A Girl's Guide to Vampires

"Well, you have to admit you were interested in him. And he certainly isn't bad looking, once you get past those weird eyes."

"They aren't weird, they're beautiful," I snapped, pulling off the ice bag. "No, I don't need any aspirin; my head feels much better now."

"Fine. You rest and you'll feel shipshape in the morning. You want something to eat?" Roxy tidied up my clothes and brought me a glass of water and the book I'd tucked away in my luggage.

"No, thanks. You'd better get something, though. You get manic if your blood sugar drops too low." I sank back into the down featherbed and gave myself up to the luxury of being pampered.

"Yes, Mom. Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"About what?" I asked, frowning at her as she stood in the open doorway. "If you're going to harp at me about that guy—"

"His name is Raphael," she said with obnoxious coyness.

"—you can think again because there's nothing to discuss."

"Go to sleep," she repeated with a knowing smile. "You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

I decided to try out one of Raphael's eyebrow moves just to see how well it worked for me.

"The fair," she answered my silent question. "You want to look your best for the fair! You're going to meet your Dark One there!"

What if I already had? "Like hell I am!"

"The man whose soul you'll save!"

"You really take the cake, you know that?"

"He'll clasp you to his manly chest, and look deep into your eyes, and tell you that you are his and his alone, and not even you can want him to do that if you look like you do now!"

"I hereby declare you certifiable. I'll have the plaque made up in the morning."

"And then he'll complete the ritual of the Joining, and you will live happily ever after with your vampire lover, just like in Dante's books."

I took a deep breath. "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A VAMPIRE!"

She grinned. "Nighty-night, don't let the bedbugs bite. You'll want to save that treat for him."

The ice bag missed her, but it made a very satisfying bang as it hit the door.

Chapter Five

"It's just too bad Raphael isn't a Dark One," Roxy announced the following afternoon as we dragged ourselves up the three flights of stairs to our rooms. A day spent wandering the Macocha Abyss had left us both with tired legs and the need for a long soak in the tub. "If he were, then you'd know it was him Miranda was talking about."

I glared at her.

"Look at your watch," she answered my unspoken accusation. "It's after three. I waited a whole extra four minutes."

"How fast time flies when you're not talking about mythical, pretend, made-up, utterly fictional creatures," I muttered as I pulled out my room key and unlocked my door. Roxy followed me into my room since it was bigger than hers and had an extra chair.

"Don't think I'm going to let you put a moratorium on things I want to talk about every day. The only reason I agreed not to mention the Dark Ones until we got back was because you looked so awful this morning."

Strangely enough, I hadn't felt awful. My head was only slightly tender around the area I'd banged, and my mind was strangely calm. That was due wholly to the little pep talk I'd given myself during a quick morning bath. Although I'm not normally one for deep introspection, this, I felt, was necessary. It was that or sign myself up for electroshock therapy.

"The human mind is a strange and wondrous place," I had told my bath sponge as I lathered it up with my favorite jasmine soap. "It is highly susceptible to suggestion, and can easily be fooled into perceiving something that really is not present. Stress, in particular, can do weird things to the brain, causing it to defend itself by releasing tension in the form of vivid dreams and visions."

The sponge declined the opportunity to comment on my theory, so I put it to use as I reasoned out the rest of the argument. The episode with Miranda, brought on by the couple of gin and tonics I'd imbibed, had obviously burned itself into my then-impressionable mind. Once I arrived in an area purported to contain elements of fantasy that had been mentioned at Miranda's, my brain decided to relieve a bit of the tension of being halfway around the world in a foreign land by dredging up related images and presenting them as reality.

I ignored the little voice that pointed out I wasn't particularly stressed out about anything, least of all my vacation in a long-dreamed-about Europe, nodding my head as I got out of the tub and reached for a towel. The episode at Miranda's could be explained by drink, while the previous evening's fireworks were due to illusion and a little innocent delusion on the part of my mind. It made sense, and had the added bonus of being entirely reasonable. Far more reasonable, my cynical self piped up, than the thought that I could have been whisked away like Dorothy and plopped down in my own personal paranormal version of Oz.