“So, this is the one, huh?”

  “It’s really her, isn’t it?”

  “Are we going to keep her?”

  I didn’t want to open my eyes to their voices. I felt more comfortable staring into the darkness. My body had changed and for the first time in my life, I felt alive.

  Troubles persisted as I tried to remember what occurred days ago. I knew my name, Maris, and that my mother worked as a prostitute in a famous brothel located in the Irish slums just outside of London, but I didn’t how I ended up in this unknown location.

  Every thought about my mother started off the same. She tried to abort her pregnancy because it interfered with her ‘job.’ After my birth she kept me locked up in the corner of the room in the solid brass baby cradle that one of her clients gave her as payment. She tended to me as least as she could and when I was old enough to walk and understand what exactly was going on, she locked me inside her closet where I remained until sunrise.

  With her death from cholera a year ago, I found myself forced to earn my way. I had only two options: follow in her footsteps or leave the whorehouse to fend for myself. I pissed myself at the thought of trying to survive out there; in the world, all alone. At least I knew that I would have two hot meals, my mother’s old ragged bed, and a room of my own if I stayed.

  I made a promise to myself. I would take over my mother’s client list. I would stay as long as I had to. I would save up as much money as I could and eventually leave for greener pastures. I struggled, though, as the years passed. Some of her clients enjoyed me while others couldn’t handle the fact that I, a post-puberty teenager, would submit myself to that line of work. But I did and there were nights that I wished I hadn’t. I had reached the midpoint of my savings goal when my life changed forever. I was almost there. I almost made it.

  One night three large men with sharp teeth stormed into my room. I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted with me. One of them grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me violently against the wall, demanding that I tell him my name. When I answered his question with a question of my own, he smacked me, slicing the left side of my face. That was when things began to go from scary to downright crazy. He placed his mouth over my opened flesh and began to suck the blood from my wound. That was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out and awoke to three individuals—two females and one male—standing over me.

  My stomach felt on fire, becoming unbearable to the point that I snapped back into reality and finally opened my eyes, pleading for their help. Both females looked exactly alike: caramel colored skin and short dark hair, except that one stood taller than the other. The male, dressed in a white shirt tucked into his brown trousers, had short brown hair and a small brown cap. He leaned in close to me and touched my face. His fingers were as cold as ice. I sat up and slid my body along the wooden floorboards to get away from them. A weird, sweet aroma filtrated through my nose and I placed my hand over it, unsure what to think.

  “She’s beautiful.” The male reached out his hand to me.

  Beautiful? Hardly.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He reinforced his position by pushing his hand further into my face. Laggardly, I took it and he helped me to my feet.

  My eyes wandered over the dark room, sluggishly lit by a candle on top of a wooden dresser. The body of a female lay on the floor next to a dingy, unmade bed. The sweet aroma I smelled came from that direction and without thinking I moved toward it, finding that my body slouched slightly in a full-blown hunting stance. When I reached the body, I immediately recognized her.

  “Samantha?” It didn’t look like my best friend whom I’d known for a few years. She had two puncture wounds on the left side of her neck. Her eyelids fluttered. I heard something else: a cadence noise that didn’t match that of her breathing. I called out her name again and this time she managed to open her eyes. Upon seeing my face, a weak smile appeared on her own and she lifted her hand to touch the scar on my left cheek.

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  I heard footsteps behind me and quickly her smile disappeared, replaced by a look of fear. The male grabbed my arm to pull me away from her but I didn’t want to go with him. I shook his hand off me and something inside me told me to strike. I made a fist with my right hand and I punched, hitting him across the face. The blow pushed him back into the air and onto the floor.

  My strength surprised me. I wasn’t a fighter. I’d never punched anyone or anything before. I could barely get the males off of me when they came for their daily service. I stared at my hand as if it weren’t my own and I turned back to Samantha who looked back at me in horror.

  “Your eyes, Maris! Your eyes!”

  I rubbed my eye, thinking that she referred to an object on my face but I didn’t find anything. I didn’t understand why she would look at me in such a way.

  She began to crawl away from me, screaming, “Get away from me, demon!”

  Demon? I didn’t see any demon around me. I didn’t believe in those religious figures or anything having to do with Christianity in general.

  The male I’d punched stood to his feet and laughed. His eyes had the color of charcoal and two pointed fangs extended from his mouth. He was the demon!

  I moved back and heard a deeper, more mature female voice coming from the other room signaling for us to stop. Immediately the boy’s eyes reverted to brown and his sharp teeth withdrew back into his mouth.

  An older adult woman stood in the doorway with her hands straight to her sides. Initially I thought she was their mother, which also made her a demon, but something else startled me about her, something that I couldn’t explain. I felt nothing but joy and a sense that I was safe. I stared at her long dark hair and big brown eyes. Her stained red lips were slightly parted and she wore a beautiful dark blue two-piece, full buttoned jacket complete with an overskirt skirt bustled at the rear. A feeling of protectiveness—that I had to somehow accept her dominance over me, submerged my thoughts. I didn’t fear her. I wanted to be near her. I felt like I belonged with her.

  “Don’t be scared, Maris.” The woman walked forward and she looked immediately to the male and the two females. “You’ve met my children. This is Finley,” —she pointed to the boy—“this is Branda,”—she pointed to the taller girl—“and this is her twin sister Brandy,”—she pointed to the remaining girl. She then pointed to herself. “I’m Anastasia.” She extended out her arms to me, waiting for me to embrace her. Instead, I had questions and concerns for Samantha.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  “In due time,” Anastasia replied. “First you have to make your eyes change back and retract your teeth.”

  I didn’t know what she meant by that until Finley left the room and returned with a hand mirror. He held it in front of my face and I suddenly knew why Samantha had become so afraid of me. My eyes were black, just like Finley’s eyes had been moments ago. Two medium-length fangs protruded from my gums, hiding my human canines. I also noticed the long-jagged scar on my left cheek reminding me of the attack back at the brothel.

  “What’s happening to me?” I searched my face and touched my fangs. They were extremely sharp. “What did you do to me?” I asked her.

  “I saved you from the vampires.”

  “Vampires?” I stared long and hard at myself. “Am I a vampire?” I didn’t want to believe what stared back at me in the mirror. Why had this happened to me? What happened to me to make me look so different?

  “No. I made sure of that,” she said. “You must be starving now.” She walked over to me. “Eat.” She forced me to turn back around and face Samantha. I felt Anastasia place her head on my shoulder and a voice penetrated my thoughts.

  Drink her blood.

  Any other day, I would’ve run for my life away from these new people. Drinking blood wasn’t normal. Part of me knew it wasn’t right but another part of me wanted to gorge. No longer did I see Samantha. I saw a body, full of blood, waiting to be taken. I hungered for it; I craved it. I wanted it more than ever.

  Immediately I was on top of her with my teeth embedded into her neck. I felt the warm blood oozing down my throat, squeezing at my desires, making me want more. Samantha tried to scream but instinctively, I knew to cover her mouth with my other hand. I heard the patterned bumps echoing from her chest beginning to slow until I couldn’t hear them anymore. I continued, drinking until I felt full. But I still wanted more.

  That’s when Anastasia pulled me away. “She’s dead,” she said.

  I felt the warm liquid dripping from the corners of my mouth and I looked at my blood covered hands. “If I’m not a vampire then what am I?” I looked over my shoulder at Anastasia, hoping she would answer.

  “She is beautiful,” Anastasia said, acknowledging Finley’s previous statement.

  “What...am...I?” I slowly repeated.

  “You’re one of us, Maris,” she finally replied. “Ramanga Deamhan.”