She could make me a vampire, Sally thought. The thought was a drift of white cloud; she looked at it curiously.

Lavinia would make her a vampire. And then: they could be together? They would lie in the sun every day sharing hours of screaming orgasm? They would glide through the nights, forever outside but together? Could two vampires make a home together?

And on days when there was no sun? Would they revert to evil animals?

The words she would answer came to her at last, and she looked at their shape. But they were so complex that she said simply, “…no.”

It seemed like they would never move again. But at long last, Lavinia whispered, “I’m glad.”

The moon glow was gone. Only the tiniest gleam revealed her lover’s eyes. She could kill me now and I couldn’t stop her. The intense highs and lows of the past twenty-four hours, the sudden rush of violence, the deep silence now, all pulled Sally drifting out of consciousness. A voice, which was also a book she held in her hands, whispered, “Iraq being the way it is, most people there have lives ending in R.” She saw the big blood-red R and knew it meant how many people there were killed every day.

She was on a cobblestone path in a walled garden, far more splendid than the small yard behind her childhood home had actually been. This garden was shared with the houses on either side, while her mother’s real-life garden had been intensely private. Behind the house next door was a live Christmas tree, bright with holiday lights and a gilded lamppost. A feast for Chūnjié, the Chinese New Year, was set in the center of her mother’s little vegetable garden, surrounded by lilies on stems which were streams of music. She reached eagerly for one of the gooey glistening sticky-rice Niángāo, knowing she needed the good luck, but came away with a red packet of money.

She knew with dawning terror that the red packet in her hands contained thirty coins. Thirty was an odd number (because it started with an odd number) and odd numbers of coins were never given at a New Year’s feast, only at a funeral. Looking up from the unlucky gift envelope, she saw that she stood in her childhood bedroom. Her heart pounded. The door slowly drifted open. A white head slipped in sideways and grinned at her.

Then she remembered that she was safe, she was safe because the house had a guardian spirit. Kicking her feet leisurely, she floated through the ceiling into the attic, at the same time watching the whole thing on a big screen TV while holding hands with Lavinia, whose name was Moonin’. They both went “aaaahhhh,” as they saw the little fairy woman with gossamer wings the size of a cat (or maybe she was a cat).

Her head was cocked, listening. She said something but movie music drowned it out. She fluttered closer and the music hushed expectantly. Sally knew what she was going to say next.

But she only looked at Sally with great green eyes, settled purring on her chest and licked the tip of her nose.

Sally came awake in Lavinia’s arms, still feeling the dream. Did little fairies protect homes? Was that really why vampires couldn’t enter?

Lavinia silently watched her. “Did you hypnotize me?” Sally asked.

She felt the slight motion as Lavinia shook her head. “Dunno. I may’ve. I just wanted you to get some sleep so you could be awake when I sleep.”

Sally had been in one position for too long. Reluctantly she sat up, tilting her head left and right to unkink her neck, and slithered around so she was pressed against Lavinia’s side. “Are you feeling sleepy?” she asked, snaking her arms around her.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The face which turned to her was difficult to see. “I’m not sleepy, no. I been sitting here most of the night loving you up. Wondering why you would ever want…” She stopped herself, but Sally guessed what she’d been about to say. She knew Lavinia had seen that question on Sally’s own face in the early days. She wished she could tell her that she didn’t feel that way anymore.

In a trembling whisper, Lavinia said, “I been trying to hold on to me. I feel it slipping, whatever makes me me. Maybe I’m just imagining.” But she sounded frightened.

Alarmed, Sally stroked her face, wishing she could see better. There was a small flashlight in the glove compartment, along with a dilapidated green Michelin Guide to Paris, a necklace with a star and some ancient, crumbling chewing gum. But to shine a light on her face right now would be to feed those doubts which she guessed Lavinia had.

As an act of faith, she kissed Lavinia’s lips instead and affirmed, “I’m here. I’ll love you through every path you have to walk.”

Then, moved perhaps by inspiration from a cat-sized fairy with gossamer wings, she breathed into her lover’s mouth.

Again. A deep sigh, in and out.

Their mingled breath seemed loud in the stillness.

Sobbing as quietly as she could, Lavinia said, “What’d I do to deserve you, tiger? I feel all me again. You, you called me back?” She shook her head, her nose brushing Sally’s. “This gonna turn into something ‘bout the healing power of love?”

This time Sally didn’t push the thought away. “Maybe,” she said cautiously. Then, more surely: “Why not?”

With her limber body, she straddled Lavinia’s lap. “Next time you sleep,” she affirmed, “I’ll stay by your side, loving you and knowing who you are. When you wake up, my eyes will be the first thing you see. I’ll say your name.” Her voice shook. “I’ll call you wife.” Her loins throbbed at that. She felt fiercely happy.

But Lavinia said, “What about Sleepy, Dopey and the gang back there?” As the first hints of morning light grew, her pale face emerged, ghostlike, from the darkness.

Sally had forgotten about them. Reluctantly she said, “I guess we better tell them what’s up.” She reached for the curtain.

Lavinia caught her hand. “One more minute, baby.” Sally gladly let her hand drop. Lavinia brought her own hand, rough and feeling very human, up to Sally’s face.

Lavinia suddenly looked almost shy. “You’ve said it, I haven’t yet. But I’ll say it now.” Sally’s eyebrows lifted and she knew that whatever Lavinia was about to say would make her happy. But she still wasn’t prepared for the rush of joy and passion she felt when Lavinia looked into her eyes and said, “My wife.”

“Oh-oh-ohhh!” Sally, with her wordless cries, her eyes wide in wonderment and her mouth in a trembling O, looked softer than she had ever looked. Lavinia with her earthy smile of joy looked like wiccan paintings Sally had seen of the Goddess. Lavinia’s mouth opened like she was going to say something more, but then she blushed (only the faintest hint, and barely visible in the growing light) and instead pulled Sally to her for a kiss. Sally, who had been going to say more herself, instead gave in to the kiss.

When their hungry mouths could let the kiss end, the light had grown to where Sally could see Lavinia’s eyes as violet and not just grey. Sally’s body trilled like a chime and her hands treasured Lavinia’s face.

At last, reluctantly, Lavinia murmured, “We gotta.” Sally pulled the green curtain.

The crowded vampires were awake. The expressions on their varied faces as they looked around at the small home were a copy of the wonderment on the faces of the two lovers a moment ago. The copy was almost comical, almost obscene, but there was a poignancy and genuineness to it that made it tragic instead.

They looked like lovers who know they will soon lose each other. Sally put her arm tightly around Lavinia.

♦

Hundreds of miles away, Carrie Yan (who had been KerriAnne since she moved away from everything in her childhood) knew her sister didn’t love her anymore.

Big sister Sally who always made everything right, the one lifeline KerriAnne knew in her world of pain, bold, beautiful, strong and always there, was gone.

When Sally didn’t answer her phone, KerriAnne had gone to Sally’s apartment to get her help and someone else was living there. “She’s traveling, that’s all I know,” the cold bastard had said heartlessly. “I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”

Oh dear Jesus how that hurt. “She wouldn’t do that to me,” she’d informed the cold bastard but her world was already crumbling. KerriAnne’s hero had ridden away from her grasping, empty hands. Now little Carrie was so very lost.

“My sister always took care of me,” she whispered to the uncaring dark, thinking again about the pills she’d collected. She loved me when nobody else loved me.

I had someone who loved me once. Once I was loved.

From the medicine chest they gleamed in her thoughts, white and pure. They would taste bitter as her body welcomed them in.