An Unattractive Vampire (7 page)

Amanda watched the scene play out from the safety of the kitchen threshold. Since the creature, Yulric Bile, had taken custody of the living room sofa, Simon had begun a series of identifying experiments. Mostly, they involved lobbing various supernatural deterrents over the back of the couch to gauge the level of outrage they caused. Inevitably, these tests ended in a chase, which Amanda would have to break up before death or fire ensued. So she would tell Simon to stop disturbing their guest, and she would tell their guest to halt his attempts at murder. Both would mutter under their breath and go to their respective corners until Simon found something else he could easily toss.

Except this time. Amanda had suggested the horseshoes.

It hadn’t been a problem, the vampire and the TV, it really hadn’t. Amanda was usually asleep or at work, and Simon, well, he didn’t really watch TV anyway. And despite the occasional outburst of unbridled wrath when he tried to remember how the telephone worked, Yulric’s presence was more than bearable. It was actually kind of comforting. So long as he was lounging around, he couldn’t hurt anyone. And as long as he didn’t hurt anyone, she had nothing to feel guilty about.

But day followed day, and still the vampire retained his spindly clutch on the remote. The weekend came and went. Monday passed and Tuesday, too, and still no sign that the vampire would voluntarily relent from his channel surfing vigil. Amanda had grown concerned that her haven, her sanctuary, the one bright spot in what had become her tedious existence, would be sacrificed on the altar of this intruder’s brooding. Something had to be done. And so, something was. As the creature and Simon began their grand chase, Amanda stole into the living room. With his fists full of horseshoes, the vampire had left behind the remote, which Amanda took up now. Her fingers moved on their own to press the channel number. With bated breath, she sat through five car-insurance commercials until finally the screen turned black, two silver eyes opened, and a husky voice said, “Last time on
The Phantom Vampire Mysteries
 . . .”

“What is this?”

Dread crept into Amanda’s body. As last week’s recap commenced, she looked up to see the ancient vampire staring at the television, in his right hand a horseshoe, in his left, a struggling eight-year-old held by one foot.

Amanda hadn’t a second to lose. In a whirl of blond hair and sweatpants, she was over the couch and advancing on Yulric with her mother’s cross. The vampire was forced against the wall, using Simon as a protective shield against the twentytwo-year-old’s holy wrath.

“Look,” she spat at the vampire, “I’ve let you stay, despite my better judgment and the fact that you tried to kill me and my brother. For some reason, I feel responsible for you being here,
¹²
and so I’ve taken pity on you.”

The vampire hissed angrily at the
P
word, but Amanda continued, “. . . and let you spend day after day sitting on
my
couch watching
my
TV. However, Wednesday at eight is my time. And, during the next hour, I control all. The couch, the remote, gravity, if it gets in the way. So get behind me, or begone, or whatever. I don’t care. But you will not. Interrupt. My show!”

The cornered vampire and the human shield gave each other The Look, the universal look of one male to another when they realize the world is not actually theirs. Then slowly, Yulric Bile set the small boy down and, raising his hands in submission, said, “I merely wished to know what you were watching.”

The furies that had risen up in Amanda packed their bags and left, leaving her feeling kind of silly. She tried not to let it show too much.
“The Phantom Vampire Mysteries.”

There was a twinkle in the vampire’s cloudy gray eyes at the program’s name, if twinkle is what you call it when such a being shows interest.
Spark
would be a better term.
Ominous foreboding
, better still.

“May I join you?” he asked. His tone was formal, polite even. Different from before, when any sense of genuine manners was marred by arrogance. There was also a hunger there. A need.

Need. Amanda knew that feeling all too well. It was need that had got her into this mess. Need that had driven her to her brother’s books. Need that had brought them to this house, and, ultimately, to the secret buried deep in its foundations.

In the background of the standoff, the opening credits began to play. Amanda realized that, without meaning to, she had missed the opening scene of the show.

In desperation to save her evening, she relented. “Fine. But no questions. And no bathroom breaks, except during commercials.”

“I don’t go to the—” he began but stopped once he saw her look. Logic, obviously, had no place here.

• •

“Who is that?”

The question broke the silent anticipation that followed the commercials. Amanda tried to let the interruption go. She tried to ignore the fact that it had been exactly two minutes since her ostensible guest had promised not to do precisely this. However, she could feel his eyes on her, patiently waiting for a response.

“Phantom,” she said tersely without looking away from the television.

“Ah,” he said, “the mortal protagonist.”

“No,” she corrected, “the vampire protagonist.”

“Ha!” Yulric let out the hearty laugh of one who thinks they understand sarcasm. Amanda smirked knowingly. He would see soon enough.

He did.

“What are those people doing?” he exclaimed. There was a certain anxiety in his voice that pleased Amanda.

“Why, I think they are drinking blood!” she responded in fake astonishment. As she did, she looked at the old thing on the couch. He was sitting up now, wide-eyed and pointing.

“But why would mortals drink blood?” Yulric asked.

“Because, they aren’t mortals.” She grinned. “They’re vampires.”

Yulric stared at her, eyes wide in panic and fury. His mouth opened and closed. His claws raked at his own skin. And then, without a word, he sank back into the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. Amanda was able to enjoy the rest of the episode in peace.

Once it was over, she turned to face her burden. His eyes remained on the television, his arms folded. He was pouting again.

“So, this Phantom is a ghost?” he asked without looking at her.

“The ghost of a vampire,” she said kindly. Now that her craving was sated, she found herself far less annoyed at the beast. “He refused to drink blood and so starved himself to death.”

“Impossible,” he muttered, still not looking at her. He seemed to blame her for the program’s existence.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “But not in the world of the show. Anyway, this action of sacrifice gives Phantom a special kind of power and allows him to come back to the world of the living as a ghost.”

“And then he solves crimes,” she added rather lamely.

“And the friend?” asked Yulric. “A vampire,” she answered.

“And the lover?” he continued.

“A human,” she told him.

“And the difference?”

Amanda looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t understand the question.”

“What is the difference between the friend and the lover?”

“Well,” began Amanda, “Sasha is the woman Phantom loves and the reason why he died as a vampire. He refused to drink blood, for her. Nora, on the other hand, is Phantom’s best friend, confidante, and comrade-in-arms, who secretly loves him and is, in all actuality, a better match, but—”

The creature waved his hand to cut her off. A good thing, too, as it allowed Amanda to retain a semblance of dignity. She had very nearly divulged the hours of message-board discussions and fan fiction she had spent on the Phantom-Nora relationship. Not that he would have known what any of that meant. To Yulric, a
shipper
was someone who hired out boats.

“What I meant,” he clarified, “is how can you tell which is the vampyr?”

“Because Nora drinks blood and Sasha doesn’t,” replied Amanda.

“But did not this Sasha drink the blood of a vampyr”—he said the last word as if a skunk had just sprayed directly into his mouth—“to heal herself?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Then how?” The old man was now looking at her again. His eyes were growing in anger, but the muffled, futile anger of one who refuses to believe the sky is blue, gravity works, or people evolved from primates. “Well, Nora is super strong—”

“Marginally,” he interjected. “Superfast—”

“Barely,” he interrupted.

“Immortal.”

“If you can starve to death, you are not immortal,” he countered.

“And much hotter than Sasha.”

“Ha!” Yulric laughed mirthlessly. “Incorrect. Nora was said to be quite cold to the touch.”

“I mean that Nora was much more attractive, physically. Sexy. More beautiful.”

Yulric said nothing. He just looked at her.

“Sasha,” she continued, trying to put it in terms the creature would understand, “is more . . . pretty. Not as beautiful. Therefore, she is human.”

Laughter. A shrieking, dry, dead laugh erupted out of the creature on the couch. Yulric Bile flopped back into the cushions. His bones crackled and popped as he clapped his hands appreciatively.

“So, this is what we have become.” He cackled, trying to catch his breath . . . or whatever he did instead of breathing. “Millennia of legend and lore, and now we appear to you as mere adolescents at the height of beauty and bloom. Tell me, are all the stories of my kind thus? Are vampyrs always immortal champions with rosy cheeks and marble physiques?”

“Sometimes they’re bad,” she said.

He laughed even harder. “Indeed, sometimes we are bad. Seducing mortals for nefarious ends. Immortality. Beauty. Power. All rolled into a single drama. A pleasant fiction.”

“Mostly,” said Amanda.

“Mostly?” mocked the vampire. “Is there a downside to their existence? Is the curse of the Phantom having to choose between locks of gold or tresses of auburn?”

“No, the show is
mostly
fiction,” replied Amanda. “Because
The Phantom Vampire Mysteries
is written, produced, and acted by actual vampires.”

The vampire stopped laughing.

• •

The fact that
The Phantom Vampire Mysteries
was made by vampires turned out to be common knowledge. Of course, the vast majority took this to mean members of a somewhat-creepy subculture who liked to pretend and play dress-up. Only those obsessive enough to pore over every interview and feature, to examine the hidden themes behind each and every episode, to download leaked script drafts, complete with notes from the executive producer, only they gleaned the truth—that they were in fact members of a somewhat-creepy subculture who liked to pretend and play dress-up, and were also vampires.

Yulric Bile spent every hour of every subsequent day poring over episodes of
The Phantom Vampire Mysteries
. He snorted incredulously at their barely above-human abilities. (“Spiders? Rats? Can they not transform into
anything
?”) He marveled at their ability to withstand classic vampiric banes. (“So she can cross running water anytime she wants?”) He laughed far more than seemed appropriate when the vampires were staked and turned to dust. (“A stake through the heart. Why, of course. What else would you possibly need to do?”) But not nearly as loudly as he did at the concept of vampire creation.

“Why on earth would a vampyr make other vampyrs?” Yulric screamed at the screen.

“Fellowship? Companionship?” Amanda suggested from the recliner.

“An army?” Simon added.

“Bah!” Yulric exclaimed. “Pointless. They always fall apart. There!” He snatched up the remote and paused the DVD. A moment later, he was on all fours inspecting the screen. “What is that?”

Amanda sighed. “Lord Dunstan is siring a vampire.”

“This siring nonsense again!” cried the vampire.

“So vampires are not sired?” Simon prodded.

“I just told you, boy. Vampyrs do not make vampyrs,” Yulric retorted.

Simon clicked his pen and added this to a notebook he’d begun taking with him around the vampire. “Then, how do they come to be?”

Yulric glared at Simon, aware that the child was pumping him for information. “It varies.”

“For example?” Simon inquired.

Yulric did not answer. He merely returned to the couch and restarted the episode. “We may continue.”

It took him less than a week to make it through all five seasons, including commentary and special features. Of course,
The Phantom Vampire Mysteries
was hardly alone in this genre, and Yulric now turned his attention to other vampire stories. He devoured it all—TV shows, movies, books—from the poem written to impress Lord Byron to the popular teen drama about a pair of vampires in love with the same girl.
¹³
Unlike Phantom, few featured actual vampires, though every so often, Yulric would detect a brief whiff of vampirism in movements a hair too quick or a stare a bit too predatory.
¹⁴
However, there were definitively two common threads through almost all the vampire stories: a steady progress toward attractive respectability and a name, Talby.

After three weeks of nonstop research, Yulric came to a decision, though perhaps not at the most opportune time.

“You will take me to meet the vampyrs,” Yulric said.

“Get out!”
screamed Amanda, pulling the shower curtain out of his hand and hiding behind it.

“Not until you agree—” Yulric was cut off by the most vicious, wrathful stare this side of himself.

“Out! Now!”
she barked.

Yulric decided to appease her. He did, after all, still need her assistance. “Very well,” he said with a little bow, after which he exited the bathroom.

The vampire was waiting on the other side of the door when Amanda finished her shower.

“You will take me to meet the vampyrs,” he repeated.

“We are not having this conversation right now,” she snarled.

“And why not?” asked Yulric.

“Because I’m wearing a towel!” she shot back.

“And?”

Amanda fumed.
“Simon!”