Don't Want to Be Your Monster: Chapters 1–7

Under neon letters spelling out “Capitol,” the theater marquee reads The Lost Boys—Sat Jan 13—7pm.

I groan, realizing what Victor’s grand plan for sneaking into the movie is. Charisma: using our natural vampire charm to encourage mortals to think whatever we want them to.

“Do you want a beard? I’ll make you a big, burly guy.”

“Watch and learn, then,” Victor says, as he begins sauntering toward the ticket booth.

The streets have emptied—Victor, despite his bravado, waited until the mortals in line had gotten their tickets and the sidewalk in front of the theater was empty.

Black porcelain vases dot the spaces between the books, filled with dried roses and snapdragons.
And then there are the tchotchkes from all over the world. Random little knickknacks. All of them mementos of the other vampires who have passed through these walls.

My foot stomps echo in the old and drafty Victorian two-story house.

I’m sure my vampire healing skills are powerful enough that I could probably reattach my hand if it got lopped off, but that’s a theory I’m not about to test.

My mom brings home old magazines, the ones that the hospital keeps in the ER waiting room for people who forgot to bring a phone charger. I used to pore over them, looking at all the people in the photos, always searching for one thing I could never find.

At least I can get away with looking like a normal kid. I have a mop of messy brown hair, brown eyes, and my skin…all vampires are just a bit paler than our mortal counterparts.

Mom gets mad every time, but then she goes on to explain pretty much everything anyone would want to know about the person whose blood we are drinking that night. She says it’s to teach us “empathy.” To see that the stuff that ends up in our cups is coming from a person, not much different from us…but it’s a lost cause. Mortals are nothing like us. What am I supposed to have empathy for?

The wooden table, with its deep mahogany wood and elaborate carvings, is far too big and grandiose for the room, let alone the five of us (four now, seeing that Mama isn’t home) that currently make up my family.

“I would like to offer a blessing of thanks,” Mom says. “For this portion of blood that will keep our family sustained.”

If we heal fast enough to keep us from catching any mortal diseases, our vampire blood is just as good at neutralizing their medicine. That doesn’t mean I can’t taste it.

“This guy tastes like he was embalmed already. Don’t they have anyone in the hospital who is, I don’t know…more…organic?”

I guess I could have gone down to the ER and asked if I could drain the blood out of the dead body. Maybe ask the coroner to help.

The blood I drank should be giving a power boost to all my vampire abilities. Stealth. Strength.

Raindrops tap against the windows in a constant, soft pattering, but it doesn’t matter.

I immediately chide myself. What did I think was going to happen? Someone was coming to catch us? Am I still so shaken by that murder?

Another minute later and Victor jumps down the stairs and comes back to the table like he hadn’t left at all. He ignores the earful he gets from Mom and goes right to giving Mama a heartfelt greeting.

He wraps his hands around mine, squeezing my hands against the mug, and smirks in the most condescending way ever. “Enjoy washing it.”

“Jerk!” I shout, shoving Victor’s shoulder. He stumbles back into the bookshelf. Before he can retaliate or answer, I storm out of the house.

I didn’t grab my hoodie, but that’s okay. I could have walked out there in my underwear and not shivered in the wet, forty-degree night. That doesn’t mean I would—I would die from embarrassment way before I’d have to worry about hypothermia.

I turn to see Mama stepping out of the house, wrapping her floral patterned hijab casually over her head.

My heart lurches up into my throat, but what am I scared of?

Even if there were such a thing as vengeful spirits or zombies, I would survive anything they could throw at me.

I almost had a mortal life. I glance at the tombstones around me. Or a mortal death. I could have ended up here, buried under the wet soil. And that…that kicks off a morbid curiosity that pulls me forward.

I cringe at the grating sound and turn to look where it’s coming from.

“Alright, then tonight. And I mean like, the minute it goes from today to tonight. We’re doing this conjuring stuff early.” Luis yawns. “Are all witches like this, or just you?”

I’d never really thought of it that way, but it sounds noble. Defiant. Like I’m fighting the mortals and their hatred of monsters by cheering all the movie vampires on.

The shutters lock from the inside, so the only way mortals can get to us while we’re sleeping and vulnerable is if they chop into them with an axe.

Shoshana’s piercing voice carries over the cemetery.

The ghost baby…listen, Luis, the ghost baby had to project his message to us through the ethereal plane.

“Look, I schlepped all this stuff over here. Now, do you want to do this conjuring or not?”

“Well, that’s kaput,” Shoshana says, slamming her notebook shut.
“Alright, so do you need to, like, do a reset or something, or do we get right to work on two-wars-dude?” Luis asks.