“I’m calling the police.” I say sharply, slipping my hand inside of my coat pocket and retrieving my phone.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he says, in an accent I don’t immediately recognise.
“Oh yeah? Well you just try and fucking stop me.” I proceed to dial the numbers, nine – nine – but just before I get to the final nine something knocks the phone straight out of my hand, and it flies to the other side of the room landing on my couch. The slayer had flung something at me to prevent me from making the call, and I have to admit that his shot was spot on. I look down to see what it was he’d thrown and I almost laugh - a banana? How on earth do you knock a phone from a person’s hand with a banana?
I stand there for a minute, phone-less, as he enjoys another slice of apple.
“Are you going to explain why you’ve broken into my apartment?” I ask. “Or have you just come to steal my fruit?” I finish in a stony voice.
“Good apples these,” he replies, wiping the excess fruit juice from his lips onto his sleeve. “And I think you know why I’m here, Missy.” Aha, now that he’s spoken more I recognise his accent, it’s Irish.
“Honestly I don’t,” I tell him, and then a sort of realisation hits me. “Wait a minute, you don’t think I’m a vampire do you? Because believe me, I’m one hundred per cent human.”
He laughs, a deep, throaty sound. “No I don’t think you’re a vampire, what do you take me for? I’m here because you saved my life last night, and I’d like to thank you for that.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing how to reply. “But weren’t you unconscious when all that was happening? You certainly looked it.”
“Nah, I was kinda half way in half way out. I was clear headed enough to hear your little speech to the bloodsucker. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a vamp look guilty.”
“Yeah well, I was only speaking the truth. It would have been wrong for Ethan to kill you while you weren’t capable of defending yourself.” I say, still wary of this intruder in my home, and not wholly convinced that his need to thank me is the only reason he’s come here.
“How did you find out where I live by the way?”
“I followed you two home last night but kept well behind so the vamp wouldn’t cotton on to being followed again.”
“Okay, well you’ve thanked me, so you can go now. Or I really will call the police this time.”
“I’m not ready to leave yet,” he replies, and there is the faintest threat in his voice. He’s finished off the apple now, he takes the core and tosses it in my rubbish bin. Then he looks me over closely.
“So, what’s a nice girl like yourself doing driving in cars with vampires, huh? Albeit,” he says, glancing up at a painting of Nicky’s hanging on the wall over my television set, “slightly morbid, you seem like a decent person.”
Nicky’s painting depicts a woman’s blue eye surrounded by endless other tiny eyes that seem to watch you from within the frame.
“My friend made that,” I tell him, “and it isn’t morbid, it’s art. But I wouldn’t expect someone who breaks into other peoples’ apartments to have any culture.”
“Whatever you say,” says the slayer, grinning to himself. “But I prefer women who don’t hang freaky pictures like that up in their living rooms.” He shoots a puzzled and disliking glance back at the aforementioned painting.
I grit my teeth and forget for a second that I should be trying to get this stranger to leave. I’m a dedicated fan of Nicky’s art, and it irks me to have a person so carelessly assign it to a category. I myself actually find the painting to be quite comforting, like the eyes are watching out for me in a way.
The slayer gazes at me with amusement. “Doesn’t the art we have in our homes say something about us?” he asks. “So surely this picture represents a certain side of you, probably the side that thinks it’s a good idea to hang around vampires.”
“It holds a lot of meaning for me yes,” I say quickly, “but I am not about to enter into an art discussion with an intruder in my apartment. Now, I don’t care if you’re ready to leave or not. You have exactly thirty seconds to get out of here or I’m going to start screaming, and believe me I’ve got a loud one.”
“You believe them to be harmless, don’t you?” says the slayer.
“I’m not naïve,” I tell him with derision. “I know that they are far from harmless. I was there last night. I witnessed what a vampire is capable of.”
“Yes but you think he was just defending himself. If you had any sense you’d be running a mile, but no, I saw you go into that cesspit of a night club today. You’ve been brought under a thrall I’m sure, bet you didn’t know they could do that, did ya? The vamps can mess with your head, make you believe in things you wouldn’t normally believe in, hell, they could even make you forget who you are if they really wanted to.”
I laugh. “I know a lot more than you think. And I’m not under any sort of “thrall” as you say, that doesn’t work on me.”
The slayer smirks. “It doesn’t work on you,” and then he laughs. “Oh, is it that easy? You just say it doesn’t work on you and it doesn’t. All humans are susceptible to their tricks, love, they are predators, and we are their prey.”
“Laugh all you want, but I’m telling you the truth, you could bring a vampire in here right now and get him to try work his mojo on me and it wouldn’t happen. I’m immune. Why do you think I was being chauffeured home by a vampire last night? They’re keeping me sweet because they want to know why their powers don’t affect me.” I tell him, pleased with myself only for about half a second before realising that perhaps I shouldn’t have revealed so much information to my intruder.
He appears shocked for a moment, then says, “That’s impossible. Nobody has ever been immune to the compulsion of a vampire. It takes years of training to withstand them even just a little bit.”
“Well I’ve had no such training,” I reply. “I never even knew vampires existed until last night.”