Patron Saint of Vampires

Safe again in Vincent’s car Lucy brushed dirt and grass off her bare feet. The dead girl’s shoes had been just a hair too small. They drove for some time in silence, Lucy watched the trees and empty fields whip by. 

“Where are we going?” She asked after a while.

“My house.” Vincent said, “To wait for nightfall.” 

There was a pause, about two fields and six trees long, “Then what?” Lucy was testing the limits of her new perfect vision, watching the farthest corner of the field they were passing and contemplating the vastness of her new freedom. Life stretched before her, endless, open and uncertain like the country road they were driving on. No more waiting to find the right family, no more lights out at nine o’clock, no more waiting until she turned eighteen, no more endless cycles of school and church, interrupted only by brief visits to the library. 

They turned a corner onto a dirt road, “We have to get you licensed, and you should probably cut your hair.”

“Licensed?” She repeated. 

They pulled into a long dirt driveway and stopped in front of a short, white house. Vincent turned off the car and stepped out. Lucy followed him inside. 

He took off his coat and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a thin, swooping, black Chinese character which was tattooed on his bicep. 

“The vampire license tattoo is a series of coded lines that contain all of your information. You need to be licensed in order to be part of the community.” He explained.

“That’s a license?”

He nodded, “You can get it in any shape.”

“And that’s what you chose??” Lucy laughed, in spite of herself. 

“It means courage. . .  It was the nineties. Don’t look at me like that.” Vincent rolled his sleeve back down and turned away to hang up his coat.

Lucy ran her fingers through her hair, “Why do we have to cut my hair?”

“So nobody recognizes you. You’re gonna’ have to pick a new name, too.” He sank into a faded armchair in the living room and began to untie his shoes. “They’ll tell you all about it tonight. You should get some sleep right now.”

Lucy had more questions, but she let them go. Vincent turned to ascend the staircase but stopped on the first step and turned back towards her. “The guest bedroom is sort of. . . Storage right now, you’re gonna’ have to take the couch. . Sorry. I could get you a pillow. . .”

Lucy shrugged, she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway in this musty, strange house in the middle of the day, after all that commotion. When Vincent had disappeared behind the door at the top of the staircase Lucy laid back on the threadbare sofa and stared at the water stains on the ceiling. She was disappointed by the lack of wing-backed armchairs inside of Vincent’s house, there wasn’t a stitch of brocade anywhere either. The furniture was bland and generic, the walls were wood paneling; it was a thoroughly unsatisfactory home for a vampire. 

For a moment, as she was lying there, she began to think that this was all too preposterous. Vampires, grave-digging, arson-- the whole afternoon felt like it had been ripped from the pages of one of the graphic novels she kept tucked under her mattress. She became more and more certain that this was just some strange, vivid dream, and at any moment she would wake up back in her bunk at the orphanage, very much human.

When Vincent prodded her awake three hours later, though, she was still lying on that strange, threadbare couch, with leathery black wings folded against her back. The sun had gone down leaving the house in complete darkness. She sat on the edge of the sofa for a moment, rubbing her eyes. 

Vincent stood by the sliding door, holding a pair of scissors. “Come on, we have to cut your hair.”

Lucy followed him onto the back porch where there was a striped lawn chair. The backyard was small and closed off to the west by trees so it was draped in deep, green shadows. 

Lucy sat down and took her hair out of the pony tail it had been in all day.

“It’s got to go pretty short.” Vincent said, putting his hand under her chin. 

She looked at her reflection in the sliding glass door, “Okay.” Lucy had never had her hair short, usually she grew it out and donated it. She did not care what it looked like.

Vincent cut six inches off and added thick, shaggy bangs that covered her forehead. Lucy stood, shook the hair out of the dead girl’s dress and followed him back inside.

He threw her a jacket, “Cover your wings, we’ve got to get going.”

Lucy put the jacket on without question. The dead girl’s dress was thin and the jacket was warm, a big, black, hoodless windbreaker. It hung down past her hips and the sleeves covered her hands, but it left plenty of room for her wings.

“Why don’t you have wings?” Lucy asked, suddenly struck by the thought.

Vincent turned, lifting the back of his shirt so she could see the slight lumps on his upper back. “They sever them at birth. They’ll amputate yours tonight while we’re at the facility.” She looked alarmed, so he added, “It doesn’t hurt, they’re made of keratin, like your fingernails. They only get in the way anyways.”

“Oh.” Was all she said. She followed him to the door, but stopped, “I don’t have any shoes.”

Vincent glanced at her feet, then opened the closet by the door. He dug for a moment and produced the smallest, least pungent pair of shoes he owned. Lucy put them on, not objecting to their size or disheveled appearance. She was used to wearing borrowed clothing. 

Outside the air was chilly and the sky was a deep blue, flecked with silver stars. As they pulled out of the driveway Vincent asked her if she had thought about her new name at all. 

Lucy shrugged, looked at herself in the side mirror out the window. The new hair was strange, but not bad. She was even paler than before. 

After a moment she looked at him, “How did you choose your name?”

He swallowed, “I was born a vampire. Er, half anyway.” 

Lucy didn’t ask, but she wondered how he came to be half. There must be intermarriage, but the mechanics of this baffled her. The idea of renaming herself baffled Lucy. How many kids her age dreamed about this and now she could actually do it, and she didn’t even know where to start. Sister Katherine had called her Lucy because of her eyes, she needed Saint Lucy to help keep them sharp. Now she didn’t need help with her eyes. Lucy wondered briefly what her parents would have called her. Mildred. She said to herself. They would have called me Mildred.

Vincent noticed her shivering. “Oh, sorry, are you cold?” He flicked the heat on, “Your nerves will die eventually, give it a month or two.”

“So. . . You don’t feel anything?”

He nodded and they turned a corner, and another, and another. Soon the lights of the city flared on the horizon. After a while they stopped in front of an Olive Garden. 

Lucy looked at Vincent questioningly.

“The facility is below the restaurant.” He explained, unbuckling his seatbelt. “No one expects vampires to hide behind Italian food.”

“Wait, so is that whole garlic thing true then?”

He laughed, “No, no, but so many people believe it, it’s a pretty great location.”

Lucy nodded and followed him to a side door. He glanced behind them as they rounded the corner and pressed his toe firmly against a specific spot on the wall.

“Follow me, quick.” He led her behind the restaurant. After a second check of their surroundings he shifted the two metal garbage cans that guarded the entrance which looked like an ordinary storm shelter. He swung the doors open and they descended quickly. He slammed them shut behind them. “The button I activated with my foot at the front entrance causes the security camera to blip, then play a clip of the door swinging shut on the monitors. It only lasts thirty seconds, just long enough to get around the corner.” Vincent explained. 

Lucy’s night vision started to take over and she watched Vincent count down from the ceiling and out from the wall, locating and pressing a specific series of bricks. “This shelter was build in the sixties and modified by our people later.” When he had finished, a portion of the wall slid back and revealed a scanner and key pad. Vincent offered his tattoo to the scanner, then his eye. He typed in a six digit code and the wall withdrew into the ceiling. The room filled with toxic gas which lingered for only a moment before it was wicked away by small vacuums hidden in the walls. They proceeded down the newly revealed corridor, walking through the poisonous cloud unaffected. At the end of the hallway there was a plain oak door with a simple plaque, which read “DVLAA”.

Vincent waved to the camera above the door and it was promptly opened by a fresh-faced intern with wide, milky white eyes.

“Good evening, welcome to the department of vampire licensing and affairs.”

“Good evening, I would like to file for a new member.”

The intern smiled at Lucy and handed her a form and a pen. In the waiting room she tried to concentrate on the application, but there were so many other vampires, sitting cross-legged and reading magazines, talking to each other, all different ages, wingless, eyes glowing in varying shades of white and yellow. Most looked like they had come from work, dressed in collared shirts and slacks. Everyone was clean and neat, Lucy felt out of place, a filthy orphan among normal people. . er, vampires. Monitors around the room flashed ads about protecting your people, and license renewal regulations. 

With occasional help from Vincent, Lucy filled out the form to the best of her ability. She left the line for birthplace, biological parents’ names and social security number blank.

“What does it mean ‘blood source, if different from biological parents’?”

Vincent glanced over her shoulder, “That’s me,” He scribbled his name in the blank, “We don’t know our coven or our source lineage, so just leave those blank.” 

The form ended with a paragraph swearing its signer, for the continued peace and security of both peoples, to absolute secrecy, and to abide by the laws of the underground society under pain of death. 

When the form was done they were led away into an examination room where there was a man in a white lab coat with milky, blue eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, salt and pepper hair and crisp, grey slacks. 

“Alright, Miss Moreland, I am Doctor Fullstein. I am the resident psychological expert. I assume, Mr. Fry has explained the basics to you.” He sat on his desk. His teeth flashed as he spoke, smiling kindly between clauses.

Lucy nodded, in spite of the jilt caused by being addressed for the first time by her new name.

“I am legally obligated, to do a few tests and ask you a few questions at this point. Please answer honestly, to the best of your ability and try to remain looking at me.”

The examination began with a series of verbal verifications of the information she had provided on the form. The doctor looked at her fangs, testing the pressure of her jaw. He checked her pupils with a small flashlight. 

“Red eyes. I’ve only seen them a handful of times before.” He said between checkmarks on his clipboard. “Alright, looks like you’re all set. Next door Mr. Stevenson will get you setup to get your wings clipped. The material will be tested in an effort to identify your closest vampiric relative, since for another seventy years or so you will still resemble a human minor.”

Lucy flinched, seventy years sounded like a long time to go without R-rated movies.

They moved into the room next door, the hallways were small and dim, painted the same shade of oatmeal as the ones at Lucy’s eye doctor. There was a covered exam table in the center of the room next door, otherwise it was mostly empty. Mr. Stevens had yellow eyes flecked with white. He explained the procedure briefly, the painless snip, the filing which followed. 

“Getting ‘em taken off is easier than sproutin’ ‘em.” He said, winking. He asked her to remove her jacket and the new appendages twitched as they were set free for the first time since that afternoon. Standing behind her with the sharp, heavy clippers poised at her back he told Lucy to take a deep breath, then counted down from three. She heard the click and felt the new weightlessness and exhaled. 

From there they stepped into the licensing office where Mr. Fisher and “Mark” introduced themselves. Lucy was called “Miss Moreland” again, and asked what shape she wanted her license in. 

Lucy paused, she hadn’t thought of it.

“It doesn’t need to be something simple. A lot of people get roses.” Mark said, “I’ve done shooting starts, bicycles, barbed wire, last names. Whatever you want.” He pushed back his glasses and Lucy thought about how his eyes must have been hazel before he got turned, because they were marbled with red, but mostly yellow. He was cute, and it made her even more shy than usual.

“What about a biohazard symbol?” She offered, finally.

Mark laughed, “Alright, I like it. That’s one I haven’t done before.” He turned to the laptop next to him and began to work. While he was designing the template for the code Mr. Fisher proceeded to brief Lucy on her new responsibilities. 

“Earlier you signed a document stating that you would abide by the laws of our people.” 

Lucy nodded. Mister Fisher had dark, thin hair and talked very fast.

“For the continued security of our people our code of law is transmitted verbally, like most official business here at the DVLAA. I am the resident legal specialist for this office and you will receive a number to reach me if you have any legal questions after this session is over. Today you are receiving your license tattoo, absolutely no mortal is ever to be told what this tattoo represents, if you reveal this information to any mortal you place both of your lives in danger, not to mention the delicate balance between our kind and theirs. You will be hunted, captured, tried and, provided that you are found guilty, imprisoned. If at any time, you wish to remove the tattoo, in favor of a different symbol you must contact the branch six months before your laser removal in order to be license free for as short a time as possible. If you are found without a license and you are unable to provide proof that you have contacted one of our offices you will be apprehended and put on trial. Otherwise, the tattoo must be touched up every fifty years or so, to keep it fresh and avoid citation. Touch-ups must be done here, other tattoos done over this one will disturb the code and break your license, so don’t do that. The license gives you access to all of our facilities and identifies you as one of our kind.

We vampires are a benevolent people, we have been living peacefully among the humans since the middle ages. Anything you do to jeopardize this peace is grounds for imprisonment. We feed on bottle blood, provided to us by clinics throughout the country. Officially the DVLAA is against the use of blood purchased on the black market, but unofficially. . . In the case of an emergency if you feed on a living person contact the DLAA immediately. You will be fined. If you turn your victim, you are responsible for delivering them to our authorities for this process. If somehow they escape or you are otherwise unable to bring them to us you will be fined further. Even if you don’t turn them, contact us and we will help you dispose of the body. When your session is over today you will be given a human birth certificate and social security number so you can be assimilated back into society.” He smiled, “And that pretty much covers it. Any questions?” 

Lucy shook her head, although she was overwhelmed. Mr. Fisher stood to leave, letting the door fall shut behind him. Mark had just printed the stencil for Lucy’s tattoo and asked her where she wanted it.

“Remember, easy access is important, but people might be suspicious of a fourteen year old with a tattoo.” Mark grinned, turning the stencil toward her, it was about two inches long and two inches wide. 

Lucy hesitated, then offered a patch of skin on the base of her neck. The stencil was placed and Mark started to work. Vincent sat in a chair in the corner. 

Lucy watched Mark out of the corner of her eye. It hurt, but not horribly, it was like getting a shot. She took a deep breath and silence settled for a moment.

“Vincent.”

He looked up, startled.

“What if they don’t find anyone related to me?”

Vincent smiled, “Then you’ll come live with me.”

There was silence again, “I don’t have any clothes.”

He chuckled, “We’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t sweat anymore, so you really don’t need a lot of clothes.” Mark added, keeping his eyes on his work. “I had to buy an entirely new wardrobe like thirty years ago because when I first turned it was the 1930’s, and most of my original clothes just disintegrated over time.”

Vincent laughed and the door opened. A man with a thin mustache came in carrying a clipboard. 

“Miss Moreland?” 

Lucy nodded slightly, trying not to disturb Mark’s work.

“I have the results of your DNA test.” He cleared his throat, handing her the clipboard. Vincent leaned over her shoulder and she felt him grow tense. 

The sole result of the search was a man with big eyes and disheveled grey hair interrupted by a shiny bald spot on the top of his head. The photo was a mugshot and he wore a grave, despondent expression. The record read “Patient 3674, Thornapple, John”.

The man with the mustache cleared his throat again, “Unfortunately, the only result was John Thornapple, one of vampire kind’s most infamous criminals. He has since been apprehended and is being held in one of our asylums. . . He is your father.”

Lucy stared into the deranged face of her biological father.

The man with the thin mustache cleared his throat, “So your blood source will have to serve as your legal guardian.” He looked at Vincent, “That’s you?”

He nodded. 

“Your obligation only stands until Miss Moreland turns eighty, though. . .”

“She’s my sister.”

Lucy and the man with the mustache looked at Vincent, whose eyes were full of darkness. 

“John Thornapple was my father too.”

Author's Note

I'm on the fence about the chapter title