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You’re walking home one afternoon, glancing up at the overcast sky and wondering if it’s going to rain, hoping that you can get back before it does.
You have music playing, but you’re only listening through one earbud. You’re not really looking at the things you walk past. You don’t see the dark shape coming out of the shadows until it’s too late.
A hand claps across your mouth and you find yourself being pulled to one side and down an alley between a couple of buildings. You feel brick at your back and chance a look at your abductor.
“ ’Ello,” a voice says. It is soft and, you think, somehow amused. “You’re not going to do anything stupid like scream, are you?”
You shake your head quickly. Your abductor grins, giving you a flash of white teeth from the shadows. His hand drops away from your mouth, and grips your arm tightly instead.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” he says companionably, “I need something from you. You’ll be fine afterwards. Maybe a bit tired, a touch of anaemia at the absolute worst. It won’t take long, and it won’t hurt. You’ll be on your way in no time. Understand?”
You give a tiny shake of your head. Words start to form on your lips but you can’t seem to get them out. Your abductor sees your struggle. This time, he smiles – somehow softer than his grin earlier, even friendlier – and he says, “You want to know what I am, right? No… no, you know what I am. You’re just confused that I’m here.”
You manage to stammer out a yes.
“Well, it’s your lucky day, because I just happen to be feeling chatty. You people have had plenty of different names for us; I won’t insult you by listing them. You think we’re myths, that you invented us. Where d’you think the myths came from?”
You mumble something about a well-known book. Your abductor lets out a brief, barking sort of a laugh.
“That guy! I wouldn’t be using him as an authority if I were you. He got a few things wrong. The truth is, my kind have been around for about as long as yours have. We take a little from you now and then, and most of the time you barely even notice. You’ve heard of symbiotic relationships, right? That’s your lot and my lot. Understand?”
You nod. “Yes,” you say, your voice shaky.
“You want to know what’s actually true about us?”
You nod again, trying desperately to hide how scared you feel.
“Don’t bother with the garlic or the holy objects… I mean, if a cross makes you feel better then by all means carry one around. Just don’t expect any of us to cower back from it in fear. Running water, that made me laugh when I read that. Not a problem, by the way. We can eat and drink the way you do, we just need a little something extra from time to time. And the sun… well, that varies. Some of us, pale as anything, can’t go outside during the day unless there’s actually an eclipse. On the other hand… I can walk around quite happily when it’s merely overcast. Why do you think I came here?” He steps out of the shadows, and you see him noticeably fail to catch fire. Your gaze lingers on his bronze-toned skin and sharp cheekbones for just a second too long, and he catches you.
“The otherworldly attractiveness, that’s a myth too. We’re pretty much like your lot, actually. Some of us look like models, some of us don’t.” He pauses, studies you for a moment. “You like what you see? It’s real, if you do. I can’t do that, either. I can’t fly, can’t turn into any kind of animal, can’t make you fall in love with me. I am a bit stronger than a human would be, and my reflexes are better. But that’s about it as far as perks go.”
“Oh,” you say.
He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Look, uh, I’m on kind of a schedule here. Could we get this over with?”
You blink, and nod your agreement. You ask an awkward question about the mechanics, and reach up to loosen your scarf.
“No need for that,” he says, and takes your hand instead, pushing the sleeve of your coat back to bare your wrist. “There’s a perfectly good, and much safer, vein in the wrist,” he says, and you think for a moment that he’s trying to reassure you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something wrapped in plastic. He unwraps it with one hand, revealing an antiseptic wipe. He rubs it over the inside of your wrist, then crumples it and stuffs it back into his pocket.
Then he leans closer, and lifts your wrist to meet his lips. You barely feel the sting – it reminds you of having the ‘flu vaccine, a little pinch and then… nothing.
He lifts his mouth from your wrist, licks the little wounds carefully, and reaches back into his pocket for what turns out to be a plaster. Before you can blink, he’s applied the clean plaster to your wrist and released his grip on you.
He inclines his head, smiles, and says, “Thank you. I’d get home if I were you. Eat something, and have an early night, and you might want to get some iron tablets.”
You say you will, trying and failing to keep the note of surprise from your voice. Then you say, “Will I see you again?”
“Maybe,” he says with a grin. “I like this place. Not too many sunny days. Maybe I’ll stick around. Maybe I’ll come find you again, next time.” He steps backward, and glances at you one last time, and then he is gone.
You stand there in the alley for a moment. You yawn - you’re really tired, you realise, and you step out of the alley and hurry home.
Late that night, you lie awake in bed, thinking about sharp cheekbones and an amused voice, and you wonder how many of his kind you have walked past in the street every day of your life.