Page 69 of Only Fangs

“My grandmother and Marjorie are friends. They go way back.” He flashes me a smile.

And then I notice it. The small pin on his lapel, so subtle I might not have notice. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a trueblooder,” I say, trying to stay polite and not sound like I’m calling him a cunt to his face.

“Of course.” He says it like we didn’t spend years fighting for progress together. He must see the look on my face. “Did you really believe it all, back then? All that ‘women should have the vote’ schtick I did?”

“I…” but I don’t reply, because yes, yes I did believe it.

He throws his head back and gives a horsey laugh, almost a bray. “You are adorable. It was all just an act. Too good an opportunity to meet plenty of horny young suffragettes.” He winks at me and I throw up a little into my mouth. “You know what I mean, don’t you Brody?”

Brody looks panicked. “Umm…” he glances briefly at me. Help me screams from behind his eyes.

“Well, it’s been lovely to catch up,” I tell Teddy and take Brody’s elbow. “But Brody and I really need to mingle a little.”

“Of course. It was a pleasure to see you, Ari. And to meet you, Brody.”

I pull Brody away from him.

“What a creep,” Brody whispers in my ear as we head towards the safety of the far corner.

A waiter comes round with a tray of cut glass tumblers half full of a pale liquid, ice chinking as guests grab one.

“What’s this?” Brody asks him.

“Alba,” comes the rather flat reply. He’s obviously human and evidently more than a little bored with all our vampire bullshit.

“Oh.” Brody takes two and hands one to me. “Thank⁠—”

But Brody is cut off by the waiter who has taken a step backwards, tripped, and is now falling, as if in slow motion. Brody grabs for him and I swoop in to rescue the tray of drinks.

Brody pulls him up, the waiter’s eyes like saucers.

“Are you OK?” I ask. He looks like he’s about to go into shock.

The waiter just stares at Brody. “OMG. You’re…” but he trails off.

I look down and see that he’s still holding Brody’s hand. Brody’s very warm, very obviously human, hand.

We all stand there, no one moving, no one saying a word. It’s awkward as all hell.

Eventually the waiter breaks the stalemate by cocking his head and looking intently at Brody. “You’re dressed like one of them,” he whispers.

“I am one of them,” Brody replies.

“No, you’re⁠—”

“I am one of them,” he repeats, a little slower and a little more forcefully this time. I half expect him to tap his nose in that annoyingly all-knowing way.

“Oh. I see.” The waiter obviously does not see but what else can he possibly say. “Well, I’d better, um…” I hand him the tray. “Thank you.” He scurries off, looking back over his shoulder one more time to check if this whole bizarre exchange really happened. I bare my fangs at him and he almost falls over again. I don’t like to show my teeth, especially to normies, but I need him to know that I, at least, am a vampire. Maybe he’ll think he just mis-read the warmth of Brody’s touch. Or maybe he’ll just be too scared of me to do anything with the ripe little nugget of gossip he’s just discovered. Either way, I need him to keep his mouth shut.

“That felt a little too close for comfort,” Brody says as he sips the drink that’s still in his hand.

I take a sip of my own. “Yeah.” There isn’t really anything else to say.

“This drink is really…” he makes a face like a dog sucking on a bee.

He isn’t wrong. Alba is bitter and strong and has very few redeeming qualities. Vampires only drink it because there’s an old wives’ tale that says it makes blood taste all the sweeter, so for centuries this was served everywhere vampires and humans mixed in the hopes the humans would eventually fall in love with it and make it a staple of their own diets.

“Do you like it?” he asks.