:::: B L O O D L U S T - U K :::: Exploring the Vampire in Fiction and Mythology

he rash all over my face explained my doubts about yesterday night's pizza. Despite my express wish, stated clearly and repeated often, it had contained garlic. Although my breakthrough medication all but eliminated a need for total factor sun block and blood sausage, these blemishes cruelly exposed my one-eighth-vampire roots to the world. All because of a thoughtless ingredient.

I rummaged in my emergency makeup bag for the extra-thick, Urban Vixen foundation. Thank heavens for aloe vera and teatree oil. The trowel job over, I headed for the pizza parlour to demand an apology and a refund.

"Hey lady, I'm sorry about your skin problem. But what's the connection with Pizza Passions?" The plump, middle-aged manager with the droopy moustache didn't intend to meet me half way.

"The garlic in your pizza that I very distinctly said shouldn't be there."

"Are you telling me that you're a vampire?"

"Ask the guy on counter duty last night, around 9pm. Long black hair, shades, mighty thin."

"Take a look. Do you see anyone who even remotely fits the bill?"

I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Like him, all the staff wore red sweatshirts with Pizza Passions emblazoned on the front and back in yellow lettering.

"Tell you what, lady, rumours are bad for business. How does free dessert sound?"

"Do you have the summer fruit trifle with ice cream?"

"Call me Tony and take a seat. What would you like to drink?"

"A diet cola with ice and lemon. I'm Connie, by the way."

I chose a table for two near the rear of the reasonably full restaurant and considered the encounter to be a victory of sorts. It's not like I enjoy complaining. It's just that I have to make a stand where garlic's concerned. My stringent exercise regime keeps my blood pressure low. So, if I eat even a small amount of garlic, my blood pressure risks dropping off the scale completely. Let alone making me break out. Tony delivered the spoils of my semi-victory.

"Thanks Tony."

"You seem a feisty sort, Connie."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We host a friendly debating society every Tuesday. Tonight the motion is: progressive-rock or jazz-funk, which is the most maligned genre? Think about it."

"Thanks, I will."

"You'll find them in there." He indicated a nearby door and returned to his cash desk.

Yes, very tasty. Both the trifle and the debating suggestion. Because I'd been head of my school's debating society, which enabled me to meet boys who could at least string a sentence together. Dessert finished, I took the glass of cola in hand and wandered into the other room.

A group of about ten people sat at four tables, placed in a square at the centre of the room. Theatre posters adorned the walls. Like the posters, the debaters were a mixed bunch.

"Hi, I'm Connie Hewlett," I announced, taking a seat and adding to the mixture.

A tweed-clad woman in her 20's took the lead. "I'm Julia Phillips-Simmons. We'll introduce ourselves as we debate the motion. With a new member present, let's remember our motto - Always Civil. Must I remind us what happened when the local press heard about Nigel Bungey, God rest his soul?" Before I could ask, she briskly continued. "Who'd like to open the proceedings?" Several hands shot up and we were off.

Sadly, the civility didn't persist for long. Innuendo gave way to personal attacks, where words and phrases like Liberal, Fascist, Druggy and Baby Killer soon peppered the exchanges. Even the school B-team debaters would've thrashed this lot.

"Well, Connie, what's your opinion?" Julia asked.

"Actually, I'm tone deaf, so I hate both genres equally."

"Hippy," a man called out. Probably hedgehog-haired Alan, who seemed to be fixated by the idea.

I looked at my wristwatch. "Ah, is that the time?" I stood up. "It's been a very interesting evening. Thanks for letting me sit in with you."

"Vampire." A woman had shouted it. How on earth did anyone guess? I glanced around the group. It could've been one of four candidates.

"That hit a nerve, dear." Julia smiled very unpleasantly, in my opinion. "Should I ask the manager if you don't like garlic on your pizza?"

No, this must be a coincidence. She was testing me. Winding me up, that's all. If any of this lot had stumbled on a real vampire, they'd be dead by now.

"Oh that," I said, as lightly as possible and with a smile I hoped looked genuine. "I'm allergic to the whole allium family. Leeks, onions, chives, you name it. The tablets my doctor gave me allow me not to worry too much. So, well done. An excellent piece of detective work. Well, au revoir."

Alan strode across to the door and barred my way. With his black polo neck and flowery red silk scarf, he was not a man who should criticise another's fashion sense. "I'm a doctor. An allergy, you say? You must have the tablets in your handbag. I'm sure you wouldn't mind showing us?"

What a deeply obnoxious bunch of people. At least the debating society kept such a nasty collection of morons off the street.

"Well?" He insisted.

"Don't worry dear." Julia used a friendly tone of voice that I found exceedingly sinister. "You can keep your handbag closed. We're familiar with your no garlic requirement."

"Frankly, dear, it's none of your business," I sneered.

"By itself, that's true. But coupled with this, it's completely our business." She held up a digital camera. "I've been using it tonight, during our debate. We made it so aggressive that you didn't notice me. If you care to look at the screen, you'll find that you're rather transparent. Literally. Which is odd, as I expected you not to appear at all. Most strange."

Damn that idiot who served me yesterday. Photos aren't normally an issue for me. Only if I've eaten garlic and drunk cola, diet or otherwise. Damn me too, for allowing free dessert to induce reckless forgetfulness, along with a calorie overdose. Judging by the serious expressions, my wriggle room amounted to zero. If I'd stayed slim enough to exploit it.

"I'm merely one-eighth-vampire, if that. Surely your summary death sentence could be commuted? I'm willing to do absolutely any length of community service." Was that really my panicked voice? What had possessed me to mention a death sentence?

"One-eighth?" Julia continued. "So, if we hang around until sunrise, you won't die?"

"No."

Alan walked right up to me, to place his face directly in front of mine. For a doctor, he sure was aggressive. I wondered how many patients attacked him each day. "If that's true, we'll go for community service. All those in favour?" I could've hugged every single arrogant bastard in the room for their unanimous verdict.

Which meant that I had to wait tables at Pizza Passions every weekday night, for virtually no wages. What a pain. Then again, when I considered the pain that my ancestors have inflicted, it's really small beer. Plus, the tips weren't too bad if I flirted a little, and I'm currently dating a really nice customer.

"A table for four? This way, please."

Ten days later, when the restaurant burned down during the early hours, killing all the members of the debating society, no one was more surprised than I. As for the choice between progressive-rock and jazz-funk, give me Pop Idol any day. See, I am sick. Just not in the way that those vigilantes realized.

***

A woman violently threw back the plaid curtains and shouted, "Die vampire die," as the morning sun fell on my face. I blinked. The clock said five past six.

"If you've been sent by my charming ex-boyfriend, you can remind him that I find practical jokes the lowest form of wit." The tip stealing scumbag.

"Can it, babes. I'm here to end your suffering." She removed a vicious-looking stake from her dreadful leopard-print shoulder bag, which sadly matched her dreadful leopard-print blouse. The leather miniskirt and pixie boots completed an outfit that vied with the stake for sheer brutality.

"Whoa there, little miss tiger. Stab a person with that and they'll feel it." What the hell was she anyway, a one-woman death squad from the fashion police? My lack of instant death in the sunlight finally registered.

"But you're..."

"Still alive? Hmmm, now what can that mean?"

Her blood-rush ebbed away. "Then how do you explain my dead colleagues at the pizza parlour?"

"The manager was a skinflint who didn't maintain the fire extinguishers, much less ensure that fire exits were unobstructed. All in all, a very human failing, I'm afraid."

The stick went bag into the bag, from which she took a serious bundle of cash. "Sorry. I'll pay for the door, of course. Name your price."

"How about you give me some background on you and your late vampire hunting friends?" She frowned. "You owe me, remember?"

"Know the Green Man pub? Sort of, eight for eight-thirty?" I nodded. The door paid for, she made her exit. She'd given me her business card on automatic. It only contained an address and her name, Tricia Fenwick. I should've felt angry, but all I felt was relief that the garlic and coke had worn off sufficiently. Otherwise, the sudden sunshine would've produced equally sudden blisters. Lengthy, unprotected exposure represented unknown and possibly lethal territory for me. I shuddered and reached for the nearest makeup bag and my first fix of aloe vera and teatree oil for the day.

***

Once washed and dressed, I breakfasted on muesli and soya milk, followed by peppermint tea. Suitably reinforced, I prepared for a clandestine peak at her home address. I popped out two black tablets from the foil wrapping. Normally, the radical medication kept my minor vampire heritage at bay. For heritage, read the allergic reaction to sunlight and a diet slanted towards meat-based products, heavy on the saturated fat, served rare. Until my chance discovery that, when taken with a glass of white wine, the tablets gave a rather unexpected stir to the hidden depths of the family gene pool.

My bat self flapped purposefully across town, determined to conduct a little background check on these vampire-phobic funsters. The additional dizziness that accompanied my transformation I attributed to either the agreeable wine or the early hour.

I found the address and with it my first problem. There were 6 individual doorbells, so I needed to fly right down to street level to read them. I picked my moment and saw Fenwick listed against flat 6. That narrowed down the search to the two flats on the top floor.

Through an open window at the upper storey, my radar revealed a young woman feeding a baby. Not promising at all. The next window produced a very tidy room with no obvious personal items. The room of a person who didn't expect to stay in one place for too long. Tricia's room. Inside, I never expected to come muzzle to muzzle with another bat.

Hidden from the window in a corner of the room, it sat on the back of a chair and fixed me with a cool, steady gaze. To my surprise, I understood the high-pitched squeaks.

"You're one cunning vampire."

"Takes one to know one, deary," I squeaked in reply.

"Actually, I'm a shape-shifter."

"Aligned with the forces of darkness, of course?"

"That's a common misconception. My medication lets me lead a, open quotes, normal life, close quotes. I'm Tricia Fenwick." I'd never seen a bat make quotation marks in the air before.

"Well duh, babes. Small black tablets from Harley Street?"

"Ouch. So you don't kill and drink blood?"

"No." I joined her on the back of the chair. "Do you prey on the defenceless either?"

"No. Well, perhaps I've given the odd fright to a timeshare shark. I'm very sorry, Connie. If we'd been aware of your true condition from the start, we never would've meddled."

"Well, I'm sorry too, for the death of your friends. What was a shape-shifter doing with that lot anyway?"

"For the first time in my life, I fitted in. Although I kept my little secret from them. I've nothing against vampires as such. They gave my shape-shifting a purpose, which also allowed a welcome break from the medication. Private prescription charges are hardly cheap."

"What will you do now, Tricia?"

"Leave town, you'll be pleased to hear." She wasn't wrong.

While I flitted homewards, I decided that a strong dose of comfort food was vital, to counter all the recent stress. An image of pizza formed in my mind. By holding it there, I avoided the taste of unwashed insect in my mouth when the tablets wore off.