"Hold a mirror to her mouth," the girl told him.
Jonathan hastened to obey. He had sprinted to fetch aid from the lobby downstairs, begging anyone who heard to run up and help bring his wife back to life; he had no idea how to summon a doctor in this foreign land, and hoped this young maid from the kitchens would suffice. Having rushed her into their suite in desperation, he certainly wasn't about to ignore any instructions that she had to give.
He found a small mirror in his wife's bag, the spoils of panicked rummaging, and plucked it out with trembling, sweaty palms. When he approached her on the bed, however, the tool seemed useless to this task at hand; in the early morning light, Jonathan could see Mina's chest and stomach fall and rise as clearly as they ever had.
If anything, the rise was more pronounced than it had been before they'd left: the hotel food had been as rich as it was plentiful, and they had each enjoyed more than their fair share. On holiday and full of life, his wife had been as healthy as she'd been in years, and yet today she wouldn't wake from this unnatural sleep.
"She's breathing," he said, although that didn't give him hope. It was Mina's mind he loved, her heart, her soul, and he could draw little comfort from the presence of her lungs alone.
"Hold it to her mouth," the girl repeated. "That's how you tell when somebody is dead, is it not?"
Jonathan did as he was bid, but he didn't know what results he had been hoping for: the mirror remained a mirror, and his wife remained asleep. He had read about water vapour clouding up the glass, a common tell-tale sign for life, but Mina's closed eyes were still reflected clearly as the dawn shone in on her immobile face.
"Do you see any fog?"
"No," he answered. "Nothing."
"As I feared." The girl looked to her left. "You opened the window."
"We needed some fresh air," Jonathan said in his defence, although he wasn't sure why he felt under attack. "It was hot in here."
"It was supposed to be." She reached and undid his mistake with a slam. "Now you've let in the cold, with all that that entails. When you invite coldness into your room, it paves the way for cold creatures to follow."
"Creatures? What creatures?" If she was implying Mina had contracted some disease, her talk of temperature made no sense. There were a variety of biting insects which could spread sickness, mosquitoes and midges and fleas, but they all preferred warmer climes.
"Vampires." The girl spoke without emphasis, as if discussing a matter-of-fact pest instead of a mythological terror. "They leave no reflection in mirrors, and so this is the most common way to test for one; even westerners have usually heard of that, although like many things you take it far too far. You have read these fables, no? You know what a vampire is?"
"They fly. They come out at night." Jonathan listed the characteristics as he remembered them, still staring at the window which had been left open to the dark. "They need to be invited in?"
"There's another one your writers took too far. These are animals, not dinner guests. This description only means that they are weak: they cannot force a window or break down a door, but they will take advantage of an opening without seeking permission of any kind. I spoke of you inviting in the cold; if you understood what I meant by that, you should understand this expression as well. Translation and retelling cost us far too much."
"They drink blood," Jonathan finished. He immediately checked his wife's neck for puncture marks, and was relieved when he found none. "You think that she's been bitten?"
