Stone's Thirst

Chapter 1: What Can You Do For Me?

I rang the doorbell of the vampires' house with shaking knees. My knees weren't shaking because the couple who lived here were vampires—at least not exclusively because they were vampires.

This was the Gothic brick-and-pale-stone house at the edge of Harlow College's rural campus that Professor Malinda Stone made her home. Professor Stone was one of the foremost experts on Romantic poetry and literature in the world—not least because she'd actually been alive to know Keats, Wordsworth, Byron, the Shelleys, and all the other legendary figures of the movement in the 1700s and 1800s.

Vampires were a fact of life: everybody knew about them. They weren't so very different from humans—except, of course, for their beauty, immortality, and thirst for human blood. Not all of them lived as openly as Professor Stone and her companion, another vampire named Watson.

To study with her was an honor in any context. For me, it was a dream come true.

As the fall of my senior year came to an end, I felt vastly under-accomplished. It was true I'd always been devoted to my studies…maybe, actually a little too focused. Academic success had always been my be-all, end-all. My parents had always encouraged me in that direction, and I'd kept up my dedication all through my years at Harlow, a prestigious liberal arts college in the rolling hills of western New England. Getting in was one mark of success; I'd maintained a 4.0 all through my time here, while editing the literary magazine and publishing my own poetry.

Only, I still felt like I hadn't done anything special. But that was all changing for me.

Being assigned by the English Department to be Professor Stone's research assistant was certainly special. If she decided to champion me, it could make my academic career. My specialty was Keats, and ever since I'd been lucky enough to take one of Professor Stone's classes my sophomore year, I'd been fixated on working with her.

It took a long time for someone to answer the door. I scuffed my black dress shoes against their welcome mat, agonizing: Should I ring the doorbell again? Was that rude?

But then the door opened, and Professor Stone stood there.

I caught my breath. Firstly, because Professor Stone is a stunning and imposing woman—a kind of terrifying Cate Blanchett-level presence. She stands tall and willowy, every inch of her elegant and composed, with skin approaching the pallor of porcelain and dark, dark hair piled on her head in a messy updo. She looked a little shy of forty, with a kind of firm, Old-World grace that effortlessly commanded attention in the classroom.

Secondly, because she was wearing a floor-length black silk bathrobe that left a stunning view down between her breasts. The shape of her slender body under the silk was all too evident. I carefully kept my gaze fixed on hers.

She gave me a sharp, evaluative look. “You're early, aren't you?"

I knew I was right on time. As I always was. “I must be, Professor. My apologies."

“Well, come in."

She was cold and curt as she had been in the classroom: a sharp, impatient kind of intellect that was both incredibly intimidating and also read as a sort of challenge. It made me want her approval that much more. But her default, it seemed, was to run ice-cold.

She stepped aside, waving for me to enter. I felt my face go warm with a blush, but I obeyed, hurrying past her. The interior of the Gothic cottage was beautifully decorated with an overabundance of soft rugs and drapes and blankets. Everything looked brand name and high price, with a kind of elegant, calculated clutter: books everywhere, on tables and overstuffed bookshelves. But it was also unusually dark, illuminated by a few spare Edison bulbs and candles in brass holders. I'd never been in a house both so luxurious and so cozy.

“Sit, please." She gestured me onto one of the low dark-leather sofas.

I settled carefully, trying to look controlled and professional and older than my twenty-two years. I'd worn my best cashmere sweater and plaid skirt. I had the sudden, terrible sense—in the face of her effortless, sensual beauty—that I looked like a little girl going to church. Hardly the impression I was aiming for.

She sat in a velveteen armchair across from me, steepling her fingers. She gave me another up-and-down glance, and I willed myself to sit straight and dignified.

“Is this your first time using the app?" she asked.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. “App, Professor?"

At that moment, another figure appeared in the living room door, shadowy in the half-light. It was a beautiful, pale-haired man, by all appearances about ten years younger than the professor. He was powerfully built, square-jawed, with cheerful green eyes. He wore a casual, much-worn band t-shirt and jeans. This must be Watson, Professor Stone's companion. Professor Stone, rumor had it, had turned Watson only a few decades before, and he was fiercely attached to her. Though not romantically. Or at least that's what all the girls around campus with crushes hoped.

“Is this her?" He flashed a toothy, open smile. “She's early, isn't she? I scheduled for 2 pm."

All of a sudden it hit me. This was a terrible mistake.

Respectable vampires like the Stones used app services like Gulp or HemoGigs to hire “blood bags"—sort of willing blood donors who were well paid for sating a vampire's thirst. Like Uber Eats, but the delivery and the delivery person were one in the same. It was an age-old job modernized for the gig economy. And they thought I was a blood bag, here for them to feed on!

“I'm not from the app," I said hurried, tripping over my words. “I'm the new research assistant. From the Department. My name's Amber Brooks."

Professor Stone's face shifted inscrutably. Her mouth tightened, just a hair. Then she stood fluidly, drawing the neckline of her robe closed.

“Miss Brooks," she said. My name sounded velvety in her mouth. “I believe we scheduled for Tuesday afternoon."

“I…I think it is Tuesday, Professor." I felt my blush deepening. I was so tempted to make a sprint for the door and end this nightmare.

Watson let out a loud, bright laugh, breaking the tension. “The end-of-the-semester crunch is screwing with your sense of time! I do believe we're double-booked."

Professor Stone ignored him. “Please wait a moment," she said to me and then strode quickly upstairs. Watson gave me a kind, reassuring smile, as if to say, Isn't it just the way? Then he ducked back into the door behind him. I heard running water and the sound of dishes being washed.

This could not be going much worse. For a wild instant, I thought I should have just let them feed on me rather than starting all this awkwardness. The professor's first impression of me was…as a meal. But before I could let my mind go down that path, Professor Stone reappeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Now she wore an immaculate dark pantsuit over a crisp white shirt—her usual classroom attire I remembered from when I took her course. Her dark eyes were impassive as she looked down at me. She leaned on the back of her chair instead of sitting—perhaps to reassert her dominance after our opening disaster.

“Well Miss Brooks," she said coolly. “What can you do for me?"

There was something too intent, too greedy in her calm face though. I saw the smallest flex of her delicate nostrils.

I'd never met a vampire before. Well, I'd seen them around campus, but that was it. But every instinct in me screamed: I was sitting like an i***t in front of a hungry vampire. A vampire who had already clearly imagined drinking from me.

“What do you mean?" I said, trying to regain control of the situation. Or at least some semblance of confidence.

Questioning her had been the wrong play. Stone's eyes narrowed at me—inquisitive, cold. In the black depths of her eyes, there was an unnatural gleam, like a predator's eyes catching the light.

“Careful, now, Miss Brooks." Her voice was silky smooth, the hunger icy at the bottom of it. “I am not, as you might have guessed, in a patient mood."

Her eyes flashed again, flat bright focus. She was between me and the door. There was every likelihood that I was going to be a meal after all.