The vampire reached across and took the crucifix out of his hand.
"Right," she said, flipping it over to admire it. "And on what basis are you calling me a demon?"
"I... just look at you!" The man had been prepared for violence, but not for pedantry. He let his hand fall limply to his side. "That pale face, those dark, leathery wings. You're cold. Dead."
"Not dead." She tossed the cross up in the air and caught it in her other hand. "The dead can't do that. Neither can a lot of the living, come to that."
"Undead, then. How ancient are you, fiend?"
"Thousands of your years," the vampire said, although her face was that of a woman half his age. "Old enough not to call people names."
"Sorry." He wasn't sure how to reply to that. "If you aren't a monster, why creep around in the blackness of night?"
"Because the monsters live by day. The same reason as rodents roam the forest floor at night, when the predators are all asleep. Nocturnality was first and foremost a form of crypsis, a survival adaptation. Such as it is with us."
"There are more of you?" he asked, and then: "You have predators?" He wasn't sure which prospect frightened him more.
"More like enemies. The day itself, really. You know why we only come out of night, do you? From whatever folk story told you we were demons?"
"The sunlight burns your skin." He spoke as he remembered. "You would die if you emerged from your lair in the day."
"Correct," she said. "Which is why you note my skin is pale, and cold to the touch. I have never felt the light of the sun. So that's... what, three of the reasons you thought me evil? Because I've lived in the dark?"
"Darkness is where demons dwell."
"Strange," the vampire mused. "From what I hear, demons are known to be red, not white, and live amongst the fires of hell. They are burning hot, not cool and numb. Or is that wrong? Remind me, what colour are angels?"
"I... white, traditionally."
"Are they ancient? Do they have wings?"
"Yes, but..."
"That's another three of your reasons, then. Or one of the same, and the two we haven't dealt with yet. You call me a demon because I match your conception of an angel, their exact reverse?"
"Well, not quite," he began, but couldn't think of any other counterpoints. She was young, attractive, well-spoken. If he had met her under any other circumstances, he might find her quite angelic. It was just that this was the middle of the night, and she had come crashing through his window. "Who are the real demons, then? Who matches that description more?"
"Hot and red, you mean? Those who do emerge from their lairs during the day, and who do feel the light of the sun, or at least those who feel too much of it. But the question isn't who, but what. Demons are not people... unless you want to tell me otherwise, with all your wisdom on the subject?"
"No." The man dimly realised that he was serving only as the punctuation to her speech, following the conversation wherever she led. There was no arguing with her teasing blend of sarcasm and sense. Not since Socrates had the question mark been used as such an effective weapon. "What are they, then?"
"Those who do dwell in the darkness." The vampire smiled, showing off two rows of perfect, thin white teeth. "True darkness isn't found in your bedroom, or any lair you might imagine I have come here from. Do you expect demons to live on earth, or in hell?"
