The Wolf and the Vampire

Chapter One LILLIAN “Vampires exist,” Lillian Van Buren said, leaving silence in the wake of her words. With tense shoulders, she stared at the woman opposite her. The woman, younger, features soft and muted, held her eyes wide with excited attention, but there was nothing to be excited about. “I’m going to need you to prove it,” she said, though the tremble in her voice betrayed the young woman’s eager willingness to believe. Proof, at this point, was a mere formality. After all, first the world learned of shapeshifters, and now it was vampires? It was hardly a leap. Lillian’s smile was verging on sadness. She understood that this woman needed something concrete, especially if she was going to publish. But that seemed trivial and arbitrary now that she was no longer human. “I can’t prove it,” she said with a soft sigh. “Not with the kind of evidence you’re looking for, I’m afraid.” Circe Cole, editor-in-chief of Monster Magazine, leaned back in her chair. It was plain she was disappointed. She didn’t try to conceal it. “I was afraid you’d say that.” There was a pregnant pause and in it Cole seemed to rally up whatever hope she had left that this was going to be The Next Big Thing for her magazine. “What have you got for me, Ms. Van Buren?” “Just a story,” Lillian said. She deliberately kept her voice quiet, and the corners of her lips flickered when she saw Cole’s enthusiasm ebb just a little more. The tide was receding, but she had to try and catch a waning wave. She had to! “Anecdotal,” Cole murmured. “I could print a dozen stories a day. Everybody has a story. Everybody’s seen something. Imagine U.F.O. sightings in the nineties.” “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. In my case, it is.” “Truth, Ms. Van Buren—” Lillian put up a hand. She wasn’t about to be lectured on some journalistic principle, or standard of ‘truth’. “Call me Lillian,” she said, disguising the reason for her interruption. “Please. I prefer it.” The young woman hesitated, smoothing creases in her blouse absently. It was evidently becoming clear to her that Lillian was going to control this conversation. “Van Buren is Dutch, isn’t it?” “Yes, that’s my heritage. But I’ve never been to Holland.” “Speak the language?” “No,” Lillian replied, wondering why Cole was stalling. She narrowed her eyes at the woman, understanding that her high-arched brows would lend her look a menacing quality. “Do you want to hear my story or not?” “The problem, Lillian, is that you have no credibility. Like I said, I can run a dozen stories. You need to give me a reason for why I should run your story over any other, or why I should even run it at all. There are millions of people every day who pretend to be vampires. They dress up, wear fangs, and some even drink blood. All over the internet people claim they’ve seen vampires, or know vampires, or are vampires. What makes your story better, or truer, than any of their tall tales?” Lillian regarded the woman’s verbosity with a long look, and, tempted to wilt beneath the stare, Cole feinted by chewing on the back of her pen. She wouldn’t be the first to be discomforted by a hard gaze from Lillian. Eventually Lillian nodded, and pushed her lips together. “Fair enough. I’m a private investigator. Been in the business for twenty years. I consult with police departments regularly, and have even been contracted by other government agencies, too. That enough credibility for you?” “Twenty years?” Cole remarked, sitting up. “Write it down, then look it up. Van Buren Security and Investigation.” She watched and waited while Cole scratched her felt-tip pen onto her lined legal pad. “By the way, no names in your article, as it’s not exactly difficult to link my firm to myself.” “That goes without saying. But tell me, why is anonymity so important for you? Presumably your private investigation firm deals with the paranormal?” Lillian was slightly impressed. “Why would you think that?” “It’s just that if I was aware of the existence of a new type of paranormal human… of vampires,” Cole said, twirling her pen between her fingers. “And I happened to be a private investigator with the associated resources at my disposal—” In an amused voice Lillian said, “What resources do you think P.I.’s have?” “Contacts at police departments? Clandestine online spaces where information is shared in secret? The dark web?” “I think you’ve been reading too much fiction.” Circe Cole shifted in her seat. “So you’re telling me you don’t investigate paranormal-related phenomena?” “I do,” Lillian admitted. “So why the need for anonymity? Surely anybody in the paranormal community knows what you’re about already, if only for your firm?” “First of all, the paranormal community is much larger than you think. And, second of all, nobody wants to be the bearer of bad news, and let me tell you… the general public learning of the existence of vampires is very bad news, indeed. It is, after all, the humans who are most dangerous when they feel threatened.” “Fair enough,” Cole said, scribbling something down onto her pad. “I’ll definitely look into your firm. But, I must say, I’m skeptical.” “Ah,” Lillian murmured, showing a quick grin. “You want to tell me that I look too young to have been working in the business for twenty years, that I don’t look a day over thirty?” “I was going to say thirty-five,” Cole replied, her lips chancing a smile. Lillian returned it, and the two looked at one another for several seconds in a good-natured, if tense way. “Let me guess,” Cole continued. “You’re a shapeshifter.” “Yes, and not one of the new breed, either. I read your article, Interview with a Shapeshifter, Ms. Cole.” “Circe, if you prefer.” “I don’t.” Cole moved on gracefully: “What’s your animal?” “Wolf.” “Ah, werewolf. Classic.” Lillian cleared her throat. “Not werewolf, as you should know. The full moon means nothing to me. I’m always in control of the shift. I’m not… feral.” “So you’ve been alive for how long?” “Why don’t we talk about vampires? Isn’t that more interesting to you than yet another shapeshifter? After all, you’ve already interviewed the most famous lot. You’ve already written about, how should I put it, the father of the new breed?” “Truthfully,” Cole said, leaning forward and gripping onto her knees. Lillian noticed the denim of her jeans there was faded. The gesture was no doubt an unconscious habit. “I find you much more interesting. Vampires have never been confirmed. Shapeshifters, on the other hand, recently have. Right now shapeshifters sell better. I have a bottom line to consider.” “A bottom line,” Lillian echoed. She almost wanted to laugh. Monster Magazine had sold millions upon millions of copies and only the richest brands were able to afford advertising. This young woman sitting before her could cease publishing the magazine this minute and never have to work another day and still live a luxurious life, if she so chose. “Yes. Shapeshifters are still the hot new thing. Everybody wants to know more. Everybody wants to become one. Surely you’ve noticed?” “Thanks to you.” Lillian didn’t bother to hide the contempt in her voice. “Your exposé won you a bunch of awards, didn’t it?” Cole shrugged. “That was a gimme, obviously. The world found out about the existence of shapeshifters from my interview. They had no choice but to shower me with awards. The writing, the reporting, the journalism… the work? That all didn’t matter, so I can’t really claim any credit.” Lillian smiled at the fake modesty. It was obvious that, despite the truth of what she had said, Cole still felt her fair share of pride for breaking the story. And perhaps she should. It was, after all, the discovery of a lifetime. Now, with another one staring her down, she was missing it entirely. If shapeshifters could rock the world, vampires might very well c***k it two. “Still, not everybody believes in shapeshifters, you know, Ms. Cole. Some are adamant you fabricated the whole thing. That it’s just one big, well-played hoax.” “People believe all kinds of crazy things. That’s up to them. Tell me, Lillian, what did you mean when you said ‘new breed’?” “I meant,” Lillian said, her voice hardening. “That I discovered my shifter on my own. It didn’t come from that abomination, Leon.” She felt her upper lip tremble as her emotions flared. Leon, that shapeshifting creature that had merged with the very jungle itself, deep in the hot and humid heart of Borneo. According to Cole’s article only his head remained intact, growing out of the side of a thick tree trunk like some grotesque illustration by an overreaching art student. “Ah, so you read my piece on Leon,” Cole said, her flash of self-satisfied pride blinding in the dim room. “Yes.” “What do you think about normal people becoming shapeshifters? This ‘new breed’ as you call them? I might have to steal that.” “I believe I first read the term in one of your magazine’s issues,” Lillian said dryly. “Oh,” Cole said, sweeping an imaginary piece of dust off the sheet of her pad. “Yes, that’s right.” There was another pause, and then: “Official tourism numbers in Borneo have tripled in the last six months alone. Many people believe, and many people want to become shapeshifters.” “And many people are stupid.” “Is that what you think? They’re stupid for wanting to become a shifter?” “The shift is not something I asked for. It’s not something any of us asked for. Now people are asking for it, and they’re getting it. Isn’t that scary to you? Doesn’t that frighten you in the slightest? They don’t understand the effects, the consequences. What happens when dangerous people start to ask for the shift? What happens when people lose control, get lost in the shift? It’s addictive. It’s dangerous.” “You think you, the ‘old’ shifters, aren’t dangerous? Are you all good?” “I never said that. But I am not fond of the notion of people who’ve had no experience with the shift suddenly being turned, en masse. We had to learn to live with it. Learn how to conceal it. Learn how to reconcile it. Psychologically… emotionally. These new shifters, this new breed? They will be undisciplined. Kids with new, dangerous toys. Half of them are power-tripping already. The spike in crime statistics—” “But it’s not your call, is it? Who are you to decide who can become a shifter and who can’t?” “It’s not Leon’s, either. He has no right to turn people into shifters. He shouldn’t be playing God.” “He thinks he’s playing Mother Nature, actually. He believes that all humans have the right to unlock their genetic potential. If, of course, they can. As you know, not all humans can become shifters. In fact, the numbers collected by my team suggest that it’s actually fewer than fifteen percent, so not the common scourge you make it out to be.” “Is that why you didn’t let him change you? Because it didn’t work on you?” Cole’s eyes became tight lines, the sudden salvo catching her off-guard. “There was a time I wanted to become a shapeshifter,” she said, her voice softening into reverie. Lillian watched as the woman sifted through her memories, filtering what she wanted to say and what she didn’t. “But I changed my mind.” “Why?” Cole’s lips stretched into a sardonic smile.