Now Go and Catch Some Rats

I've started making living things explode. Rats, mostly. Sometimes a cat or a dog with the bad luck of crossing my path at night. As for the rats, that's Liora's job. She's a good hunter. Been living off rats ever since she grew fangs—like some bloodsucking Cinderella in the gutters. And every time I think about that, I feel like I should puke a warm bloody river all over the damn floor. But I'm a vampire. We don't vomit. So all I feel is disgust.

Tonight, for the first time, I offer Liora a human to feed on. I'd never done it before. Why? Easy. Because I'm a selfish bastard. I only think about myself. I let her keep living off rats like some street-scraper, when I could've given her the real blood—the kind that matters. Then tonight it hit me out of nowhere: "Shit. How the hell is she even surviving? What the hell is she feeding on?" So I asked:

"Hey, girl. What the hell are you feeding on?"

And she, calm as always, answered:

"Same as always."

And I said:

"No. That's over. From now on, you're drinking the good stuff. The kind I drink. The kind the highborns drink."

And well, here we are. I bring her her first human and Liora refuses to drink. Says she doesn't deserve it. That vampires like her shouldn't drink human blood. She even gets scared. This poor creature I now protect looks at me with those guilty eyes and says, as if reciting some vampire code of conduct: "It goes against the rules."

"It goes against no rule," I tell her. "You're not supposed to do it because highborn vampires don't want the lowborn touching what's supposed to be theirs. But that's not a vampire rule, Liora. If it were, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to offer you this lovely girl?"

"No, sir. I'd never think you're stupid."

"I know. I can read your thoughts. It was a rhetorical question, silly girl. Now enough modesty. Come on—drink what's good. Sink your teeth into this girl I've so generously brought you."

Liora bites the girl. A rich eighteen-year-old girl. Fresh. Full of life. Golden hair that shines like the sun. A girl who went to the drive-in with her boyfriend tonight, then to the cliffs to kiss and get felt up. Well—to get felt up by him while she played hard to get. Which is strange. Because she's not a virgin. So I thought: What is she afraid of? And of course—I found out immediately.

Ah, vampire life. The stories you find when you dig through other people's minds are priceless. The girl's been with that poor idiot of a boyfriend for three years. Handsome guy, sure. College athlete. But dumb. Your typical male specimen: A desperate idiot trying to stick his dick in something warm. The kind of idiot who doesn't even bother wondering if the girl he wants to fuck is going to enjoy it too. No. All he wants is to spread someone's legs and shove it in. And, well—desperation in a man isn't exactly great for heating up the oven women have down there. I mean the pussy, in case that wasn't clear.

So, long story short: The guy's been trying to sleep with his girlfriend for three long years. Since she was fifteen. Which, of course, is illegal. The age of consent in this country is sixteen. In 1958 and in my time too, by the way. That law never changes. No idea why. What do you think? Curiously, it's the same age required to become a vampire. Elegant, isn't it? Law and fangs in perfect sync. But of course, the boyfriend didn't give a fuck about the law. Any law. Even the ones written on his own balls. He wanted to fuck. And to hell with rules. And well—he was only three years older. So it wasn't that bad. Would've been worse if he were fifty. That's when you're properly screwed. Well, unless you've got the money to grease judges and prosecutors. That's how this world works: If you've got money, you walk. If you don't, you're fucked. No lube.

So, the guy's desperate. Wants sex. And the girl's not giving him anything. At first, she says no mostly out of fear. Not of an STD, no. Fear of getting pregnant. In 1958, a girl can't just stroll into a clinic and get rid of it quietly. Because abortion's illegal, of course. In my time—you already know—a girl gets pregnant on Monday, aborts on Wednesday, and comes back Friday to do it all over again. But this isn't the future. This is 1958. And here, an unwanted pregnancy is a sentence. That's why she keeps her legs closed. Not out of morals. But because she doesn't want to become a mother. Because she knows if she has a kid now, she'll hate it. Even if she denies it. Even if she smiles in the photos. She'll hate that little thing for stealing her youth.

Now then—during their second year of dating, someone shows up. My favorite kind of human: the trickster. The hustler. The one who doesn't need looks or pedigree—just words and nerve. A classic streetwise bastard. The kind who opens doors with crooked smiles and greasy charm. A back-alley artist. The kind that inherits nothing but manages to grab everything. I search the girl's mind for his name: Matías. She's Noelia. The boyfriend's name? Ricardo. (Ah, Ricardo. The sad athlete. We'll get back to him.) Matías approaches Noelia the way his kind always do: with charm, good vibes, that barroom-flavored confidence that seeps under your skin. Almost makes me remember myself back when I was human. Almost. Matías wins Noelia over in no time. A lower-middle-class guy, more street than luck, more tongue than morals. What Ricardo had been chasing for a long time, Matías gets in a single afternoon. And Noelia… Well. Noelia's no longer a virgin. From that day on, her struggle isn't against Ricardo and his anxious dick—it's against Ricardo and his old-school macho pride. Because now she has to pretend she's still "pure." Not out of religion. Not out of conviction. But out of fear. Fear that Ricardo will realize someone else got there first. Ah, humans. So stupid. So predictable. So tragic without even realizing it. The only one who won here was Matías. And he didn't even ask for a trophy.

If Matías were a vampire, he'd probably be a good friend of mine. A real one, even. Too bad tricksters rarely turn out to be killers. And those who are killers are usually boring as hell. No style. No imagination. When they turn into vampires, they stay flat—just with fangs. That's why I don't have anyone to go out with at night. I can't stand wasting my time with dull bastards. With vampires who think being a vampire is enough to have style. Spoiler: it's not. All it gives them is bad breath and opinions that make me yawn. Maybe that's why Tony managed to win over almost every "respectable vampire" in Portuondo. Because I'm not a pack animal. Never have been. And in this world, that comes with a price too.

I'm a loner. The intelligent ones usually are. Though "loner" might be a bit much. Truth is, I just don't like male company. Unless it's refined. Erudite. Like Du la Font's. But that kind is rare—even among vampires. So, same as in my human life, I've always preferred female company. Too bad there aren't many vampire women in this city. Portuondo doesn't produce many female killers. Shame. But back to Noelia and Ricardo. They're both here now. Noelia's not a virgin anymore. Ricardo is. The boy comes from a conservative family, the kind where Mommy tells you going to a brothel is a direct insult to the Lord. And that's why, since he's the virgin, I leave Noelia to Liora's fangs. And I drink Ricardo dry. And Ricardo dies a virgin. And I gotta say—that brings me a certain joy. I've always hated rich kids from conservative families who believe in our nonexistent savior.

Liora drains Noelia completely. Then she looks at me, eyes glowing, and says:

"Sir… I've never tasted anything so delicious. Sir, sir… I didn't know human blood was this good."

"Not all human blood, my little friend. But yes—the kind I deserve. And from now on, the kind I'll offer you too."

Liora looks more beautiful than ever. Noelia's blood has lit her up from the inside. She glows. And naturally, it's made her stronger. She feels it right away:

"I feel strong, sir. I think now I can help you with those vampires. Those fucking German vampires, as you call them."

"Let me tell you something someone I admire once told me: First, girl, learn to walk before you try to run."

Liora sighs, then says:

"I know I'm not much… and I've only been in your house a short time… and you're a highborn vampire… but I want to be honest."

Of course, I'm already reading her thoughts. I spare her the trouble and say:

"I know what you feel, Liora. It's hard not to love someone who's treated you better than anyone else in this miserable life you've had—both human and vampire. And it's fine. Love me all you want. But remember this, girl: I already have a love. I'll protect you. Feed you. Keep you safe. But don't expect me to love you back. Because that's not going to happen. Ever."

"I know, sir. I'm not asking for anything. What I feel is enough to make me happy. Would you like me to play the piano?"

"No, come on. There'll be time for that later. Now go and catch some rats. I need to make them explode. Because soon I'll have to face Tony. And if I can blow up that German bastard in front of everyone, it'll all be over. No one will dare challenge me. And I'll be back on top."

"What if he attacks you first, sir?"

"He won't. He knows I will. And when I do, that'll be his excuse to tear me to shreds. That's why I can't fail. Would you like me to die?"

"No, sir! No! Please don't say that!"

"Then go. Fetch some rats."