His eyes were brown and shiny. Looking into them was like gazing through dark maple syrup. They’re delectable. When he smiled, I saw he was wearing fangs. They weren’t bad for fakes. (In retrospect, I’m glad he wasn’t also wearing a cape.) His left cheek dimples when he smiles big. Seriously, aren’t dimples one of the cutest features a face can have? I couldn’t appreciate the messy hair I already associate him with because his head was covered with a baseball cap. It was red and had a logo of a white letter C that was kinda smooshed like someone sat on it. I did some research and discovered it was a hat for a baseball team, the Cincinnati Reds.

  Oh, I’m home now. I forgot to mention that. I must sound taken with him to have forgotten my whereabouts. But I assure you, though I may like him, I’m not in love or anything. Way too soon for that. Even for the desperate.

  But back to him…He walks into the cafe and asks, smiling, “May I sit?”

  I made sure to smile back even though I’m pretty sure I was already smiling right when he walked up, and I gestured to the white mini sofa across from me. He slid in and sat.

  “Should I call you Empress?”

  “You can if you want. But you don’t have to.”

  “You don’t mind me calling you Orly then?”

  I shook my head. “And what’s your name?”

  “Vance delos Santos.”

  At last, I knew his name. And I liked it.

  He extended his hand. I reached out and he took mine, holding just three of my fingers, and shook gently. “It’s nice to actually meet you, Orly.”

  “Will you take off your hat?”

  Without hesitation, he removed it and set it on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, as if making sure it was a mess. I adored this.

  “You have a nice smile,” he said. “Cute fangs as fangs go.”

  “You have some like vampire fetish, don’t you?”

  “Is a fascination the same thing as a fetish?”

  “Depends how fascinated you are I guess. Shouldn’t you order something?”

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  “Yes. Excuse me. Do you want anything? I’ll be right back. Please don’t leave.” He got up and went to the counter. I watched him from where I was sitting. He stayed up there while they made his drink. He came back with a cappuccino. I guess cake didn’t entice him to show up. “Where were we?”

  “Tell me about the Carmilla Courtship Society. Do you own it?”

  “I guess you can say now I do. I co-created it with my partner, or rather, my friend Capri. But now I run it alone.”

  “Why? What happened to your partner friend? Did she quit on you?”

  “No. She disappeared.”

  I wondered what that meant, but didn’t pursue it. What more was there for him to say? Well, now I guess there could have been a lot more, but then I guess I didn’t want to hear more about the woman he initially referred to as his partner. He may have noticed my avoidance because he continued in another direction.

  “It was meant to be a singles group for vampire enthusiasts but quite quickly the vampire balls became the most popular aspect and that kinda took over. You know who Carmilla is, right?”

  “Is this a test?”

  “Not at all.”

  “She’s the vampire in a Gothic novel named after her. Someone dear to me read it to me once. I liked it.”

  “Yes. It was written by Sheridan Le Fanu in 1872. It predated Dracula.”

  I was thinking I personally know other vampires who predate Dracula, but I said, “She read me Dracula too. I don’t know which I like better.”

  “I just realized something. Your hand isn’t cold like other vampires.”

  “So you believe in vampires?”

  “Shouldn’t I believe in them?”

  “Do your society friends believe in them?”

  “No. Most don’t actually. They wish they were real and usually wish they were one, but to them it’s all just fantasy.”

  “Isn’t it all just fantasy though? I mean, have you actually ever met a vampire?”

  “Besides you?”

  I sipped my mocha.

  “A few have attended the vampire balls. One of them I consider a friend.”

  “And he says he’s a vampire?”

  “She doesn’t say it. She is one.”

  (Good for fucking her.) “And this so-called vampire, do you belong to her?”

  He looked at me quizzically. It was kinda annoying. Like he was having fun with me asking. Now I wish I hadn’t. But he shook his head.

  Then I said, “Well, it was my understanding that vampires don’t reveal what they are except to their lovers, victims, or those they’ve made the bargain with.”

  “By bargain, you mean serving them for ten years, or whatever it is, in exchange for immortality?”

  “From what I remember, it’s at least ten years.” (From what I remember…LOL…I’m so fake…I know it’s at least ten years…Well, usually...Berthold’s was less…And Khalil didn’t wait ten years either. Maybe Vance was right to say “or whatever it is.” But the point was, I was still trying to make it seem like all this vampire stuff was only legend. Now that I read all this back, I see I didn’t do a very good job at maintaining that at all. Dammit. He probably thinks I just babble now.)

  “No. I haven’t made that bargain.”

  But even in the moment I knew he only focused on the vampiric bargain to dodge the real question as to whether or not he was her lover. He’s certainly beautiful enough to be picked by a vampire for a lover. There was a pause.

  Then he smiled. “She’s how I know so much about you.”

  “She knows me then?”

  “She knows of you.”

  It was then I decided to drop my noncommittal responses as to whether vampires were real and whether I was one. “Is she Cob?lcescu then?” I asked, seeing if he knew what that meant.

  “No. She’s Los Angeles de Sangre. A Blood Angel.”

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