My Vampire Plus-One

by Jenna Levine

“Or I suppose you could kiss me instead.” My jaw dropped. “Kiss you?” I was gobsmacked. I didn’t kiss strangers. Not ever. Or, okay, not since a particularly rowdy girls’ weekend back in 2015.

I bet he’d kiss like the world was ending. I bet it would be fantastic.

“I don’t think I can pull off a convincing fake laugh,” I admitted. “Sure you can.” “Not when nothing’s funny.” He looked confused. “There’s nothing to pull off. You just…laugh.”

More importantly, she was human. I had sworn off fucking with anything mortal during the Carter Administration.

“And you know that Gretchen is almost thirty-five. Aunt Sue had begun to suspect Gretchen had given up. It’s so good to see someone who’d given up on romance find love, don’t you think?” She gave me a knowing look that was all too familiar. My stomach lurched. So I guess we were doing this, then.

“That’s great,” I said sarcastically, and probably a bit too loudly. I grabbed for the bottle of wine again. “If I can bring a plus-one, that means I’ll be able to bring my boyfriend.” I’d never really experienced a record scratch moment before, where conversations and ambient noise and even time itself seems to grind to a screeching halt. I was experiencing it now, though.

“You’re dating someone?” Mom sounded like Christmas had come in March. I barely heard her over the spinning of the wheels in my mind. I opened my mouth to correct her. To say that, no—I was still just as single as ever— And closed it again as one of the most ridiculous ideas I’d ever had began taking shape in my mind.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Mom said, dreamily. That made two of us. I did my best to smile back at Mom, even as I was screaming inside.

And there was my most prized possession: a framed oil painting of Edward Cullen on the wall above the sink, sparkly and magnificent as he gazed moodily into the middle distance.

(I didn’t care what Frederick thought about Twilight. I fucking loved Edward Cullen. To be able to read minds? Epic.

I tried tapping into the rage that fueled many of the bigger mistakes I’d made in my first century as a vampire to keep my fear at bay, but it was difficult. I’d changed a lot since those early years.

Cleaves is, unfortunately, aware of our intentions and now hides in plain sight by wearing more modest attire than his usual. We believe this is due largely to Giuseppe’s cardboard Muppet stunt, taken without board approval. While using The Count appears to have successfully communicated our fury regarding the Count Wyatt Contesque INCIDENT, the implementation was as subtle as a vampire at sunrise. Giuseppe was reprimanded for acting without board approval and was admonished not to do something so silly again.

New castle floodlights: discussion tabled until April, when the human contractor responsible for project can be present. Reminder: He works for us. NO ONE EAT HIM.

One downside to having a nonhuman roommate was when I needed someone to validate me, I was usually out of luck.

Until a few months ago, Sam had expressed what I’d always thought of as a regular, brotherly amount of concern for my safety. The past few months, though, he’d become bizarrely nervous. Last week he’d even started encouraging me to carry a sharp wooden stick in my purse if I planned to be out at night.

SAM: You don’t know who could be out there, Ame SAM: There could be murderers, muggers, thieves following you home SAM: Even, you know SAM: Vampires

The guy looked roughly my age. His dirty-blond hair was a mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered combing it, but the rest of him looked all right. More than all right, actually. Especially the way that long-sleeved green Henley he wore clung to his broad chest and shoulders. And the thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, they really, really did.

“He’s reading a magazine with dragons on it,” I said, lamely. “So?” Sophie said. “Nerds are cool again. Nerds are hot.”

“And when’s the last time you told off your parents?” I swallowed. “I’ve never done that, either.” “Wait, really?” “Really.” I shook my head. “I never did the teenage rebellion thing. I just did as I was told. What was expected of me.”

“What do you think should be on the list?” I asked, feeling more foolish than I’d ever felt before. “I’m so happy you asked.” Sophie pulled out a yellow legal pad from her bag and wrote CRITERIA FOR FAKE BOYFRIEND in large capital letters at the top.

“Not…a…violent…felon,”

“Maybe mid-to-late thirties? If he’s too young and impressionable, it could get weird. But if he’s too much older than me, that could be weird, too.” “That makes sense,” she agreed. “Also, someone who’s too young and still believes in love or whatever might fall in love with you.” I

“These fake dating schemes lead to real love all the time.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I do,” she said. “I’ve read about it.” I raised an eyebrow. “Where?” “Novels.” “Novels?” I laughed.

“Look,” she said, growing serious. “It doesn’t matter what literally dozens of books I have read about the subject have to say. I’m just saying it’s a risk. I mean…look at you.”

“And either way, Mr. Dungeons & Dragons looks like he fits the old-enough-but-not-too-old requirement.” She chanced a glance at me. “He also doesn’t look like a violent felon.”

Confused. (How in this city of millions have A.C. and I crossed paths TWICE in 24 HOURS?! And why is she checking me out?)

(Hades, she’s pretty. I’ve been so distracted by everything else I’d forgotten just how pretty she is.)

Then he fixed me with those startling bright blue eyes. “Um. Hello?” I hesitated, teeth worrying at my bottom lip. “I need a favor.”

“You have an exceptional flair for the dramatic for an accountant.” “I have a completely average flair for the dramatic for an accountant,” I said, feeling a little unhinged. Talking to this man felt like trying to walk in a straight line on a listing ship.

Not only do I run into innocent accountants on sidewalks, I also read magazines upside down. On purpose.” He gestured to his discarded magazine with such a self-deprecating twinkle in his eye that I couldn’t help the small smile that twitched at the corners of my lips. “I don’t care about that.” “No?”

“Are you a serial killer?” His smile slipped. The hand resting on the table clenched into a fist. “I beg your pardon?” “All I need from my plus-one is for them to not be a violent felon or a murderer or whatever.”

and yes, I do find you unfairly handsome and weirdly charming, but that has nothing to do with it

“It suits you, by the way. Your choice of profession.” I didn’t know what to do with that, either.

“But why does your family not provide food that you can eat? Do they not know about your dietary limitations?”

The vampire fugitive R.C. has been wanted for the murder of dozens of innocent partygoers for the better part of two centuries— That last link made me do a double take. Vampire fugitive? The better part of two centuries?

REGINALD: That it’s a great idea. That maybe I’ll get my taxes done for free.

What sort of foundation invested in Transylvanian silk mills and made regular charitable contributions to blood banks in Western Europe?

fave tv show—the original Muppet Show is the best fucking television program in history (I know less about Sesame Street but feel I should rectify that soon) R.

Feelings: Anxious about tonight. Which is STUPID. What does it matter if Amelia likes how I look (it DOESN’T matter).

“I look like I’m getting ready to go clubbing.” Sophie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Have you ever actually gone clubbing?” “Yes,” I lied.

“The bubonic plague and how rats have been unfairly blamed for it since the Middle Ages?”

“Other than that, just be yourself. It’ll be fine.” “Famous last words,” he warned. It turned out he was right about that, too.

“Shall we knock on the door?” he asked. “Oh, we can just go on in,” I said, my free hand already on the doorknob. “Aunt Sue never makes us knock.” His smile faltered. His grip on my hand tightened. “I’d feel better if we did. I’ll need your aunt or uncle to explicitly invite me inside before I can join the party.”

Sam blinked at him in confusion for a few moments, taking in Reggie’s riot of a coat, the bright blue of his eyes, and his serious expression. He hesitantly clasped his outstretched hand. Then dropped it again almost immediately.

“Reginald,” Sam repeated, as if trying to place the name. Then he snapped his fingers. “Of course. You’re Frederick and Cassie’s friend, right?”

But if your date does anything…strange…will you let me know?” Unbelievable.

Sam muttered something under his breath I didn’t quite catch, though it sounded a bit like I cannot believe I am going through this again.

“You okay?” “Sure,” he said. He was smiling again. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m always okay.” I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll eat when I get home.” “It’s not fine.” His expression was almost pained. “They’re your family. They should be more considerate of your needs.”

For most of the party, we sat in folding chairs at the very back of the living room apart from the others, with Reggie doing his utmost to make me laugh. He was good at making me laugh. Really good.