Page 17
“So all those legends about vampires not being able to tolerate the sun, the whole reason they’re creatures of the night who live in coffins… it was because sunburn is bad for their skin?”
She huffs a laugh. “More or less. Quick history lesson, okay? Vampirism originated in the southern part of the Carpathian mountain range, in what’s now Romania. It wasn’t a densely populated area back then, and the problem with the population living mostly in small-to-medium villages is that someone notices when people go missing.”
“Why were they going missing? If vampires don’t have to kill to feed?”
“It was a different time, Adam.” She grimaces. “People were still freaked out from the plague, everyone was very religious, and nobody was lining up to have their blood sucked.”
“Okay, I get that, but… Wait, go back. You said it originated in Romania. Originated how?”
She shrugs. “Nobody’s entirely sure. Modern research has conclusively proved that it’s a virus—”
“What?”
“—and there are theories, given the time when it emerged, that it mutated from the plague. I don’t know if the science behind that holds up, though. I’ve never looked into it.”
“Vampirism is a virus?”
“Yep.”
“So theoretically we could catch it?” Jesus, I’m investing in as much hand sanitizer as I can afford. Would Tristan be offended if I started wearing masks?
“It’s only transmissible through blood and doesn’t activate until death.”
I don’t think my brain can keep up with all this new information. “Then the undead part is true?”
“Yes and no? They have heartbeats and all that, so they’re technically alive, but they did die to become vampires. The virus only lives in the bloodstream, so you’d need to be injected with or drink vampire blood while you were alive, but it stays dormant until you die. That’s why there aren’t as many new vampires these days—most of them were created during wars and plagues in Europe.”
“This is wild,” I say as Cat turns off King’s Way onto Coventry Street. “But what you’re saying is, they used to sleep during the day because it wasn’t easy to find someone to feed off? So they were doing their best to reduce their need for blood.”
“Basically, yeah.” We turn left onto Moray Street, and the car slows as Cat begins the hunt for a parking spot. “The transformation the virus causes leaves a new vampire low on blood and desperate to feed. When they rise, they’re so hungry they’re not always in their right minds—the stories get that part right. A lot of the early generations ripped through families and neighbours without knowing what was happening, so people naturally became wary of vampires.” She reverse parks neatly in a spot I would have sworn was too small for the Rover, turns off the engine, and looks at me with a smile. “Ready to get registered?”
I suck in a deep breath. “Fucked if I know.”
Chapter 9
The Association of Registered Feeders is in what used to be a narrow-fronted Victorian row house but was given a fugly modern reno with render and big aluminium windows. From the street, it looks boringly innocent, just like the hundreds of similar once-homes in the inner suburbs that have been converted into medical practices, legal and architectural firms, and random small businesses. A discreet brass plaque beside the door identifies it as A.R.F. (Melbourne). Clearly, this is an “if you know, you know” type of place. Which makes sense, since they can’t exactly put together a huge advertising display attracting humans to become vampire fodder.
I shudder. Not the best way for my brain to phrase it, now that I’ve agreed to become “fodder” myself.
“Don’t just stand there.” Cat reaches around me for the door handle, giving me a shove as she does. “Move it.”
“Is this, like, a branch office?” I ask, obediently stepping in through the doorway. She follows, closing the door behind us. We’re in a neat reception-slash-waiting area. It actually looks a lot like a doctor’s waiting room—there’s a desk with a raised front, behind which a middle-aged woman is typing industriously, and a line of chairs against the side wall. Two people are sitting there, waiting. Both look to be in their twenties, one dressed like a can’t-be-fucked uni student, complete with textbook and highlighter, the other seemingly having read Dracula too many times while going through his impressionable teen years. I never thought I’d be able to point to a stranger and say, “He wants to feed and/or fuck a vampire,” based on their looks, but even if I still didn’t know vampires existed, I’d—
He shifts in his chair, and the light catches on his unnaturally pale skin. Is he wearing body glitter?
Cat’s striding toward the desk, where the receptionist still hasn’t glanced up, and I catch up with her.
“Good morning,” she says in that almost formal tone she used at Tristan’s house. “My cousin would like to register.”
The receptionist still doesn’t look up. My experience is in food service hospitality and retail rather than office work, but that doesn’t stop my hackles going up. Front of house is front of house in any industry, and that means a goddamn greeting, at least.
She continues to type one-handed while passing Cat a clipboard with a form on it. “Fill this out, and we’ll call you if—”
The sharp crack of the clipboard hitting the desk cuts her off, and her head lifts, eyes round with astonishment.
“We haven’t met,” Cat says, and this time her voice is sharp enough to cut glass. It’s impressive. I wonder if she’ll teach me that fuck-off-and-die tone. “I’m Catrina Barale. My cousin would like to register.”
I bite back my grin. I’ve always wanted to be present for a “do you know who I am” moment. Cat throwing the family name around to get her way makes me want to cheer. Part of that might be because twenty-four hours ago I had no idea our name could even be used that way.
