Chomp

It was awkward in the morning.

It wasn’t as though Agnes had made it that way; if anything, I was the culprit.

We barely exchanged a word before she got out of bed and jumped into the shower, and it left me wondering whether last night had actually had indeed happened. Perhaps I just had a very vivid and inappropriate imagination. Not that there was anything wrong with what I did; Agnes had consented.

As I laid in bed and listened to the sound of the shower running, part of me wondered if the reason she was quiet was because I had disappointed her.

Suddenly, the hot flush of humiliation crept onto my face.

It certainly was a possibility. After all, the only person I had ever slept with before had pretty much done everything herself while I laid there unconscious. A cup dosed with Rohypnol tended to have that effect; realistically, Izzie was a miracle child.

Was it—was I—that bad? Or was it something else? She was making all the right noises—or what I imagined were the right ones, anyway. God, I hoped it was something completely unrelated. There was also the fact that I was her boss; though Agnes didn’t seem like the type to care either way, a lot of people frowned upon that sort of thing because it meant that they were sleeping their way to the top. Then again, there really wasn’t much of a ‘top’ in our work.

No, there had to be another reason for it.

I rolled out of bed, placing my feet on the warm sheep rug that rested beside it. Whatever it was, the last thing I wanted was for her to feel… What? I couldn’t even tell how she felt, but as someone who always had something to say, Agnes’ silence was a little concerning.

Standing, I made my way to my closet to pull out some clean clothes. Unable to find my boxers, I cursed under my breath. As I wrestled a pair of jeans off a broken hanger, something pink caught my eye. Had I mixed up the laundry?

I pulled the fabric out to examine it; it was a pale pink lace that could have only been Agnes’ wedding dress. My heart sunk.

Maybe that was why she was so upset. While there was no possible way for Agnes to have known that I was the reason her wedding had crashed, she was no doubt still torn up about not marrying the man she loved. I paused for a moment, my hand still on the fabric.

Did she love him? After all, we just—

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

I turned around to see Izzie poking her head through the door. In the comfort of our house, she had dropped her guise, her face returned to its usual smoothness without deformity.

“Good morning, Izzie,” I began, pushing the dress back into my closet. Why had I even kept it?

Tilting her head to get a look at the closet, she smiled. “Agnes really looked pretty in that, didn’t she?”

“She did,” I agreed, smiling softly. Though it wasn’t conventional-looking, it had certainly been different to see her in a wedding dress. Her hair had been soaked by the rain, hanging straight and clinging to her face, and her makeup had smeared down her cheeks. Somehow, absolutely gorgeous. In all honesty, it reminded me of the time we got sent to write an essay for essentially falling down in gym.

She had worn a lot more makeup back then; I doubted she even wore any now, aside from that day.

“You left the shower running.”

I blinked. “Pardon?”

Izzie pointed over to the ensuite bathroom that had its door shut. “The shower, you forgot to turn it off.”

“Actually, Agnes is using it.”

“She had a sleep-over?” she asked, bemusement crossing her face. “I never heard her come in. I thought you were just moving furniture by yourself, so I put in my headphones. Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

I felt the heat creep onto my face, and I resisted the urge to turn away from my daughter. Had we really been that loud?

“She wasn’t really feeling all that well,” I answered. Though, she had been well enough to sleep with me. About to add ’she needed to sleep,’ I thought better of it; it would just be met with more questions.

“Aww…” Izzie frowned, crossing her arms across her fish-themed nighty. “Next time?”

“Maybe,” I replied, shrugging. Despite the shower running, I dropped my voice so that only Izzie could hear. “In any case, you need to change your face back to how you had it.”

She glanced down at her feet, her lips still pursed unhappily. “But it’s hard…”

“I know, Sweetie. But you have to stick with the first face she saw; you know that. If there’s any change, you know it will be suspicious. I know she’s seen your original face, so you had to change it to something else, but why did you pick such a complicated one to begin with?”

Izzie stared up at me with her large eyes, looking like a puppy that had been kicked. “I-It was in a movie…”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?” I asked, lips pursed. “Did this character have a name? Or was this movie on after nine o’clock?”

“No!” she piped, flustered.

Far too flustered to be anywhere near innocent.

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “I thought I told you that those movies were too old for you?”

The last time she had stayed up past her bedtime—essentially the last time someone babysat for me—she had managed to get her hands on The Ring. The few weeks after had been spent consoling her at night when she woke up screaming, explaining that people didn’t pop out of televisions, and doing an inspection to ensure there were no dead people in the house every night before she went to sleep.

It was a long three weeks.

“You know watching those kinds of movies will only give you nightmares,” I pointed out. The look of guilt across Izzie’s cherubic face was adorable, but I couldn’t come across as anything more than stern in this instance.

“Sorry…” she mumbled, turning around on her heel, heading back out of my room. “I promise I won’t watch them…”

“Not until you’re at least ten!” I called after her.

“What does she have to be ten for?”

I turned to see Agnes standing before me. Her gingery hair hung around her shoulders, damp, and clinging to her pale, freckled skin. She tucked a strand behind her ear, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was standing in a rather small towel.

Just a towel.

“Uh–uhh...”

“Pardon?”

“Scary movies, like horror and all that.” Silently, I cursed myself. Why was I awkward all of a sudden? I had seen her completely naked before. As soon as the thought crossed my mind—the imagery—I felt the usual heat rise in my cheeks.

Agnes scoffed. “Oh, come on, Worry-Wart. When I was her age, I was watching Jason and Freddie kicking each other’s asses, and look how I turned out.”

“So, you see my problem,” I quipped, feeling my wit return.

She feigned insult before turning on her heel. “How you wound me so, sir.”

I smiled. Maybe she wasn’t acting strange this morning; maybe her wordlessness had just been the tail-end of her being sick.

Thankfully, she had a lot more balance than she had the other day, and her bright blue eyes shone without being dulled by the sticky white mucus. The odd smell that hung about her seemed to have dissipated as well. The whole thing had been going on for at least a week, though today, she seemed to be just fine.

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked, just in case, taking a step toward her.

She nodded, grinning wickedly. “Yeah, actually. Guess all I needed was—what would you call that? Definitely not R and R. Honestly, I… didn’t expect that of you.”

I shrugged, not quite sure how to respond to the comment; was that a ’you were so damn good, where did that come from,’ kind of comment or, ’jeeze-louise, I’m surprised you were able to reproduce’ kind of comment?

“But to answer your question, I feel loads better,” she continued, walking over to the side of the bed where she had a pile of her clothes from the day before. I wasn’t sure when she had gathered them all up, but it deserved an applause. I was pretty sure my shirt hung from the ceiling fan.

“I’m glad.”

“Mhm,” she answered shortly, her lips pursed. The feeling of humiliation snuck back into my skin, causing it to go cold. There really was something completely wrong.

“Look,” I began slowly, stepping toward her again. “You don’t seem to be in the best of moods, so I really apologize if what happened was—”

Agnes whipped her head back over to me. “Don’t you dare—don’t you dare apologize!” she snapped. I took a step back, raising my hands defensively. She sighed exasperatedly before wiping her hand over her face. “No… I mean, please don’t apologize. It’s not you who should say it. It’s me.”

Her tone and words had far too much of a disconnect, and I really didn’t have quite enough emotional understanding to be able to get it.

“What? No, you don’t have to either,” I replied, more than my fair share of confused. “It was consensual, if that’s what…?”

Agnes ran her hand through her hair, looking a little disturbed. I could hear her heart racing, pounding, like she was being chased. “That’s the problem,” she hissed, collecting her clothes into one arm. “The fact that I consented to it is the problem!”

I cleared my throat. Agnes might have been kinky, but she wasn’t that weird. “I don’t follow.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she placed her clothes on the bed beside her, looking down at them instead of at me. She gripped the edge of the mattress, digging her nails in so hard that her knuckles grew whiter.

“Agnes…”

A salty smell wafted over from her as she wiped her eyes. “The fact that it was consensual means that I actually chose to be the asshole that sleeps with another man,” she whispered harshly.

Another man? Of course she still loved her fiancé. How could I have been so naïve to think that something like an interrupted ceremony would have changed that whatsoever?

“Look,” I began softly, “You haven’t done anything—”

“I cheated on my husband. How the fuck is that nothing?!” she shouted, whipping around to face me. Her eyes were red, filled with anger and disappointment as she could barely meet her eyes.

My mouth opened and closed several times before I was able to find my words, my blood running cold in my veins.

“H-Husband?” I asked weakly. “But… I thought… ”

No buts.

I should have known—anticipated, even—that this might be the case, that Agnes followed through with what she wanted to do. At the time, she had wanted him; last night it was me, but it was clear by her tears and frustration that it was clearly him she wanted overall.

“Yes, husband. God, this is so messed up. I really…” she whispered, her eyes locking on mine. “I really fucked up hard.”

I swallowed hard. I would have liked for my mind to have been racing every which way and that—trying to come up with something to say to her to make her feel better, to explain the situation—any excuse to actually say something. Instead, my mind stuck with one word.

Husband.

How could she have not said anything? She had all of last night—even weeks before that—to have mentioned something, anything. Why didn’t she tell me she’d gone through with the wedding? Had she gotten into a fight with him? Was I… Was I a rebound, some last fling to get it out of her system?

The sudden realization made my skin feel cold. I licked my lips nervously, dropping my eyes to the ground. This was beyond humiliating.

“I think… Maybe you should go.”

“Adrian, I—”

“Look,” I began sharply. “It’s clear you made a mistake, and that’s fine. But the least you could do is treat both of us with respect and just leave so that one of us still has their dignity.”

“But—”

“Go.”

The smell of rain hung about the night air as we made our way covertly down the back streets. With the increased amount of patrols after dark, it was getting more and more difficult to make these trips without being seen.

We waited for a troop of seven, all armed to the nines, to pass by the alley we had snuck down. Izzie pressed herself as close to my body as she could get, hiding her face and holding her breath. As the sounds of their boots pounding on the pavement faded away into the distance, she pulled away slightly.

“There’s so many of them…” she whispered softly, still clinging to my shirt. She looked up at me, her large brown eyes wavering. “Why do they need so many?”

I wished there was an easy answer; Izzie might have been bright for her age, but even the most educated adult would have difficulty understanding why some people were okay to shoot and others weren’t.

Instead, I placed my hand gently on her head. “They’re afraid.”

Grabbing her hand, I sped out of the alley and onto the now deserted street. My nose sniffed around for any hint of another person, my eyes peeled for the same thing.

“Afraid of what?” Izzie asked, jogging to keep up with my stride.

“Us, Noodle.”

She stared down at the ground as we continued to make our way down the street, confusion etched into her soft features. I couldn’t blame her. Had I had my way, she wouldn’t ever have gone with me on these visits; I would have had her watched and kept safe at home.

But Izzie was far more headstrong than that. Once she found out that she was special—that she could help people because of what she was—that was it. She was pushing past the door, ready to come with me.

Admittedly, it terrified me to have her out on the streets anywhere near soldiers. I had trained her to shift, to manipulate her features so that she could always hide, but teaching her to fight was another story. While she might be stronger than the average little girl, she still had a lot to learn.

We finally got to the house in one piece. It looked like any other in the neighbourhood; the once well-cared-for yard was now complete with barred windows and reinforced steel door. Safety was a priority for most people, though I was surprised we were even called to this particular neighbourhood if that’s how they felt.

“Can I ring the bell?” Izzie asked, turning to me once we reached the stoop. I nodded. It was a soft ‘ring-a-ding-dong’ like one in an old comedy, jarring against the grave security of the house.

The small hole toward the top of the door scraped open, and we were greeted by a dark eye lined with redness.

“Can I help you?” the woman’s deep tone asked. The eye had been fixed on me, but then darted to Izzie. The brow furrowed.

I cleared my throat. “Hello. Your friend Magda mentioned that you had a… a situation that you needed some help with?”

The eye disappeared, and the hole’s cover scraped closed.

Izzie looked back up at me. “Maybe she doesn’t want help?”

“Maybe.”

A series of clicks and scrapes later, the door slowly swung open, revealing the owner of the eye to be a darker-skinned woman with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun.

“Please, come in,” she whispered quietly, looking behind us nervously as she wrung her hands. No doubt she couldn’t have any neighbours tattling on her.

Once we had stepped inside, the woman shut the door behind her and started with the many locks that kept her safe.

“Magda didn’t really go into too much detail,” I started, trying to break the ice between us. It was never easy for humans to ask favours of us. “What stage is the person at?”

The woman flattened her blouse, hands shaking. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, shaking her head. “I’m just not used to this… It’s my granddaughter, and I just want…”

Izzie grabbed the woman’s hand and gently patted it. Flashing one of her heart-melting smiles, she stared up at her. “She’s going to be okay. My dad helps all kinds of people go through the change. What’re your names, anyway?”

The woman gave a sob of a laugh, then sniffled. “Estelle. And Milly’s upstairs,” she replied softly, taking my daughter’s hand in both of hers. “And you?”

“I’m Isobel Martha Bordeaux,” she piped proudly, grinning from ear to ear. “And that’s Dad.”

“Also known as Adrian,” I supplied hastily. “Though I’d prefer if you didn’t mention our names to anyone unless they’re in the same situation. Hazardous and all.”

Estelle nodded. “Understandable. D-Did you want any tea or coffee or—oh, I’m sorry. Can va—can your people d-drink that?”

“Yes, but no thank you. You mentioned Milly was upstairs. What happened?”

She nodded once more before darting over toward the stairs. “She was bitten about four weeks ago,” Estelle began, starting the journey upward. She clung to the handrails as her knees cracked with each step. “Some creep grabbing her in a crowd. It was broad daylight, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that. Unfortunately, some people lack morals, human or not.”

“She was pretty shaken up after the whole thing. It was a family carnival for god’s sake—who wouldn’t be terrified after that? When we brought her home, we just assumed she was reclusive because she was afraid of going outside and having it happen again. We didn’t even realize she had been bitten until about two weeks ago.”

I swallowed hard, doing the math. Four weeks was quite a long time for a vampire to go without having some sort of sustenance. “I’m surprised she hasn’t lashed out at all. She must be starving.”

Estelle bit her lip. “Well once I realized—I mean, she’s my granddaughter, I love her either way. I tried… But she just threw up my blood. Maybe it’s because I’m old, or because—”

“It’s okay, it’s nothing that you’ve done wrong. She’s just a child, isn’t she?” I asked softly.

We hovered on the landing, and Estelle stopped wringing her hands. “How did you know?”

“Kids can’t be vampires without help!” Izzie explained happily. “They can get really, really sick.”

“Is that true?” Estelle asked, looking from her back to me.

I nodded. “Which is why a lot of people from the vampire compounds think it’s such a good war tactic. Snatch children and change them; if they’re young enough, they’ll die and tear the family apart with grief. If they’re old enough, they’ll turn on their parents, slowly going mad and then finally consuming them as they change because they can’t get their hands on blood from another source.

“It’s completely underhanded and pathetic, and I apologize that you got caught in the middle of this. Just… don’t let this experience sway your opinions of us. There are good and bad vampires, just as there are good and bad humans.”

“We’ll make sure Milly is a good one,” Izzie added. “Once she gets some good food, she’ll be okay.”

Estelle’s expression looked a little lighter, a little more hopeful, as she opened the door to her left. It was dark, so I imagined it was a little difficult for her to see how ill her granddaughter was as she lay in bed. Her dark skin was splotched by a few abscesses around her face and arms, and her lips looked like they had been torn to shreds.

They were the usual signs of a starving vampire; the abscesses from the virus completely ravaging her body without the hemoglobin of the blood to keep it at bay. Her lips were most certainly a result of the newly grown fangs that sheathed and unsheathed at random moments, or when she had the urge to bite.

“Nana?” her weak voice whispered. I doubted very much that her grandmother could even hear it.

“Hi Milly. My name’s Adrian, and this is Izzie. We’re—”

“No! P-Please no,” she sobbed breathlessly, struggling to whip the blankets from her body. “I don’t want to go! N-Nana! Nana I don’t—I’m a good girl—” She flailed weakly, her face pale.

I knelt down beside her bed and gave a comforting smile. “It’s okay, Milly. We’re not here to take you away from your nana. We’re here to help you get better so you can stay with her.”

Stopping the struggle, she squinted her eyes at me. I watched as they tried their best to focus on my face, trying to get accustomed to the new sight. “Your Nana’s been pretty worried about you,” I continued, crossing my legs. “She wants to make sure you’re okay.”

Bottom lip trembling, Milly finally met my eyes. “But… I’m not… I’m not okay.”

“You will be, though.” I unbuttoned my sleeve and rolled it up slowly. Her brown eyes danced up and down the flesh of the inset of my arm with both hunger and disgust.

“Don’t…” she croaked, putting her fingers in front of her mouth. Her fangs unsheathed, and she sunk them into her own hand as tears leaked from her exhausted eyes. Her next few words were muffled. “I’m a monster now…”

“You’re no monster,” Izzie said gently, stepping between us. “You’re just hungry—I get really grumpy when I’m hungry. So just have my dad’s blood!”

“I tried giving her my blood to get her to eat,” Estelle called from the doorway, sounding upset. “Can’t you do anything else for her?”

“This is different though,” Izzie explained.

Gingerly, I pulled Milly’s hands away from her fangs, detaching them. Two small lines of blood spurted from them, a weak pulse pushing it forward. I placed my bare forearm to her lips, willing her to take a sip.

“One of the reasons that children and the elderly die while going through the change,” I started as Milly gripped my arm in her hands, still unsure, “Is because their bodies can’t develop a proper filter for their own food. So while they crave blood, they die from being unable to process it properly. The alternative is providing a filter.”

Finally, Milly gave into her urges.

Her head snapped forward and she sunk her fangs into my arm. The holes were messy and jagged, but it was to be expected for someone her age. She drew the blood hastily, her suckling grasp tightening the skin on my arm.

I felt a twinge of fatigue as she fed, draining me of my own meal. Thankfully, I had long since passed the time in my life where letting someone feed off me would cause any damage. My first time had ended in collapse, but that was years ago.

I watched patiently as Milly slurped noisily.

“So—So she’ll be able to live if she has a vampire filter her food?” Estelle asked from the corner. She hadn’t made any effort to turn on the light, though that was probably for the best; her granddaughter’s face was spattered with blood, though her expression already looked far healthier.

Finally, I pulled my arm away from her. “Yes. She’ll probably need an assistant to help her feed until she’s done going through puberty—that’s what it’s like for most kids who have turned. But beyond that, she can live a normal life.”

Estelle cleared her throat.

“Well… As normal as you can get these days,” I corrected myself, getting to my feet. Izzie grabbed some Kleenex from the side table and handed some to Milly and some to me. “As long as you’re careful, she will be exactly as she was.”

Milly ignored the tissue, her stare fixated on the wounds on my arm, which had already begun to close up. “Will I be able to do that too?” she asked, her large brown eyes filled with curiosity.

“Afraid not,” I replied, tussling her ringlet hair. I turned to look back at Estelle. Her eyes didn’t seem to be focusing on any particular thing, but they kept in the direction of Milly, no doubt hearing the difference in her tone. “However, your grandma and I need to have a talk to work out a feeding schedule before we head to our next stop of the night. It was nice meeting you, Milly.”