The Journals of a Vampire Scribe

Chapter 5: Blood & Wine

"You know," she exhales along with her stretch and leaves herself more sprawled out across the couch, "this would go a lot smoother if you had something other than water to offer..."

The unpreparedness of my cupboards for feminine company is not unknown to me...

"Oh shit!" Then I remember, jump up, bash my shin on the table (and am numb enough to not feel a thing but instinctively go through the motions as if I had anyway, at least noticeably enough for her to blurt out a laugh at my expense), and hobble around the couch's corner to tear gooberly toward the kitchen. "I totally forgot..." Making it to the lower cupboards, from over the counter I hear her call out—

"If it's tequila, I'll pass."

In the bottom corner cabinet next to the sink, all the way in the back, collecting dust for who knows how long, sits several bottles of aged red wine that seem to sing to me when I reach for them. I grab the nearest, lucky soprano and hoist it high in triumph.

"Wine!" I announce before standing up with pride, finally feeling like I have something to contribute.

"Is it red? It looks red..."

"Pinot Noir," I read from the label.

"Of course it's red... Would it kill a vamp to buy white?"

"Nineteen-eighty-three."

"Predating us both."

She seems intrigued. So I reach for a 70's-mom-glass and head back her way before realizing—

"Shit...no corkscrew..."

"Thennnnn how'd you open yours?"

"It had a metal wire thing."

"Right..." Her hands reach out, fingers antsy for a feel. "Give it."

I smirk saucily. "Now who's the thirsty one?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

Rolling with the "sauce in my stride," I offer her the bottle and then pull it away before her eager-beaver fingers can get their clutches around it.

"Dude...you're screwing with a mage. I will conjure the sun and turn you into a crispy...I don't know – something."

I smile and place it back within reach. "You wanted to say 'critter,' didn't you."

She swipes it from my grip as I round the couch.

"Actually I was thinking 'corpse' but thought that might be a little – I don't know – racy? Derogative?"

I actually laugh at that as I sit down – it's a girly sort of laugh that I've always found to be embarrassing. Not a giggle, exactly, but no one would describe it as anything other than mortifying. But I'm loose enough at this point to not give it more than a fleeting thought.

"As sensitive as I may appear, my lady mage, I can actually take a joke. A funny or clever one, at least. And 'crispy corpse' would have qualified."

She's already unwrapped the top before I've sat down. Collecting a house key from her bag, she starts in on the cork, pushing the jagged chunk of metal into it and then twisting and pulling in one motion. The damn thing pops almost effortlessly and I try not to look so impressed.

"A key?" I scoff for good measure. "Pshh... Some mage you are..."

"Magic is complicated, dude. There isn't a spell for every little life-hack you come across." She gives the vintage a sniff, tilts her head with a marginally pleased frown, acknowledging the favorable bouquet, and pours herself a glass.