or six.

“I can’t kill someone,” Matheus said. His voice sounded as though it came up from a very deep well.

“The first time is always hard, but it will get easier,” Quin said.

Matheus wanted to throw up. He shook his head rapidly. “I don’t want it to get easier. I don’t want to do it at all.”

“You will,” said Quin. He stopped in front of a crowded club.

Bright young things gathered around outside; cigarette smoke drifted through the air.

Matheus felt impossibly old. He looked at men and women only a few years younger than himself and wanted to scream at them,
Run! They lied, the monsters are real!
Something curled in his stomach, pushing through the nausea. For the first time since he died, Matheus felt hunger. The cigarette smoke didn’t mask the scent of humanity. The smell thrust into him, feeding the growling need in his gut.

“Pay attention,” Quin said, grabbing Matheus’ arm and giving him a shake. “I’m not going to babysit you forever.”

“Oh, god,” Matheus moaned. Dizziness set in as he followed Quin into the club. Multi-colored lights flashed over the dance floor, but did little to drive back the dimness. Despite the dark, Matheus saw the room clearly. So many people, warm and pulsing. He sensed the rush of blood through their bodies, the taste of salt and copper in the back of his throat.

“Concentrate,” Quin said, one hand still gripping Matheus’ arm. “Don’t lose control.”

“There are so many of them,” Matheus whispered, grateful for Quin’s grip holding him back. A part of his mind sat separate, horrified by the overwhelming hunger.

“Yes, they do breed like rats.” Quin pushed him toward a table in the corner. “Sit.”

“I need a drink,” said Matheus.

“Don’t we all,” said Quin. “No more alcohol. You’d just throw it up.”

“Are you telling me I am going to have to spend eternity as a teetotaler? Just stake me now.”

Quin laughed, low and rumbling. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He looked around the club with a lazy expression. He could have been any young man, looking for a partner for the night.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said.

“You keep saying that.”

“It keeps being true.”

Matheus traced circles on the table. He wished Quin would get on with it. Amazingly, Quin had found a way to make crowds even more horrible than they had been when Matheus was alive.

“Search the room,” Quin said. “Who would you pick?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to learn how to pick your prey.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Matheus said. Quin’s casual attitude did not help.

Quin ignored him. He kept one hand on Matheus’ arm as he scanned the room. The music had a heavy bass beat overlaid with moaning female vocals. A dance floor took up the majority of the club, although Matheus was confused as to what part of writhing around like a porn star constituted dancing.

“Come on, now,” Quin said. “Pick.”

“I don’t know,” said Matheus. “That girl at the bar.”

She was the kind of girl they made reality TV shows about. Short skirt, barely-there top, high-end extensions, and strappy heels. She glittered with sweat and youth. The real-life stand-in for the women Matheus thought about late at night, groping the dark for release before giving up in favor of sleep.

“Her? Try thinking with your brain and not your cock,” Quin said.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Matheus.

“You’re looking for a meal, not a date. Don’t confuse the two.”

“I thought that was part of the package.”

“Tell me, did you usually make out with your hamburgers before you ate them? The answer better be no, or you are on your own.”

“But the whole Dracula—”

“It’s a story,” said Quin. “Forget what you saw in the movies. We don’t turn into bats, we don’t sparkle, and we don’t have sex with our prey.”

“Fine.” Matheus folded his arms, drumming his fingers on his biceps. Why bother dying if he couldn’t even use his newfound status to pick up slutty club girls? “Who would you pick?”

“Other side of the room, to the left. Dark hair, red blouse.” Quin angled his head in the woman’s direction. He’d placed his foot over the toe of Matheus’ sneaker, applying just enough pressure for Matheus to feel it.

He wondered if Quin thought the contact would keep Matheus sane. He also wondered if he didn’t disagree. He looked at the woman. She had an understated prettiness. One hand fiddled with the straw in her drink while the other moved from hair to necklace to hemline. Matheus recalled the game played on children’s shows:
one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just isn’t the same….

“Why her?” he asked.

“She’s like you,” Quin said. He plucked a stray bit of fuzz off his jeans. “A loner. No one to miss her.”

“How can you tell?” Going out alone didn’t mean the woman had nobody. Everybody had a family. Well, he didn’t, but Matheus didn’t consider himself the universal standard.

“I just can. It’s something you’ll learn.” Quin turned toward Matheus, head tilted to one side.

Matheus recognized the light in Quin’s eyes. The last of his resistance crumbled. Caught between the hunger and Quin’s unspoken threat, Matheus felt his options disappear.

“What now?” he asked in a small, hoarse voice.

“Go out back and wait. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Quin stood, his gaze back on the woman.

Panic arced through Matheus’ nerves. He glanced at the woman, a tightness settling into his chest. She tugged on the hem of her skirt, then looked around the club as though searching for someone. A brief flash of kinship zigzagged through Matheus’ mind. He recognized that look.

“I—” Matheus said.

“Go,” Quin said.

“You want me to walk out there by myself?” Matheus tried not to wince at the fear in his voice. The gnawing hunger grew by the second. Quin’s presence kept him from attacking the first person within arm’s reach. Matheus didn’t think he could handle the press of people, sweat thick in the air, dozens of hearts ringing out the dinner bell. Quin frightened him, but at this moment, he frightened himself more.

“You’ll be fine.” Quin glanced back with a sideways smile. “Go on.”

Matheus shook as he walked toward the exit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quin making his way across the room. People shoved and twisted around him, and all Matheus could think was,
Do they know? Would they know?
He imagined the news report, the gossipy retellings.
I was there. I might have seen him. It could have been me.
Everyone loves a good murder. Matheus felt ill.

“Oh, sorry.” A girl giggled as she bumped into Matheus, spilling her drink on his shoes.

“N-no problem,” Matheus managed, trying not to stare at her throat. A bead of sweat slid down the smooth flesh, resting against the pulse point.

The girl gave him a fake smile and turned back to her friends. A butterfly peeked over the top of her skirt, in the small of her back. Matheus stared at the tattoo, then jerked as something nudged at him. He glanced up to see Quin looking at him from across the room. The woman in the red blouse gazed up at Quin with heartbreaking hope.

Matheus turned and marched out the door, shoving past a group entering. He relaxed a fraction as the smell of blood and sweat diluted in the cool air.

The sounds of clumsy, drunken sex filled the narrow alleyway behind the club. Matheus didn’t look. While night and shadow might block the couple from human eyesight, Matheus figured he might see much more than he wanted to. He ducked behind a dumpster and stuck his fingers in his ears. That didn’t help much. This was his life now. Hiding in alleys, trying not to listen to strangers get off, waiting to commit murder. His mother would be so proud. Well, if he had a mother. Matheus rested his head against the side of the dumpster, then remembered what the outside of most dumpsters looked like. He jerked upright, whacking his hand on the dumpster with a loud crash. The drunken sex fiends didn’t notice.

“Oh, baby, you feel so good.”

“Mmm, right there. Oh, yes.”

“I love being inside you, baby.”

Matheus gagged. Undead or not, he would find a way to vomit. Nothing else could properly express his opinion of this moment. He cursed the couple, he cursed Quin, he cursed the girl with the tattoo, he cursed the whole damn city and everyone in it.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Get on with it
, Matheus thought furiously. One would think no one had ever had an orgasm before, the way he went on about it. The couple finished up and staggered out of the alley. Matheus stood up, trying to brush the grime off his jeans. Without the couple to distract him, Matheus had a chance to notice the reek emanating from the dumpster. He risked a quick peek inside, wondering if he was about to commit murder number two. He didn’t see a corpse, but maybe the murderer had decided to put some effort into things, and split the body into separate trash bags. Matheus didn’t want to rule anything out.

The back door opened with a slam. Matheus jumped, letting the dumpster lid bang closed.

Quin walked out, leading the dark-haired woman by the hand. She moved like a woman twice her age, her face empty and slack

“Come on, love,” Quin said, in a soft tone. “Just over here.” He gestured to Matheus, calling him over.

Matheus forced his feet to move.

“This is my friend,” Quin said.

“Hello,” said the woman, in a dreamy voice.

“Say hello, Sunshine.”

“H-hello,” said Matheus, fighting the sudden urge to laugh. He dug his fingers into his thigh.

Quin looked at Matheus over the top of the woman’s head. She lolled against him, as malleable as a sleeping kitten.

“It’s easier from behind,” he said, passing the woman to Matheus.

She moved without protest, a boneless warmth in his arms. Matheus bent at the unexpected weight before catching himself.
This is a person
, he thought. A small scar ran across the top of her cheek. Matheus stared at the pale line, staggered by an unknown history.

“Quin, I-I can’t. I can’t do this,” he said. “Oh, god. I—”

“Stop it,” Quin said sharply. “The hunger isn’t bad now, but it will get worse. Then you won’t be able to control it at all.”