Page 53 of So Thirsty

He leans back. Takes a long drag. “It’s beyond attraction, isn’t it? What’s between us.”

I can’t answer him. I can’t look him in the eye.

“Goodbye, Sloane.” He turns around and walks down the hall, past Naomi and Elisa, who are both staring at me in a way that feels invasive and embarrassing. Henry goes left, and then he’s gone from view.

Ilie bursts through the front door. “Okay, we are ready! Come see. It is clear.”

“Coming,” I say, so relieved to be getting out of this house—this awful, awful house. I hurry out the door, inhaling fresh air.

It’s cloudy, but it’s bright. Too bright. I wince at the daylight.

“We are sensitive,” Ilie says, pointing to the sky. “We don’t catch fire; that is just rumor. But it is not the best.”

His car is where we left it, now covered in snow.

He opens the passenger-side door for me. I turn around to make sure Naomi’s coming. She is, but she doesn’t look happy about it. Or maybe she’s just recoiling at the light.

“After you,” I say, letting her sit first. I squeeze in next to her.

“Sloane,” she whispers to me. “I’m still thirsty.”

“Just…try not to think about it.”

Ilie wipes the snow off the car, then hops into the driver’s seat. He backs up too fast and the tires skid. “Whoa, whoa.”

He pulls up to the gate, and as it opens, he strokes Naomi’s hair. “It is too bad you are leaving. We like you. Drago likes you, Sloane. He never likes anybody.”

“Who’s Drago? Henry?”

“Oh, yes, yes. He changes his name. He is my great uncle, you know. Good guy. But very moody.”

“Ilie,” Naomi says, shielding her eyes from the light, “how often do we need to drink?”

On the short drive back to the cottage, Ilie attempts to explain to us the logistics of vampirism. I struggle to concentrate—exhausted and overwhelmed and distracted by the light incinerating my eyeballs, melting my brain.

He tells us we can eat and drink whatever, but it won’t be the same as it was. He tells us nothing will satisfy us like the taste of blood. He tells us we can survive without it for weeks, even months at a time, but we will want it, and the want will consume us if we don’t give in. He tells us we don’t need permission to enter places, but it is polite to ask. He tells us we don’t get fangs. We don’t have any particular aversion to garlic, or crucifixes, and being impaled with a wooden stake wouldn’t feel great but also wouldn’t necessarily kill us. He tells us, with regret, that we do not turn into bats.

“I do not know who started that,” he says. “Too bad. It would be cool. But we can float. Not too high, for not too long.”

I think about the shadow at my window. I think about Henry.

I don’t know if I’m flattered or horrified.

I’m not special enough to hold my own husband’s interest, but an ancient vampire will watch me sleep.

Ilie turns onto the winding road that leads to the Waterfront. “It is your choice, I know. You do what you like, but if you change your mind, you have my number. We can help you. If you do not get blood from us, you will have to…you know.”

“We’re all set,” I say.

“Okay, boss,” he says, throwing a hand up. “If you say all set, all set. If you change your mind, you call me anytime. Who knows? Maybe our paths will cross again.”

He winks.

We pull up to the cottage and I’m out of the car in two seconds, but Naomi idles.

“We’ll go inside and make a plan,” I tell her.

“Yeah, okay,” she says. She takes a breath, then leans over and kisses Ilie on the cheek. “Bye.”