‘It’s the wings,’ he says, before I can finish my sentence. ‘The flappiness of the wings makes me feel unusual.’ One hand goes to his chin, and he rubs his stubble absentmindedly. ‘It makes me panic when birds are overly flappy too. Like when they’re trying to steal your chips?’
He’s so earnest that I don’t want to laugh at that image, but the shock of his sudden admission leaves me struggling to stifle it. He huffs, but I can see the start of a grin on his face.
‘Go on, laugh it up. The big, hard man is scared of small, flappy creatures.’ His smile grows, just a little. ‘Actually, no, not scared.Wary. It’s a normal response to be wary of things that can spread diseases.’ He turns to look at me, his eyebrows pinched together behind his sunglasses. ‘Did you know that some bats in the UK carry rabies?’
But that makes me want to laugh more, and this time I don’t hold back. I just chuckle at his ranting as he makes a case against every bat in the country. Before I know it, we’re back at the cottage, and I’m a little surprised when he doesn’t turn the engine off.
‘Are you coming in?’ I ask, and I immediately cringe. I asked out of genuine curiosity, because we’re both staying here, but the way it came out sounded like I’m trying to make a move on him.I’d clarify what I meant, but I feel like that’d only make it worse. Instead I say a silent prayer for the earth to crack open and suck me down into its depths.
He doesn’t seem bothered by the question, though, and just shakes his head in reply. ‘I’m going to work.’
I laugh, but it does absolutely nothing to tame the swell of mortification that’s rising through my chest. ‘Of course,’ I say, like it’s obvious, but it strikes me now that I don’t even know what it is that Bram does. I don’t know why, but I’m a little bit surprised at him actually having a job– I’d half expected him to just exist, floating around the streets of Whitby like a sea mist or an ancient curse.
‘I own a bar up Flowergate,’ he says, adjusting his sunglasses. ‘Bitten. It’s vampire themed, you know? Kind of fits with my look, and this town.’
‘And your name,’ I say, and his grin widens, like we’re sharing a secret.
‘Yeah.’ He huffs a small laugh, and even through his dark glasses I can tell that he’s looking right at me. A shiver bites at the base of my spine. ‘You should come,’ he says then, and it catches me off guard. ‘To the bar, I mean. If you’re not busy. We’re doing a special on cocktails tonight to kick off the Goth Weekend, and Friday nights are always a great atmosphere.’ He’s leaning back in his seat, one wrist propped casually on the steering wheel like he doesn’t care either way.
I don’t reply at first. It actually sounds kind of intriguing– I mean, it’s the exact opposite of my usual scene, but it would definitely help with my experience of the Goth Weekend for my article. But then I remember the text from Jon. The interview.
‘I mean, no pressure,’ Bram says, before I can tell him about that. ‘I get that it probably isn’t your kind of thing.’
He’s smiling, but even so, I feel terrible. ‘Oh no, that’s not it,’ I say, quickly. ‘I mean, it isn’t my kind of thing at all, but I’mopen-minded.’ My fingers twist the strap of my bag. ‘It’s just that I have an interview to do this evening and I don’t know when I’ll be finished.’
He nods. ‘I’ll be there all night,’ he says, and from the corner of my eye I see him fidgeting with the gear stick, pulling it in and out of gear. I wonder if that’s his nervous habit, though I don’t know why he would be nervous. ‘If you can make it, great. If not, that’s fine too.’
‘Ok,’ I say. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’
And then I get out of his car and quickly duck through the archway in the wall before I can do any more overthinking.
In reality, there’s no reason I couldn’t go. My interview’s at six, and I can’t see it lasting even an hour, let alone two. I mean, there is also the small fact that I can’t imagine myself walking alone into a vampire-themed bar when I can’t even look a stone vampire in the eye, but that seems like a problem for Future Lucy.
Right Now Lucy has a story to write and then an interview to get to.
Chapter Six
BRAM
Ilove Quinn like a brother, but he can be an insufferable shit at times.
Like when he only remembered to pass on the message that my interview with Moriarty had been changed to today, twenty-six minutes before the interview in question was due to start. I mean God, at that point I’d already stuck my fake fangs on.
Yes, I said fake fangs.
But wait, I hear you ask,isn’t it counterintuitive to wear fake fangs when you have the real thing at your disposal? That’s what I would have asked before I lived through this, but let me tell you, the teething troubles when you first change are no joke.
It’s always so glamorous in films. Hollywood vampires go from bite to beast in one smooth montage, but the reality? More like a supernatural puberty. It’s clumsy, it’s awkward, and it takesyears.
For a long time after my change, my fang extension… well, it was an absolute shitshow. Even now they’re prone to popping up when I least expect them, like a teenage boy’s erections.
So after a few embarrassing incidents, I took a leaf out of Wladek’s book and leaned into it. He taught me early on that the best way for us to hide is in plain sight. The more we pretend to be vampires, the less anyone suspects we actually are. So I bought the worst, most dramatic glue-in fakes I could find. These ones are so cheap they’re actually hollow. Lots of fang room for those unwanted extensions.
To be fair, when you were born and raised in Dracula country with your vampire-obsessed family, you’re no stranger to a pair of fake fangs, so it wasn’t such a leap for me. I don’t usually hang out in places other than Bitten wearing them, but I’ve stuck them on now, so here we are.
And I entirely blame Quinn. Apparently Sammi asked him to pass on the message once I got back to the bar, but he was too busy thinking about getting his end away. Standard.
In fairness, with the Goth Weekend being on, I shouldn’t even feel self-conscious, but I do. I’m totally on edge, and there are two reasons why.