The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

3

Gregorio Vasilescu, Vampire

Night was dark. Quiet. Cold. Good for a hunt.

My target had no idea he was being stalked.

While his heavy footfalls crunched against icy pavement, I glided a standard fifteen feet behind, melting into the shadows of the South Philadelphian brick rowhomes. He marched forward, clueless, gym bag swung over one shoulder. Even in the dark, I could see the sweat beaded on his bald head turn to ice.

The thrill of the chase thrummed in my veins, urging me forward, fangs bared.

But this wasn't the old country. I'd been around the block a few hundred times. Knew better now than to just pounce a man twice my size on a public street.

I knew the satisfaction of a good hunt.

My target's pulse hummed. Steady. Relaxed. Oblivious.

He slowed as he approached a dingy brick façade just a few lots from the corner of Carpenter Street and Grays Ferry Ave. The house stood, crooked, in the shadows of a scaffolding covered soon-to-be modern apartment complex and the smokestacks of the Veolia Energy plant only a block over. A shiny, new sinkhole was opening out front too. Right in the cross walk.

Instead of ringing the bell, my target paused under the porch light, and made a call. Interesting.

Curtain moved aside from the upstairs window. A feminine silhouette appeared for only a moment in the illuminated pane, before vanishing.

Minute later, maybe less than, the door opened.

My time to strike.

In a flash, I flipped my phone out from my jacket pocket, striking a semi-casual pose against a brick wall, and pretended to call an Uber. The mammoth lens screwed into phone camera would blend seamlessly into its sleek, black case to the nighttime observer. Of course, the video would be absolute garbage in such low light, but capturing the number of the residence Mr. Cabroni slipped into would be enough to satisfy the werewolf's jealous wife.

See, Mrs. Cabroni hired me the moment her husband had come home smelling like "some other bitch." Her words, not mine.

I sighed and slumped a little more deeply against the wall, watching as Mr. Cabroni was pulled into the welcoming arms of his petite mistress. Yeah, domestic work was, well, bottom feeder-ish, but also easy money for a Private Eye.

Porchlight went out.

An icy gust ripped down Gray's Ferry Ave, prickling my ears. They throbbed. My nose tingled. Throat was hoarse. Was only then I noticed my veins ached something fierce.

Golly gee, guess who'd gotten so absorbed in his work he'd forgotten to eat? Again.

Alright, fella, to hell with it.

Camera off. Cabroni wouldn't be exiting the rowhome anytime soon. He'd already told his missus he'd be spending the night at his ailing momma's while wifey stayed home with the pups. I was done.

Maybe I could dip out of this mostly human neighborhood and into Center City before sunup. Swing by The Raven Lounge. Hm, it'd probably be crawling with Tourists at this hour, but it was a vampire owned joint and there were always willing donors lurking about. Place had the proper Society permits for it too. Or at least mighty good fakes.

Except my wallet felt a bit slim in my pocket.

Sigh. Maybe after Mrs. Cabroni's next check cleared.

I turned east toward home instead.

The ground rumbled from an approaching train, but beyond this, the streets were quiet. I scrolled through my phone as I walked, noting, and ignoring, both the text and voicemail from Phoebe, my secretary.