Blood Memories

He hopped in and slammed the driver's door. The street was fairly dark and quiet. Reaching out, I stopped his hand from sliding a key into the ignition, and I focused my thoughts, touching the edge of his own.

"Wait, not yet."

He turned at my words, seeing me through a downy white mist. I pressed a suggestion into his mind.

You're so tired. You need sleep.

"What are you…?" he mumbled.

Sleep

.

His eyelids grew heavy, and his head lolled back against the seat. His body went limp except for his chest, which continued to rise and fall.

I scooted across the seat and moved up for his throat.

He looked so peaceful, so helpless, that I stopped.

Changing my mind, I lifted his wrist instead. No tearing or ripping this time. Using my eyeteeth, I punctured the large blue vein above the callused curve of his palm. Carefully, keeping the holes as small as possible, I drew down on his wrist, drinking blood and absorbing life force while his heart beat quickly. My mind filled with visions of a farm in Nebraska and a hard-faced mother who never laughed, a soft-eyed sister who dreamed of being a dancer, and a stocky chestnut horse named Buck… his memories, his past treasures.

Once I had taken enough, I pulled out and used my fingernail to connect the little holes on his wrist, making the wound into a jagged cut-messy, but he was not bleeding badly.

My focus turned to his thoughts again, taking him back to the moment he'd rounded the corner and seen me up against the wall. I erased the memory.

No frightened girl had waited for him, only an empty street. But in his haste he'd stumbled and cut his wrist on a broken bottle. The pain didn't bother him at first, but then it grew worse. He got in the truck and felt dizzy. He must have passed out.

Opening the passenger door and pressing the lock button down, I let go of his altered memories and hopped down into the street, leaving him to sleep peacefully a little longer.

Numb shock faded as I ran through the night. Then euphoria began to rise inside of me. This was it. Their secret.

I didn't mourn for all the lives needlessly lost in my ignorant past, but instead, I rejoiced for those saved in my future. I didn't have to kill. I never had to kill.

This was the way of the vampires who existed before my generation. They were not murderers, not slavering hunters who wiped out whole villages, merely survivors who used what gifts they had, like everyone else.

Where had they come from? Where did I come from? Perhaps Philip was right and we came from black spirits who roamed the void before some great god created the earth. Perhaps not. There was no one left to teach me. Perhaps I'd find out one day.

None of that mattered. I didn't have to kill anymore. We were a new breed, Philip and I, like our predecessors. Would Philip care? Would he evolve? I couldn't wait to bring him outside and show him what I'd discovered.

I waved down a taxi. This state of limbo had to end. The undeclared war was over. Nobody really won, but it was over just the same, and it was time to go on. I kept mulling over the same thought all the way home.

We don't have to kill.

After tipping the driver, I jumped out of the cab and was about to run toward Maggie's house when I noticed the small door on the mailbox was half ajar. We hadn't paid any bills since moving in, and even though I was desperate to get inside and talk to Philip about tonight's revelation, I also didn't want the water or power shut off, so I jogged over to get the mail.

But inside, I found an ivory envelope… and to my shock, it was addressed to me, here, at Maggie's. I studied it for a few seconds. The blue script was lovely, nothing like Julian's blocky handwriting. Seeing no return address, I ripped the envelope open and pulled out a small note on matching ivory paper. It read:

You are not alone. There are others like you. Respond to the Elizabeth Bathory Underground. P.O. Box 27750, San Francisco, CA 94973.

I just stood there, frozen, for a long time. What did it mean? The Elizabeth Bathory Underground? Was it some sort of trick? Was Julian trying to lure me off alone somehow?

No, Julian was a blunt instrument. This wasn't his style. I shook my head and closed my eyes briefly.

You are not alone.

After all my questions, all of my burning need to learn more about my own kind, I didn't even want to look at this note. In this moment, it was an unwanted intrusion.

And it was too much, too much to deal with right now.

Deliberately, I put the note back inside the envelope and folded it into thirds. Then I slipped it into the pocket of my dress. I wasn't going to show this to either Philip or Wade tonight-maybe tomorrow.

Tonight, we had other things to discuss.