It was a warm summer day, and Parvati Kalidas-Dawns’ mind lingered on the month’s deadly vampire attacks.
Vampire attacks were a rarity in the modern US. Fatal ones? Unheard of. There hadn’t been such a tragedy in Parvati’s hometown, Bluewood IN, for over a century.
And, most importantly of all, two people had their lives snuffed out as senselessly as a weakly-flickering candle in the wind.
Parvati researched the victims the minute the local news station reported their passing.
@21st_CenturyBard was a street artist. Videos of him playing two empty milk jugs like they were an old master’s drum were all that remained.
The second man was dubbed John Doe. A title used by the American legal system for dead people whose true name was unknown. His photos showed short hair. His wrinkles wouldn’t put him younger than forty.
Their deaths were tragedies. Her fellow townsfolk didn’t get the memo.
Teens gabbled outside the local Indian store. A young woman chatted into her phone, occasionally pausing to huff her cigarette through smiling lips. A raggedy man browsed a newspaper. The air smelled of wildflowers and gasoline.
Parvati suspected it was because the two murdered gentlemen were homeless. Folk thought things that harmed outcasts couldn’t hurt them.
It turned Parvati’s stomach. Now, more than ever, the world needed people who understood vampires. She desperately wished her grandmother grasped this.
Bing!
Parvati pulled her phone from her pocket, and clicked on the only text. It was from her little sister, Rukmini.
Hey. Don’t brood.
And have fun in that weird restaurant.
It’s creepy, but it’s your happy place.
And you are NOT brooding at your happy place.
Plus Sparkles and I’ve got good news.
Rukmini sent a picture of herself sitting beside Mira Belizaire. Both were beaming and holding a fantasy novel. The girls looked very different. Rukmini was stocky and russet-haired, tanned, and grinning. Mira was an ebony-skinned girl with a shy smile, glittery pink glasses, and curls styled into delicate knots. But they’d been friends forever, and (if their hand-holding indicated anything) were soon to become more.
Parvati smiled. Mira’s parents were notoriously strict, and claimed fiction was murder for the common-sense synapses. But Mira snuck her books around.
Shoving her phone into her pocket, Parvati walked to the small black building tucked behind an ancient oak tree. Adam Escapist’s Coffee and Antiques seemed distant from the nearby strip mall and muffled road. Standing before the windows displaying rosebud-lipped dolls and miniature skulls, Parvati felt a rush of nostalgia.
She’d loved this place as a kid, but her interests drifted in her teen years.
She slipped inside. A menu hung from the wall. Old books rested beside bobbleheads, and the whole place smelled like ink, cocoa and dust.
It would have been peacefully quiet if not for the passionate smooching.
Parvati turned to the staffer.
Well, the staffer and her boyfriend, who had thrown himself halfway over the desk to kiss her.
Oh, dear. Parvati thought. Oh DEAR.
She cleared her throat. “Um, ma’am?” The words sounded squeaky. Alas, she didn’t squeak loudly enough to stop the zesty PDAers.
The jingle of the opening door turned Parvati around, but didn’t stir the devoted duo from their silencing bubble of love.
Grandma Jules entered. Her silvery curls were wind-tossed, her peachy skin flushed. Her gray eyes lit with a smile when she saw Parvati. Those eyes grew as sharp and sparkling as her swan-headed cane when she glanced at the lovebirds.
She loped to the desk and rapped her cane against it. The couple jumped apart, the man stumbling in front of the woman as if to shield her. He shot them an extremely sheepish grin that was only made more awkward because he was standing with his chest thrown out and hands half-shoved into his pockets.
“Hello, folk. I am Akbar Khan. This lovely lady is Gwennie Alabastor, my fiance —”
Gwennie patted his arm. “Akbar,” she hissed, “she’s a customer.”
Akbar’s confidence wilted. “Sorry,” he whimpered, sidling away.
Gwennie rubbed his shoulder, her pale, freckly skin redder than her hair. “I’m really sorry,’ she stammered. “It’s the weekend — I didn’t think folk would visit —” she swallowed. “Um, what do you need?”
Parvati and Jules ordered. Gwennie led them to the patio.
A White man wearing a UFO T-shirt swept it. Recognizing Adam Clancey, the store owner, Parvati waved. He smiled tersely, then stared at the ground.
“I’m surprised Adam let that barista meet that boy on the job,” Jules muttered when Gwennie was out of earshot. “Employers don’t allow that, because — you saw. Now, tell me why you called.”
Anxiety iced Parvati’s veins. She shoved it down.“I want to major in Vampire Studies,” she said firmly.
Jules sighed. “This again?”
“Vampires are an intrinsic part of our existence,” Parvati said. “A person can’t study history without learning about our bloodbound cousins.”
“And Vampire Historians are paid somewhere between below the poverty line and nothing,” Jules said. “People haven’t cared about that for decades, and most vampires have reentered society.”
“I know that,” Parvati said softly, “but in war-ravaged places, people still suffer vampiric changes. And even in the States — well, look at what’s happened to Bluewood. The world needs people who will rehabilitate or, if necessary, hunt vampires.”
Jules’ brows furrowed in thought. Parvati waited with baited breath.
“Parv,” she said at length. “Do you want to go to a wartorn country? People kill and torture to survive in such places. Basic humanity runs dry. And when you add the undead — well, a bad vampire makes the cruelest human seem kind. Besides, Bluewood’s problems will be sorted out in a couple weeks.”
Frustration billowed up in Parvati. She’d had this conversation with Jules the last time they’d discussed the undead. And every time before that.
“I know the first thing. And you can’t know the last.”
Jules raised her eyebrows. “And you can?”
“I was raised by the greatest vampire hunter of her generation,” Parvati replied, glancing pointedly at her grandmother.
“And she’s sitting here telling you that Vampire Studies is a dangerous, underpaying career choice,” Jules said.
The frustration Parvati had pushed down bubbled to the surface.
“I’ve been fascinated by vampires since I was a kid,” she cried. “They are born from the worst conditions we can possibly create, designed to drink blood, and yet can be better than our best. I’m willing to be poor, and to see war, if it means helping people like them or protecting folk from them.”
Jules hesitated.
Then, she opened her mouth.
Parvati braced herself. For the words that said her dreams were foolish. For the lie that things that undeniably mattered didn’t. For Jules to deny her own heroism to talk Parvati out of helping others.
“I’ll consider it,” Jules said.
Parvati blinked.
“No, I don’t like this,” Jules said. “But I can’t stop you, so I’ll give you a warning: you shouldn’t be either exceptional or a nobody when studying vampires. The exceptional draw their attention. The nobodies will be failures. Do you understand?”
Parvati didn’t understand at all, but the intensity in her grandma’s eyes forced the words from her mouth. “Y-yes, Grandma.”
An uneasy smile flickered over Jules’ face. “Good.”
A soft cough interrupted them. Parvati turned to see the barista holding their drinks. She’d expected Gwennie, but it was Adam.
“An iced latte, and vanilla-and-blackberry flavored lemonade?”
“Lemonade’s mine,” Jules said.
“And thanks for the iced latte,” Parvati added.
The conversation drifted as they drank. To Parvati’s SAT scores and her opinions on the miserable state of the true crime genre. To how Jules’ prosthetic leg was treating her and her axe-fighting classes.
They didn’t mention vampires.
But the bloody-mouthed undead lingered in the back of Parvati’s mind.
They finished their drinks, and returned inside to pay the bill. The building was refreshingly cold after the summer’s beating heat. Parvati was relieved by the lack of smooching noises.
One thing ruined it.
It was the sharp smell of bitter copper, so pungent she felt she could taste it. Parvati’s melancholy, morbid mind immediately knew what it was.
Blood.
She drew closer to Jules. “Grandma, do you smell that?”
“Yes, Parvati.” Jules’ hand tightened on the head of her swan-shaped cane.
Vampires moved lightning fast and had superhuman strength. Only salt and holy items could kill them. Since the attacks, both Parvati and Jules carried salt on their persons. Parvati had a bag of prasad, food used as offerings to Hindu deities, but her lack of devotion would weaken its potency. Jules was the only fighter among them, but was aging and disabled.
It would be a difficult fight.
Pushing her silky hair, which usually concealed her right eye, out of her face, Parvati scanned the room. If anyone was here, they were hidden by poorly lit corners and spaces behind dark shelves.
The blood scent lingered. Parvati and Jules followed it. The sight that met their eyes was far from pleasant.
Adam was kneeling on the floor, back to them. He gripped something so tightly his knuckles were white. The impassioned staffer and her fiancé lay curled on the floor. If not for the thick, wine-dark liquid pooling around them, they would have looked like they were sleeping.
Nausea twisted Parvati’s stomach. The horrible smell seemed to be filling her lungs and drowning her in two stranger’s blood.
Jules shot Adam a cutting look. Parvati understood: Jules thought Adam was a vampire.
The two ducked behind the bookshelf. Vampires could smell humans, but the sheer amount of blood, combined with the heightened senses that came from drinking it, would confuse them.
They scanned the area, floor to ceiling. Parvati’s heart jumped into her throat. Foot and handprints, wetly red, splattered the ceiling, trailing into the employee only room.
Jules touched her shoulder, gaze steely. Parvati drew strength from her. Jules rubbed salt over the head of her cane. They lay salt and the prasad around the employees only room, and in the hallways and walls, so Adam couldn’t escape.
Then, they crept behind him.
Up close, Parvati got a good look at the lovers’ corpses. They were both bloodlessly pale. Gwennie had several broken bones: Akbar’s throat had been crushed in, likely to keep him from crying for help.
But even such a violent death hadn’t robbed them of humanity. Akbar’s arm was around Gwennie. She turned toward him, nestling her bloodied head against his chest. Their promise rings glittered in the dim light.
Adam sat beside them still, hand clenched viciously, muttering something.
This close, Parvati caught the words.
Good God, forgive me.
Parvati shot Jules a curious look. In the United States, human-hunting vampires were rarely religious. As faith-based objects could hurt them, American undead assumed that prayer itself would be deadly. This wasn’t true, but urban legends persisted. And Adam tended to believe urban legends.
Jules hooked her staff under Adam’s throat. He jumped —
“Stay still,” Jules said softly. “Or you’ll find this beauty can shred flesh like a fishhook in a goldfish’s mouth.”
Parvati winced.
“Jules,” Adam sounded close to tears. “I’m not — they forced me —”
“Shut up, stay still, and let my assistant inspect your eyes.” Vampires had scarlet irises, and colored contacts weren’t easy to hide.
Adam drew a hiccuping breath, and opened his shaking hand. A crucifix sat in his sweaty palm.
“Grandma,” Parvati said gently, “I don’t think —”
“Check his eyes, assistant.”
Trembling, trying to ignore the corpses of what had been a loving couple, Parvati knelt and studied Adam’s teary eyes.
They were baby blue, too light to hide a red iris. She was glad for it: she wasn’t sure she could watch somebody be reduced to a weeping wreck.
“He’s human,” Parvati said weakly. “You don’t have to threaten him.”
Jules lowered her cane from Adam’s throat. “Good. I’ll take it from here. Fetch the authorities.”
She’s banishing me, Parvati realized, numbly astonished.
Jules’ face would have been impassive, if not for the fear and bone-deep concern in her eyes.
Reality dawned on Parvati. She couldn’t fight. She wasn’t charismatic. Gwennie and Akbar, the folk who needed help, lay cooling as she squatted above their spilled blood.
Parvati staggered to her feet and stumbled toward Jules. “Don’t scare him,” she whispered.
“I’ll do what I need to,” Jules replied. Her voice softened. “Please. Go.”
For perhaps the first time that evening, Parvati obeyed.
…
The next hour was a blur. The heat and brightness seemed incongruous. A raggedy passerby glanced at her, and Parvati wondered if he was looking at her bloodstained clothes.
The cops came, interviewed her, sent her home, and stormed inside the shop Parvati’s childhood self adored. Now, all those warm memories were tainted.
Parvati returned home. She had barely stumbled through the door when a voice boomed down the stairwell.
“Gran?” Rukmini bounded downstairs, and skidded to a stop. “Parv! God, I am so happy you’re back. Noe found Mira’s books, and he’s making her give them away, which is stupidly unfair —”
She stopped. “What happened?” Her indignant voice turned hushed. “Where’s Gran?”
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Parvati said heavily. “There’s a lot you need to know.”
When Parvati finished, Rukmini got up. She brought Parvati a blanket and made her soup. Parvati gratefully accepted.
“Gran was great at vampire hunting,” Rukmini said confidently. “She’ll be back in, say, a few hours.”
Rukmini was right, but each passing hour tortured Parvati’s nerves. She feared Jules would be harmed.
The sky was violet with twilight when the doorbell rang.
The sisters rushed to it. Grandma Jules stood outside. Rukmini tried to hug her, but Parvati held her back. She studied her grandmother, trying to see if she’d been bitten. But Jules was healthy. Relieved, Parvati released Rukmini and joined her in hugging Jules. Jules embraced them back, as tightly as her slender, sinewy arms could manage.
They returned inside. Parvati sat Jules down, while Rukmini fetched more soup.
“What happened?” Rukmini asked.
“Adam was threatened and bribed into helping the vampires,” Jules said. “There’s a lot of them — they’ve got a Sovereign. Majority of its subjects are Spawn.”
It took a moment for the words to hit. When they did, Rukmini’s eyes widened. Parvati gasped.
Sovereigns were the only vampires powerful enough to transform others: they held slight mind-control powers over those they turned. Jules drove them to extinction. Spawn were corpses Sovereigns resurrected. They were strong and fast, but lacked human intelligence.
“Surely not,” Parvati said. “There hasn’t been a Sovereign in America for over fifty years.”
Jules just looked at her, sad and terribly calm, and Parvati knew she was right.
She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to soothe her panicked mind. “That can’t be possible,” she said, the words tasting odd in her mouth.
“Adam showed me photographic evidence,” Jules replied, hand drifting to the half-heart amethyst dangling from her cobweb-esque choker.
Parvati drew a breath, hating how shaky it sounded. We have the world’s best vampire-hunter in this room, she told herself. Grandma’s not in her prime, but she’s still formidable. Besides, if the Sovereign mostly controls Spawn, they’re pretty young. Likely weak, and inexperienced.
“Will you help the authorities hunt them?” Parvati asked.
“Of course not,” Jules said sharply. “I’m retired. The cops and the Vampire Museum can handle it.”
“I could help the folk at the Museum,” Parvati suggested.
Jules’ eyes flashed. “You are not getting involved in vampires. Not now, not in college, and not afterward.”
“But — we talked about this,” Parvati said.
“I take back what I said,” Jules replied.
Rukmini looked at Parvati, then to Jules, and back again.
Parvati’s frustration and anger returned with a vengeance. “With respect, Grandmother, you cannot stop me.”
Jules frowned. “If you insist on pursuing Vampire Studies, I will not fund your education.”
“You don’t mean that,” Parvati said.
“I very much do,” Grabbing her cane, Jules stood. “Rukmini, Parv, I’ve had a good evening with you two. Believe me, vampire hunting is a bullshit career. You’re better than it.”
Jules left, leaving Parvati fuming and bewildered. Her grandmother never made idle threats.
Well, Jules Dawns wasn’t the only stubborn person in this family. Parvati would study vampires, if she had to work two jobs back-to-back, seven days a week, to pay for her education.
She went upstairs. She collected tacks, the board she hung her artworks from, a spool of red string, and got to work. She accidentally hammered one of her fingers while setting up her board. But nail health and sleep were sacrifices Parvati Kalidas-Dawns was willing to make.
Come morning, Parvati had her theory board set up. Tomorrow, she’d investigate Bluewood’s vampire Sovereign.