italics is thoughts

underlined is extra emphasis


I wasn't exactly excited when I met my first vampire. I was more frightened than anything else.

I'm currently a tabloid journalist, which means I get to interview some very...umm...interesting people, although it did surprise me a little when the company actually managed to bring in a real vampire. How they managed that, I don't know.

I'm the one that handles myths and legends (dragons, werewolves, fairies, etc.), so I was the one who had to interview him. They stuck him in our interview room, which is much like a police interrogation room now that I think of it. It's an almost empty room. The only things in it are the table and chairs, unless you count the solitary light in the ceiling.

There I was, little human girl, walking into a room with a very angry vampire, and all I had with me was a small notebook and a wooden pencil. Maybe I can use it as a stake, I thought.

I stepped into the room and before I knew it he was out of his chair and standing only a few feet away.

"Any last words?" he asked, his fangs bared.

"Come any closer and I'll stab you with this pencil."

He eyed the thing and decided that death by pencil wasn't an honorable way to die, then sauntered back to his chair. "Smart move, miss."

"Thank you," I replied, taking the chair across from him. "I suppose you know why you're here?"

"To be interviewed for your tabloid," he answered. "Yes, I know. But what's in it for me? I don't have to answer any of your questions, and it's not like you could force me to either," he smirked.

He's teasing me! "Well, if you don't, then you'll be missing out on the blood donated by the workers here," I said.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

"You don't, but I never lie."

"Fine, I'll go along with this interview, but I want that blood when I'm done," he demanded, "and if I don't," he paused dramatically, "I'll be getting it my way."

"Fair enough," I said calmly, hoping that whoever was watching heard that little fib and was working on donations. If this vampire learned I had lied to him, he would go after me first. "Let's start out with your name."

"Which one? My real name or what I'm called?" he inquired.

"Both, please."

"I was baptized Amadeus—you can stop grinning like an idiot, my last name's not Mozart," he snapped.

Against my own wishes, I had smiled at the mention of his name. "I didn't say anything," I said with fake innocence.

"You didn't have to; I know how your kind thinks. Mozart was after my time," a potential question could come from that, "My full name is Amadeus Coistantine Reinbrecht. Heh," he smiled a rare thing for a vampire.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Oh, just a memory," he smiled again, "Once the boys at school learned of my middle name, they took to calling me Coista... My name now is Crevan, which means fox. I can't remember which language that's for though."

"That's alright," his answer was long enough as it was. "Alright, Crevan, second question," I flipped to the next page in the notebook, "You said that Mozart was after your time, what do you mean by that?"

"Simple, he was born after I...became a vampire."

"When was that?" I questioned further.

"July 20, 1635," he murmured, "I was 26..." Crevan was gazing blankly through the wall and into his memories."

"Want to tell me more?"

That woke him out of his reverie. He glared at me with cold grey eyes. "No," his tone meant business, but I needed this question answered.

"May I remind you that free blood is riding on how well you answer my questions?"

Crevan went livid, his whole body tensed and both hands balled into fists. I can just imagine what he was thinking, 'How dare she? This puny, weak little human girl dares to black mail me with blood, a free night's meal, when I could simply kill her and the rest of this pathetic excuse for a tabloid?'

"Are you asking for death?" Crevan asked through clenched teeth.

"No," I said with some degree of calmness. My answer was simple but my stomach was doing jumping jacks.

I could see him contemplating all the things hw could do to me, but he finally relaxed and Crevan began to tell me his story.

"To understand what happened that night I'll have to explain what happened before then."

"That's alright."

"You're going to need more paper.

"I wasn't exactly the perfect child. My grades were horrible, and I eventually dropped out of school."

"Wasn't that normal then?"

"Not for the son of a scholar. I was supposed to go to primary school, then onto college. However, I associated with the people my parents definitely didn't want me around.

"Most of them were relatively smart, but never put that talent to good use. We would go to the tavern most every night, have too many drinks, then get kicked out. We would wander the streets drunk, staggering about and talking about nothing in particular. Some of my companions would wander off occasionally to meet their strumpets."

"Did you...?"

"No, I wouldn't want my mother or little sister treated that way. God rest their souls." He closed his eyes for a moment, then his eyes flew open and he said with ardor, "Women are living beings with a soul, not something to be used and then thrown away when you tire of it."

"Your family is dead?"

"Yes," he was staring at the table, biting his thumbnail from thought, lost in memories again.

"You didn't change them?"

Crevan looked up at me. "I'll get to that part," he said curtly, "Do you want my story or not?"

"Yes, I want the story. Sorry for interrupting."

He didn't acknowledge my apology. "One night—I was almost 26—and I hadn't had much to drink.

((flash back—Crevan's telling it))

I started to wander away from the group when one of them yelled, "Hey, Coista! Where do you think you're going?"

I answered, "Anywhere away from you drunkards." They laughed and went on with their roughhousing. I disappeared into the misty night.

I wandered around aimlessly, lost in thought, when a voice called me. "What's a boy like you doing out on a night like this?" it asked. "Shouldn't you be with friends, or perhaps a pretty, young miss?" I turned to the person speaking to me. It was a man, no more than five years older than me. He had shoulder length black hair, which he left untied. "Or maybe," he continued, "you're going off to meet her?"

"No, I have no one." I began to walk away, but I didn't get far, he was in front of me before I could react and I almost walked into him.

"Stay and talk a while," he said, "if you don't have anything better to do."

I looked at the place he was once sitting, only to find it empty, and then looked back at him standing in front of me. "One too many drinks," I muttered.

The raven-haired man casually walked over to the crate he had been situated on before and sat down again. Against my good judgment, I stayed. I talked most of the time, and he listened. It was good to have someone to just talk to. Just before dawn he told me that he had urgent matters to attend to, so we parted ways.

The next night I decided to seek him out and find him. It was lucky for me that he was in the same place. I introduced myself as Coista, he introduced himself as Morirai. We met several times a week; he was always disappearing before the sun rose. He was a good listener and gave good advice. I celebrated my 26th birthday with my friends, then a few weeks later, it happened.

My parents disowned me, which was mostly my father's doing, and I got very drunk that night. I was so drunk that night that not only the bar, but my friends kicked me out. See, I wasn't only totally sloshed, but I was mad as well. A very bad combination.

I went to Morirai. I told him my complaints about this world and the people who lived in it.

"There is a way to fix that, Coista," he said seductively, "There's a way to make them all pay for what they've done to you." Morirai was creeping closer, until he was barely a foot away. "There's a way to weaken them and strengthen yourself at the same time."

"How?" I asked, "How Morirai?"

He was only inches away. "It only takes one...simple...bite." He grabbed my shoulders and bit down hard on my neck.

All I felt was pain, then nothing at all. I suppose I blacked out because I woke up in a hotel bedroom the next evening, just as the sun sank below the horizon. Morirai was standing at the other side of the room, carefully peering out of the curtains. He looked over at me. "Good, You're awake, Crevan."

"Crevan?" I asked. It was the first time I had ever heard the word, "What's a Crevan?" and I was half-asleep and still feeling the effects of the previous night's booze.

"Your new name," he told me, "All vampires receive a new name from their sire."

"Tire?"

Morirai took a deep breath and tried not to kill me. "A sire is the closest thing a vampire has to a parent. They're the ones who turn a human into a nightwalker."

Morirai taught me how to be a vampire. He taught me how to hunt, how to kill, how to stay alive.

((end flashback))

"After a year or two, I left Morirai's side. I departed for Asia then came back after several years. He was long gone by then. I couldn't hang around with my friends any longer. They were aging and I wasn't," Crevan's voice trailed off.

"Crevan," I asked kindly, "what about your family?"

He sighed heavily and continued. "I thought about it. I thought about turning my little sister into a vampire, to share this immortal life with her. She was so sweet and innocent. The day before I planned to change her, I realized that I couldn't." He looked up at me with sorrowful eyes, an emotion I didn't know vampires could have.

"Our pet dog had died that night—not from my doing—and my little sister was mourning its death. She was depressed all day and didn't want to do anything. I knew then that she could never live the life I was living. If she spent the whole day mourning for her dog, she wouldn't be able to kill for blood."

"Have you ever sired a vampire?" I inquired.

"Not yet."

"How can you drink someone's blood and not create a vampire?"

"There are ways," he said.

Crevan looked at me and looked at the pencil I was using. It was now incredibly dull, and by no means dangerous to him. I was scared. I had used my only weapon to write down his story.

"I don't like that look on your face," I said more boldly than I was feeling. He was smirking at me almost triumphantly.

"You don't have your stake anymore," Crevan taunted.

I remained silent.

"You never told me your name."

"Jennifer," I said.

"Page would suit you better, since you like to write so much."

Is he planning on transforming me into a vampire? I thought. He's already renamed me.

He stood up from his chair and silently walked over to me. I stood as well, ready to fight if I had to, even though I wouldn't win. I tried to ask, "What are you doing?" but before I could bet the second word out, he interrupted me.

"I think that's enough questions for today," he whispered into my ear, the same smirk on his face. He stepped past me and casually walked over to the door, which was still locked. Crevan took a firm grip o the doorknob, and with one flick of his wrist, broke it right off. The door swung open in front of him, and he was gone.

I was left standing shocked and speechless. Crevan could have broken the door down at any time. Had he wanted his story told? Or did I just pry too much into his past that he didn't even want to bother any more?

That is one question I will never get answered.