Edna ordered, so I plonked myself down near the table of magazines and Edna went to the reception desk. I was thoroughly engrossed in a tabloid magazine when I felt a bony claw on my shoulder.

"Come along, young lady.""You say 'young lady' as if it's a criticism."

Edna hmphed at me. I shuffle-clomped behind her down a hall with health posters on the walls, including "The New Food Pyramid!" The smiling sphinx did not indicate that blood was one of the primary food groups. Edna led me to an exam room and said, "Make an effort to behave. Dr. Harding understands your situation. You're supposed to put on the gown."

I decided to wear the perplexing paper gown with the opening in the back, because the sight of my shrunken bazooms made me terribly sad. I sat on the exam table and gave them a tender squeeze. "I'll fatten you up, my darlings, I promise," I was assuring them, when there was a knock on the door.

A tall, willowy young woman entered, a doctor, I assumed by the stethoscope and also her name tag, which said Winifred Harding, MD. She looked about my age, which I found disconcerting.

She was pretty in the way that girls who've always had everything are pretty, blond hair fell smoothly to her shoulders, pale blue eyes, clear skin, nice cheekbones, a small, neat chin, and a good forehead. Her nose was a touch too long to be ordinary; the nose is what made her interesting. She gave me a cool appraising gaze, like the sorority girls at F.U., a gaze that seemed to say "Not quite up to our standards, Sissy."

"Ms. De Los Santos," she said curtly. "I'm Dr. Harding."

"Good afternoon." I sat up straight and stopped swinging my legs. "I was told that you understand my condition."

She pressed her lips into a narrow line. "I've been told that you've been infected. However, we don't really know what the effects will be. It's been so long since an outsider has come into contact with the condition that we have no reliable scientific data."

"You're one of them, right?"

Dr. Harding nodded and said sharply, "Yes, some of us even go to medical school."

"I wasn't implying anything," I said.

She performed all her little doctor activities, such as bashing my knee with a rubber mallet, jamming her cold stethoscope on my chest, strangling my arm with a blood pressure cuff, and blinding me with a penlight. She asked me to describe my symptoms. I mentioned the chills and fevers, exhaustion, weight loss, change in vision, and a sense of ennui like in those Danish movies where the characters smoke and complain for two hours. The doctor showed profound indifference to my apathy.

Her cool, thin fingers explored my throat and felt under my arms. I winced. "Your nodes are a little tender and swollen. I'm more concerned about your nutrition. What have you been eating lately?" she asked.

"Cranberry juice?" I offered. "Um, berries?" I was always good at multiple-choice quizzes.

"You may find that your metabolism runs a little faster."

"The Transylvanian body beautiful plan? Thanks, but no thanks."

She gave me a chilly look from her undead blue eyes. "Unwanted weight loss can be a serious problem. You need to make sure you eat a balanced diet, perhaps five to seven small meals every day with lots of fruit, vegetables, and whole grains. Have you been eating anything peculiar?"

Now, like most people, I like to keep my peculiarities secret. Gabriel had claimed that the vampires didn't drink blood, so I didn't want to repulse her by confessing to my bovine beverages. "So where did you go to medical school?" I asked.

She named an acclaimed university in Europe. Great, she was not only a medical professional, but also cosmopolitan and multilingual. "Have you ever heard of pica?" she asked.

"You mean that craving for weird foods? Gabriel already told me that red foods and liquids help."

"Yes, they do. Pica's most common in pregnant women. Some children exhibit it, such as eating lead paint chips because of the sweet taste. There's generally both a physiological and a psychological component to these cravings. As I was asking, have you been eating anything peculiar?"

"Steak tartare," I lied. "Oh, and some carpaccio. The day before last, I think. Usually I keep away from uncooked meats, and I'm a little concerned about E. coli."

"If you were infected by E. coli, you would definitely have symptoms by now. All your vitals are fine, but I need blood samples to run some tests."

"What are you looking for?"

"An elevated white blood cell count," she said. "I want to see if there's been a..." She seemed uncomfortable. "You're either fighting off the infection or your system is adapting."

"I'm becoming a vampire?"

Her undead expression was stony. "There's no such thing as vampires. We have an autosomal recessive disorder due to an enzyme deficiency." Dr. Harding moved a rolling cart with phlebotomy equipment close to the exam table.

She then pulled on latex gloves, yanked a rubber hose around my upper arm, and banged on the inside of my elbow. "This takes a moment," she said. "My nurse usually does blood draws. Open and close your fist."

When she was done stabbing me, there were two dark amethyst vials of my own blood on the tray. I had never seen a color so tantalizing.

Then I looked at Dr. Harding. Her eyes were gleaming as she stared at the vials. She could call it any fancy medical term she wanted, but she was a vampire for sure.

I asked, "So what do you actually know about people who become infected? What happens to them?"

Dr. Harding was brusque. "We know very few medical facts. Yours is an extremely rare situation."

"What about the folklore?"

Her delicate nostrils flared slightly as if she was smelling something bad. "Nonsense and superstition."

"Why is there a recurring theme of drinking blood?" I asked, thinking of the vials.

Dr. Harding was putting the cart back against the wall. "UVA from the sun's direct light fragments our DNA. Our family's ancestors possibly experienced a biological desire to replace the damaged DNA and this was exhibited in a craving for blood."

Having only the faintest knowledge of human biology, I said, "That would explain why a member of your family might have a craving, which is genetic, but not anyone else."

"Yes," she said. "Unless..."

I felt a minor cramp in my lower abdomen. "Damn," I said. "What day is this?"

Dr. Harding glanced up from the vials of blood and told me."Oh, no wonder. Do you have any feminine hygiene products here?" Nancy and I thought the term "feminine hygiene" was hysterical. We said it more than was absolutely necessary.

"You mean you're having your menstrual cycle? That's odd."

If she thought having a period was odd, then perhaps she wasn't the sharpest scalpel dissecting the cadaver. "Yes, every twenty-eight days, like fine precision clockwork."

"Hmm, it's just that, well, some people are more fertile than others."

"And because I'm a Latina, you assumed I must be pregnant?" I snapped. "A tampon? A pad, please?"

Her eyes flashed angrily for a moment, and then she took a cardboard box out of an enamel cabinet. "The restroom is down the hall. I'll try to have the lab work done ASAP In the meanwhile, get rest, drink plenty of red fluids, and take iron supplements. I'll give a bottle to Mrs. Grant. Also, most of us are photosensitive, so wear sunscreen and use sunglasses."

I gathered up my clothes. "Thanks," I said. "Doctor, do you think I'll ever be normal again?"

"I suppose that would depend upon your definition of normal. Dr. Harding seemed unnecessarily bitchy for someone in the healing profession. "By the way," I said, "how are you connected to the family?"

Her smile was glacial. "I am Oswald's fiancee."

Chapter Nine

excuse me for living

I was not at a loss for words; I just couldn't choose which ones to use. They ranged from "I am very sorry, I didn't know he was engaged," to "You should keep your boyfriend on a shorter leash, the bastard infected me!" The truth was I felt skanky compared to this somber, willowy, multilingual woman who dedicated her life to saving others.

With a morose shuffle and clomp, I returned to the lobby. Edna was tapping her foot with such impatience that she was practically doing a sedentary jig. She stood, turned sharply on her heel, and led the way out of the building.

Once we were in the car, Edna sighed heavily and said, "What on earth are you sulking about, young lady?"

"You mean besides being stalked by madmen and infected with a possibly incurable condition that's been reviled in popular lore for centuries?"

"Yes, besides that."

"Well," I said, regretting that I sounded shrill, "you might have mentioned that Dr. Harding is engaged to Oswald."

"That has nothing to do with anything. Unless you have your sights set on him, in which case you are more, more..." Oddly enough, Edna seemed restricted by politeness.

"More idiotic? More desperate? More pathetic? More of a slut than you imagined?" I offered all these suggestions. "I do not have my 'sights set' on your precious Oswald. The man doesn't even own a decent suit. Also, he's deceitful. And, for your Previous information, he had his sights set on me. He's a cheating, lying, no-account vampire who lured me to his room."

Edna's scathing look practically ignited my dreadful clothing ensemble. "You sound like a bad country song," she said.

"Vampires are a myth." She was a total bitch, but I still wanted like mad to perfect her repertoire of gestures and expressions.

Any illusions I might have had about shopping were shattered when Edna drove to a huge chain discount store. I was one of the better-dressed customers.

"Get only necessities," she ordered as she steered me to the women's clothes section. "Here, this looks like you." She yanked out a peach polyester T-shirt with "Classy Lady" written on the front in glitter and rhinestones.

"Thanks, Edna, but that's more you." I picked out a pair of basic blue jeans and a pair of black pants.

"Aren't those too big?" Edna asked.

"I plan to build back up to my flirt weight," I answered, immediately regretting giving her the impression that I was a fleshy tart.

Edna was probably calculating how much of her food I would be consuming to achieve my trampy goal.

Edna grudgingly indicated a clearance rack with some pretty cotton sweater sets. I got one in black, one in burgundy, and one in cream, colors that suit my usually olive skin. I was happy to find blouses and matching skirts.

We went on to the "Ladies' Intimates" area. Edna waited by the socks while I selected cheap bras in boring beige, the only things I could find in my regular size. I tried to convince myself that their utilitarianism was extravagantly sexy in a WWII sort of way. This was the bra that our brave boys dreamed about at night while shivering on the front. I grabbed two packs of cotton panties that had pretty floral patterns and several pairs of socks. In the shoe department, I settled on a pair of sneakers, pink rubber flip-flops, and a cute pair of black strappy shoes.

Checking the prices of my items, I calculated that I was spending less for all these clothes than Edna had spent for her accessories. Which reminded me to pick out a belt and a straw bag. We went to the personal products aisles and I tossed all the daily necessities into the shopping cart.

As I rolled the cart to the makeup section, Edna said, "You're staying at the house, not trolling for sailors."

"That's hilarious, Edna. I'm totally about to start laughing." I chose products based on their names, like Pinkation Vacation, Gold A-Go-Go, and Smudgy Smoke.

At the checkout line, we waited behind a woman who was buying large quantities of toilet paper, Velveeta, and generic bourbon. As the woman rolled away with her cart, Edna muttered, "I'm glad I'm not invited to that party."

I doubt that Edna ever got invited to any parties, and my plan was to get away from her as soon as possible. "Edna," I asked, "Sam said a resolution of the conflict with CACA was 'imminent.' How soon is that? How soon can I leave?"

"As soon as it's safe." She said it without conviction, as if my life back in the City would never be safe. The air-conditioning was on too high in the store, and I shivered.

On the drive back, while nursing the large cherry Slurpee Edna had grudgingly bought me, I pondered my status as a serious and sincere woman in a modern, vampire-infested society. Pros: I was alive. The weather was delightful. I would have an opportunity to write. My friends were still my friends. Cons: I was infected with a weird virus. My rent was late. Sebastian had mysterious and hideous plans for me. Oswald had toyed with me and I meant nothing to him. The vampires might not be telling me the whole truth about themselves and their situation.

I forgot all that when I saw the first stars coming out in the sky and the pale crescent moon over the hills. "Edna," I said, "this place is really beautiful.""Yes, yes, so you've said. Now that you're better, we expect you to contribute around the house, just like everyone else."

Instead of waiting for her to tell me I had to scrub the floors, I said, "I can garden. And I can cook a little." My cooking consisted of putting things into tortillas.

"I suppose that will have to do."

When we arrived at the house no dogs greeted our approach because they were slobbering around a big grill on the back patio, where Sam and Gabriel were cooking something that smelled delicious. Sam, holding gleaming barbecue prongs and a cleaver, said, "Winnie called and told us the good news that your condition looks promising."

What exactly had the doctor told them? By "my condition," did he mean that I was bleeding now, able to feed the monstrous appetites they claimed not to have? "I have to put things away," I said, going into the house before they could detect blood on me.

I locked the door of my room and dressed in jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. I felt like a Hitchcock character, if Hitchcock had had a thing for lively raven-haired girls instead of aloof ice queens like Dr. Harding. Through the open window, the family's voices were low, conspiratorial murmurs. I edged to the side of the window and listened.

I heard Sam say something about the "plan proceeding well," and then Gabriel laughed and said, "I love it when they're gullible."

What if there was no plan to overcome CACA? What if I was the gullible one?

At the bottom of the shopping bags were the iron and multi-vitamin supplements that Edna claimed came from Dr. Harding.

The foil seals looked as if they were intact. But how did I know for sure? I flushed them down the toilet.

Again, I edged to the window to listen. Sam's voice was a low rumble, but Gabriel's lighter tones were clear: "Fatten her up a bit and she's quite yummy." Ordinarily, I would have taken this as a compliment, but now it had more sinister implications.

There was a knock on my door and Edna's imperious voice: "Young lady, do you intend to keep us waiting all night long?"

Standing next to the door but not opening it, I replied, "I'm not hungry. Go ahead without me."

I waited to hear her leave. After a few seconds she said, "Personally, I don't care if you starve to death, but Dr. Harding said you are supposed to eat."

What a cheap trick to lure me out of safety! "That's okay. I'll forage for something later." When Edna finally left, I lodged a chair under the door handle. It didn't give me much security. I wished I hadn't smelled the food on the grill. My stomach spasmed with hunger.

Fatigue came over me and I fell asleep. I awoke a few minutes past midnight, famished and disoriented. I felt a sudden urge to leave this place, but I had no idea how to escape. Layering sweaters against the cool night air, I tried to remember how far away the town was.

Luckily, I had learned a lot of survival information from my literature classes at F.U. For example, in Herman Melville's terrifying story "Benito Cereno," a naive sea captain discovers all too late that the supposedly cowering Babo is really the diabolical leader of a cannibalistic crew. It's an important cautionary tale: Never automatically assume that your new pals aren't cannibals.

Unfortunately my literature classes had not taught me that fabulous men were probably already engaged to arctic blondes.

I placed a change of clothing into one of the plastic shopping bags and made sure I had Mercedes's money. The house was silent as I slid the chair from beneath the doorknob. I waited a few more minutes before slipping into the kitchen.