"Charlie and Viktor, checking in for our..." Sage paused delicately, "evening program."
The girl's fingers flew across a tablet that looked completely out of place in this resort. "Ah," she murmured. "The Lunar Cohort. Room twelve for Mr. Charlie, and Viktor, you're back in seven."
The girl slid two old-fashioned keys across the desk. Actual keys, not cards.
Sage clasped her hands together. "Dinner service begins at nine. We align our meals with natural digestive rhythms here. The Lunar Cohort has exclusive use of the east dining room." Her smile never wavered. "You'll find your cohort in the library. Integration activities don't begin until ten, but informal socializing is encouraged."
She glided away, leaving Charlie standing in the large foyer holding a key with a brass tag.
"Lunar Cohort?" Charlie muttered to Viktor.
"Code for 'actually we're all vampires but the human staff doesn't need to know that.'" Viktor pocketed his key. "Come on. Let's see who else is here."
The library was at the back of the house, its tall walls covered in book shelves that were stacked to the brim. The rest of the space had been furnished with cozy armchairs and small tables and small lamps that dipped the room in a warm but not too-bright glow.
Three people looked up as they entered.
Threevampires. Charlie could tell immediately, but instead of the sneering superiority he'd come to expect, one of them waved.
"New blood!" The waver was a Black woman who looked about thirty, wearing paint-splattered jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. "Sorry, terrible joke. I'm Maya."
"Charlie."
"And Viktor's back." This from a man who could have been anywhere from twenty-five to two hundred, sprawled in a wingback chair with a book. "Thought you'd sworn off group therapy."
"Charlie needed somewhere safe." Viktor's tone carried a warning.
The third vampire, a guy with aggressively normal suburban dad energy looked up from the coffee table where he was... was that a jigsaw puzzle?
"Safe is relative," he said. "But yeah, safer than out there. I'm Connor."
Maya patted the couch beside her. "Sit. Tell us your tragic backstory. We're all about oversharing here."
Charlie perched on the edge of the couch. "I don't really have a tragic backstory."
"Bullshit." But Maya said it kindly. "Nobody ends up at vampire rehab without drama."
"It's not rehab," Connor said without looking up from his puzzle. "It's a 'restorative community for mindful integration.'"
"You memorized the brochure?" Maya laughed. "That's the most Connor thing ever."
Charlie found himself relaxing fractionally. These vampires weren't circling him like prey or sneering at his existence. They were just... there. Being normal.
Well, as normal as vampires doing jigsaw puzzles could be.
"So what's your thing?" Maya asked. "We've all got a thing. Connor can't handle blood if it's not exactly body temperature. Makes him gag."
"It's a texture thing," Connor muttered, fitting another puzzle piece.
"And I grow things." Maya gestured vaguely toward the window. "Turns out vampires can have green thumbs. Who knew? I like to grow blood oranges, because I think I'm hilarious."
The book reader—he still hadn't introduced himself—looked up. "Thomas. I make furniture. Keeps the hands busy, keeps the mind quiet."
"That's nice," Viktor said. "Charlie's still figuring out his thing."
"I faint at the sight of blood." The words tumbled out before Charlie could stop them. He waited for the laughter, the disgust, the familiar contempt.
Instead, Maya brightened. "Oh my god, finally! Someone else!"
