Jeanne Stein: The Becoming

The mounting delirium in my voice makes Dr. Avery move a little closer to me on the couch. He doesn't touch me, or reach out, he just sits quietly and waits for me to run out of breath and energy before he says, “It's a lot to accept, I know. But you should consider yourself lucky. Donaldson didn't set out to turn you. He meant to kill you, just the way he did that unfortunate woman who took him in. But two things happened that prevented it. He was interrupted by the men in the bar before he could drain you, and you drank of his blood. There is nothing you could have done to prevent what happened, just as there is nothing you can do to change it. You must accept what you are becoming. I am here to help you."

Whether it's another mind trick or just good bedside manner, the resonance and timbre of his voice calms me. “You are here to help me? And how will you do that? Are you a vampire, too? Is there a handbook I have to study? A class in bloodsucking I'm required to attend?"

He smiles and shakes his head. “Let's see, to answer your questions in order. Yes, I'm here to help. I'll do whatever I can to ease your transition. Yes, I'm a vampire, too. And no, there is no handbook and no class. It's strictly on the job training, so to speak."

"You can make jokes? What the hell are you?"

"Technically, I'm a Night Watcher."

"A what?"

"A Night Watcher.” Avery pushes himself off the couch. “Would you like some water?"

My head is spinning. “No, I don't want any water.” I nod as he gestures toward the kitchen. “Yeah, sure. Go for it. There's bottled water in the fridge. No, wait. I thought vampires only drank blood. You drink water?"

"That's good,” he says, moving toward the kitchen. “You are starting to ask the right questions."

The right questions? There's nothing right about this whole situation.

I wait for Avery to chime in. The voice doesn't come. Maybe he's finally conceding to my wish to stay the hell out of my head.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make you comfortable."

Or not.

He's back in the living room, water bottle in hand. “Now, what were we talking about?"

I give up. But I won't play his game. “You were about to tell me what this ‘night watching’ thing is all about,” I say in a loud, clear voice.

He draws on the bottle and sits back down on the couch facing me. “A long time ago, before there were policeman or armies to defend a town, guardians would walk the streets at night with swords and lanterns. They would call out the passing hours and the

‘all is well’ signal. They were called Night Watchers."

"So this is what you do? Walk the street at night calling ‘all is well?’ And if that is your job, where the hell were you when Donaldson was attacking me? All was certainly not well then, was it?"

He shakes his head, irritation twisting the corners of his mouth. “I don't mean to say that I literally walk the streets at night. I was trying to give you a point of reference."

I'm glad he's getting pissed off, since he's certainly having that effect on me. “Okay, I get your point of reference. But since we happen to be living in the twenty-first century, it means nothing to me. You want to explain in normal terms exactly what you do?"

The cloud passes from his face. “I am one of a contingent of vampires who watches for signs of activity in a community and intervenes when necessary to preserve the balance between the living and the undead."

The undead? That one phrase makes the rest of his pedantic recitation fade from my mind quicker than a bunny gets fucked. “The undead?” I hear myself screeching. “That's what I am? Undead?"

"Well, technically, yes."

Oh my God. I'm on my feet again, unable to control the violent tremors that pass through my body. My heart is beating like a drum—wait a minute.

My heart.

I press a hand to my chest. Yes, it's beating. Faster than it should, but it's beating. I look up to find Avery watching with an amused grin on his face.

"Yes,” he says. “You have a heartbeat. And you will continue to do so unless you give yourself a heart attack with these violent outbursts."

I sink back down on the couch. “I don't understand any of this. How can I be ‘undead’ and have a heartbeat?"

"There's a long, dry, technical explanation for that,” Avery says with a sigh. “Has to do with something called etheric revenant or the way a dead human body is stabilized. I can recommend a book for you by John Michael Greer if you want technical information, though he gave the book the unfortunate title, Monsters. "

Unfortunate?

He waves a hand. “The important thing for you to know is that you must care for your physical body as you always have. You work it out, you nourish it. It's just the type of nourishment that will change."

Here it comes. “You mean I have to drink blood."

"You need fresh etheric energy, yes."

"I don't think I can accept that. I'm not about to turn into someone like Donaldson. You may as well pound a stake through my chest right now or burn me at a stake—” Is that it? I can't think of any other ways I've read to kill vampires except—sunlight. I peer hard at Avery, a very tanned Avery who stood outside my gate in the full sun and seems not to have suffered any ill effect.

"Adaptation,” he says.

"What?"

"It took hundreds of years, but we've adapted to sunlight. We can walk about in daylight just like anybody else, now."

My God. All the time I spent reading Anne Rice, I thought I was reading fiction.

Avery holds up a hand. “You were reading fiction,” he says. “For the most part. And a stake through the heart or burning are ways we can be killed. There is also beheading, but that doesn't happen too much anymore. Mostly, if we're careful, we live long, productive lives and no one is the wiser."

"By long, you mean?"

He nods. “Immortality is part of the gift."

"But the blood thing—"

"I'm getting to that. The sources of energy used by living people—mostly connected to oxygen and food—are closed off to us once the first stage of death begins. To replace what is used or lost in the course of our day is a regular source of fresh, arterial blood."

"I just said I can't do that."

"You said you wouldn't turn into someone like Donaldson,” he reminds me gently. “And you won't have to. I will teach you how to feed without killing. In fact, I will teach you how to feed in a way that will literally leave your hosts begging you not to stop."

"My host?"

He nods. “The living organism you draw from."

Great. I've turned into a parasite. “And I'm supposed to believe this host will enjoy the experience so much, he'll beg for more?"

Avery smiles. “Oh yes,” he says. “Because while you're feeding, he'll be experiencing the very best sex he's ever had in his entire life."

It just gets better and better. Now I'm a parasite with nymphomaniacal tendencies. “And where do I find these willing sex partners?” I ask, though it's not really a question I want answered. I get a flash that I'll be working the homeless population or frequenting bars down in Tijuana.

"Would you seek sex partners in those places under normal circumstances?” he asks.

His voice contains a strong suggestion of reproach. I lace my own with heavy sarcasm. “No. But I doubt my boyfriend will take kindly to being drained of his lifeblood on a daily basis."

"So you have sex daily?"

He's got a mocking grin on his face that I feel an irresistible urge to smack right off.

Some of that feeling must convey itself to him because he leans back out of reach. “Sorry,” he says. “I don't mean to be impertinent. But you don't need to feed every day any more than you need to have sex every day. It's a matter of personal choice.