I spent most of the day at the computer making no real progress. There were diseases that people might once have mistaken for vampirism. One of them was called porphyria. It was probably what Wright thought of as a sun- allergy disease. In fact, it was a group of diseases caused by pigments that settled in peoples’ teeth, bones, and skin. The worst of the porphyriac diseases made people so vulnerable to light that they developed huge sores as parts of their flesh eroded away. They might lose their noses or their lips or patches of their cheeks. They would look grotesque.
That was interesting, but it awakened no memories in me. After all, I had already proved that if I were badly burned or wounded, I would heal.
There were river- borne microorganisms that caused people to develop problems with their memories just as there were microorganisms that could cause people to look hideous and, in the past perhaps, be mistaken for vampires. But that had nothing to do with me either. Whoever and whatever I was, no one seemed to be writing about my kind. Perhaps my kind did not want to be written about.
I wandered from site to site, picking up more bits of interesting, but useless, information. Finally, I switched to hunting through information about recent fires. I found a couple of articles that probably referred to what I was coming to think of as “my fire.”
They said the houses had been abandoned. The fire had happened three weeks ago and had definitely been arson. Gasoline had been splashed about liberally, then set alight. Fortunately, the fire had not spread to the surrounding forest—as it probably would have if the houses had truly been abandoned. There would have been plenty of bushes, vines, grasses, and young trees to carry the fire straight into the woods.
Instead, there had been a broad clearing around the houses, and there had been farm fields, stubbly and bare.
The houses had not been abandoned. I was not wrong about the scents of burned flesh that I had found here and there in them. Those houses were close to the cave where I had awakened. I had gone straight to them from the cave as though my body knew where it was going even though my memory was gone. I must have either been living in one of those houses or visiting one. And there had definitely been other people around at the time of the fire. Why would the articles deny this?
Wright had said we could go back to the ruin on the weekend. According to the computer, today was
Thursday. The weekend was only a day away.
I wanted to go back now, on foot, and comb through the ruin again. I was more alert and aware now. My body had finished healing. Maybe I could find something.
But it was daytime, almost noon. I felt tired from all my running around the night before and stiff from sitting for hours at the computer. I turned it off, got up, and decided to soak for a while in the tub before I went to bed. That may have been a mistake. Someone knocked on the door while I was filling the tub. I turned the water off, afraid they’d already heard it, afraid they would know someone was in the cabin when it was supposed to be empty.
The knock came again, and a woman’s voice called out, “Wright? Are you home?”
I kept quiet. After a while, I heard her go away. I soaked nervously in the water I had already drawn and went to bed.
When Wright got home—long after sunset—he brought groceries, an “everything” pizza, a library book about vampires written by an anthropologist, and some clothing for me. There were two pairs of jeans, four T-shirts, socks, underwear, a pair of Reebok athletic shoes, and a jacket with a hood. Everything except the shoes were a little big. Somehow he’d gotten shoes that were just the right size. He’d held each of my feet in his hands, and that must have helped. And he’d bought a belt. That would keep the jeans up. The rest of it worked fine even though it was a little large.
“You’re even smaller than I thought,” he said. “I’m usually pretty good at estimating the size of things I’ve seen and handled.”
“I’m lean,” I said. “I feed on blood most of the time. I don’t think I could get fat.”
“Probably not.” He stowed the groceries in his refrigerator, then turned and looked at me. “My neck is completely healed.”
“I thought it would be.”
“I mean, no scar. Nothing. No scar on my hand, either.”
I went to him and looked for myself. “Good,” I said when I had seen. “I don’t want to leave you all scarred. How do you feel?”
“Fine. I thought I might feel a little weak, like I did when I donated blood, but I’m fine. I don’t think you took very much.”
“I think I probably took more than I should have from you yesterday. Who did you donate blood to?” “Friend of mine was in a car wreck. They saved him, but he lost a lot of blood.”
“He took blood from you?”
“No, nothing like that. He . . . do you know what a transfusion is?”
I thought about it and then realized that I did know. “In the hospital, blood was sent from a container directly into your friend’s veins.”
“That’s right, but it wasn’t my blood. He and I aren’t even the same blood type. I just gave to offset a little of what he had used.” He bent, picked me up, and kissed me. “It isn’t nearly as much fun as what you do.”
I had already found that I enjoyed any skin-to-skin contact with him. For a few moments, I gave myself up to that enjoyment. Then, reluctantly, I drew back. “Someone was here today,” I said. “A woman came to the door while I was filling the tub for a bath. I think she heard the water running. She knocked and called your name.”
“Older woman?” he asked. “I couldn’t see her.”
“My aunt, maybe. My aunt and uncle live it the big house out front.” He gestured toward the front of the
cabin with the arm that wasn’t holding me. Then he put me down. “You probably saw it last night. They had company so it was all lit up.”
“Can she get in here? Does she have a key?”
“Yeah. My uncle does anyway. But they don’t snoop. I think you’ll be okay in here.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I let it go. If the woman ever came into the cabin while Wright was at work, I would bite her. Then she would accept my being here, keep it secret, feed me, and then maybe help me find some of the answers I was looking for.
“I’m glad we’re going back to the site of the fire this weekend,” I said. “I found articles that said the place was abandoned and that vandals set it afire.”
“Good work,” he said. “I thought you’d find something online.”
“But why would it say that?” I demanded. “I’m sure it wasn’t abandoned. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was there. It was close to the cave where I woke up and not really close to anything else.”
He thought about that, then shook his head. “I found articles at the library that said the same thing,” he said. “They were from two small newspapers in the area. The reporters wouldn’t have any reason to lie.”
I shook my head. “If I can find them, I can get them to tell me why they lied. But first I want to go to the ruin. I’m connected with that place somehow. I’m sure I am. And Wright, the clothing I was wearing when you found me, I got it at one of the burned houses. It had been folded and put away . . . maybe in a drawer or on a shelf. When I found it, it was at the bottom of a big pile of half-charred clothing, and it
had only been burned a little. Why should an abandoned house have piles of clean, folded clothing in it?” Wright nodded. “I’ll take you back there then,” he said. “Saturday?”
“Friday night.” I stood on tiptoe and still could not reach him. I was annoyed for once that he was so tall, but he picked me up again and held me against him. I bit him a little at the base of his throat, drew a few drops of blood. It wasn’t necessary, but we both enjoyed it. He stood still, holding me, letting me lick at the wound.
After a while, he sighed. “Okay, Friday. Are you going to let me eat my pizza while it’s hot?”
I licked once more, then pulled away from him reluctantly and slid down his body. “Eat,” I said, and picked up the vampire book. “I’ll read and wait for you.”
The book was interesting but not that helpful. Many cultures seemed to have folklore about vampires of one kind or another. Some could hypnotize people by staring at them. Some read and controlled
people’s thoughts. It would be handy to be able to do things like that. Easier than biting them and waiting for the chemicals in my saliva to do their work.
Not all vampires drank blood according to the book. Some ate flesh either from the living or from the dead. Some took in a kind of spiritual essence or energy—whatever that meant. All took something from their subjects, usually not caring how they injured the subject. Many killed their subjects. Many were
dead themselves, but magically reanimated by the blood, flesh, or energy they took. One feeding usually meant the taking of one life. And that made no sense, at least for those who took blood. Who could need that much blood? Why kill a person who would willingly feed you again and again if you handled them carefully? No wonder vampires in folklore were feared, hated, and hunted.
Then my thoughts drifted back to the man I had killed at the cave. I killed and fed as viciously as any
fictional vampire. I ate a man without ever recognizing him as a man. I’d not yet read of a vampire doing that, but I had done it.
Did others of my kind do such things? Had I done such a thing before? Had someone found out about us and tried to kill us back at the ruin? That would seem almost ... just. But what about the other people
who had been at the ruin? Had they been like Wright or like me? Had the ruin been a nest of vampires? I could still remember the scents I had found here and there around the
