Page 46 of Fangs with Benefits

Molly nods, not as fazed by this as I feared she’d be. ‘How many?’

‘One a day will suffice,’ I tell her. One bag of blood keeps me at an entirely manageable level of hunger, but it takes two for me to feel full, and even then, only until I need to eat again the next day. This is not as efficient as feeding from the source–half a pint of blood directly from a vein can last a vampire for a full week, but I haven’t been in that particular habit for the better part of a century. Yet another thing my brother would cite in my endless list of weaknesses as an immortal being.

‘What happens when you eat food?’

‘Makes me horribly ill,’ I say with a wince. Ill feels like an understatement for the sickness that wracks me when trying to digest non-human-blood materials. ‘It’s a shame. I tried a few times in the nineteenth century, I couldn’t help myself. It’s cruel that my scent is heightened but I can’t eat. My body took poorly to it each time.’

‘I love food,’ she says with a sigh that feels like a lament for me.

I try to remember the last thing I ate. A pastry, I believe, and the buttery flavour that filled my tongue was almost worth the pain of the ensuing days. Almost.

‘What’s the deal with the sun?’ she asks around a bite of noodles. Molly reaches across the table and taps the rim of my baseball cap, pulling it lower over my forehead. ‘Is a hat protection enough?’

I take the hat off and put it on her head instead, the look unbearably cute with her wild curls beneath.

‘Hats and sleeves help. Cloudy days like today aren’t so bad, but clear days–direct sunlight–it drains me quickly.’

‘Will it–’ Molly shifts in the booth and lowers her voice ‘–kill you?’

‘No, but if I’m in the sun long enough, I’ll become immobile until nightfall, which is a vulnerability I try to avoid,’ I explain.

I’ve seen a few films where vampires burn to a crisp in the sun, and I like the dramatics of it, but death is not so simple for us. The stake to the heart myth is closest to the truth. A vampire’s heart doesn’t beat, but it is the holder of our magic–or our curse, depending on who you ask–and death can only come by removing it from the body. I’ve seen it happen, and it’s a grisly sight.

‘Sun lethargy isn’t fatal, but it takes more blood to restore energy. Plus, I sunburn like you wouldn’t believe,’ I tell her.

Molly snorts and scoops another spoonful of rice onto her plate before pouring green curry over it. She’s taken every answer in stride; no disgust or shock shows on her face as I reveal each repulsive part of the monster that I am. It’s strange. It makes me want to see how far I can go in my honesty before she inevitably starts to feel disgusted by me. Even Ada, whom I believe loved me entirely, needed a few days to process the terrible truth of my existence in her world. I couldn’t blame her.

‘Doesn’t any of this concern you?’ I ask. ‘Why aren’t you more afraid?’

Molly thinks about the question, her jaw working as she chews slowly. She takes a long sip of tea, then water, and shrugs. ‘You ever seen Twilight?’ she asks.

I lower my brows. ‘I’ve seen more twilights than days you or your parents or grandparents have been alive, Molly. I’m four hundred and nine years old.’

Her face cracks into a grin and she laughs loud enough to draw the attention of the couple at the table nearest us. They smile, and I’m distracted from the question by the thought that someone in this city believes us a normal couple.

‘The movie,’ she says. ‘Based on a book series? Come on, I thought you loved reading. Brooding, handsome vampires became a worldwide phenomenon while you were in your century of isolation. Teenage girls led the charge.’

I lean across the table, both forearms flat on the tabletop. I know of Dracula, Interview with the Vampire, Carmilla, and I even got a box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but somehow this book missed my attention. My local library was small, underfunded and slow to pick up new titles, though they did their best. I read nearly every single piece of fiction and poetry on those shelves.

‘I liked reading,’ Molly tells me. ‘Witches, vampires, fallen angels, fairies, werewolves–I was kind of a freak for all of it. I think…’ She exhales and closes her mouth. I lean closer, hanging on every word, wanting her to continue. ‘I wanted it to be real, wanted magic to be real. I’m almost relieved to know at least part of it is.’

I’m unbearably charmed by this romanticism in her. It seems so antithetical to her sometimes standoffish exterior at work. Or maybe that’s reserved just for me.

‘So, do you sleep in a coffin?’ she asks, bringing us back to topics less revealing of her.

‘A bed is just fine, when I do sleep.’ I remember the years I would lie in the sun just so that it would drain me enough to fall into a dreamless slumber until night fell and there was no escaping the guilt and anguish. ‘I don’t often.’

‘How do you feel about garlic?’

‘Same physical reaction to consuming any other food, though not particularly repulsive to smell.’

‘Holy water?’

‘Just fine, it’s a witch’s curse that keeps us as we are, not a devil’s.’

She leans closer, eyebrows raised at this revelation. ‘What do you know about devil’s curses?’

I laugh aloud, delighted by her line of questions, her curiosity, the excitement behind her eyes. ‘Nothing, but my sister did some research on demons a couple of centuries ago. You two would get along.’