"Vampires are dead people. Soulless dead people who continue to exist," Rachel snapped. She dragged the double doors open to reveal that beyond was indeed a closet. She surveyed its contents as she continued, "They are soulless bloodsucking demons. And they are fiction. They aren't real."
"Well, the soulless bit is fiction. We are--What are you doing?" he interrupted himself to ask.
She was sorting through the clothes on hangers. "Something I should have done a long time ago. Looking for something to wear." She dragged out one of his dress shirts, considered it, then tossed it onto the bed.
"I could--"
"Stay where you are!" Rachel warned. Glaring at him until he stopped, she turned back to the closet.
"Look," he said soothingly, "I realize this is upsetting, confusing, and perhaps--"
Rachel spun. "Confusing? Upsetting? What could be confusing or upsetting? You're a vampire. And there's a madman out to get you. But he's not a madman, because you really are a vampire," she pointed out grimly. Then she added, "Oh, and we musn't forget he accidentally axed me trying to get to you, so you turned me into a vampire too. Now I'm a soulless bloodsucker damned to walk the night and suck neck." Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the closet. "I have to get out of here."
"We don't 'suck neck'," he said, as if the very suggestion were asinine. But when Rachel turned to arch an eyebrow at him, he added reluctantly, "Not much, anyway. Only in emergencies. I mean, we do everything to avoid--Well, there is the occasional rogue vampire who..." He came to a halt, looking distressed.
Rachel shook her head and muttered, "Completely bonkers. Looney-bin boy."
"No, really," he said. "What I mean is that we all invested in blood banks when they came into existence. In fact, it was one of our kind who came up with the idea of blood transfusions. He mentioned it to Jean Baptiste Denis, and the fellow tried it and... Well, it doesn't matter. The point is, we have our blood delivered. See?"
"Look, I..." Rachel paused as she turned toward him. Her gaze landed on the minirefrigerator he had opened. Her eyes widened incredulously. There had to be a dozen bags of blood inside.
"Bastien stopped and picked up a couple dozen pints on the way here last night," Etienne explained. "For you and I both. We weren't sure how much you'd need for the change and healing and such. We figured you would need four or five bags to heal, but the full turning can be tricky. How much you need for that depends on how much damage your body has sustained over the years. You seemed relatively healthy, but there are always cancers, heart disease, et cetera." He eyed her stunned expression warily, then took out a bag and explained, "It isn't as pleasant as fresh, warm blood from the source, but it can be consumed much the same way."
As she stared in disbelief, he lifted the bag and opened his mouth. Rachel gasped in horror as his teeth extended, and he plunged them into the bag.
The blood immediately began to disappear as if drawn up through the teeth.
Still drinking, Etienne reached down and retrieved another bag, to hold out for her. "Unh?"
She supposed it was an invitation. Rachel wanted to laugh. She wanted to howl hysterically at this madness and return to ignoring him and ransacking his closet, but that unnamed yearning from earlier was again clenching and cramping her belly. Even worse, as the tinny scent of blood wafted around her, she could feel something odd happening inside her mouth. There was a strange sensation of shifting--not painful, more just a sort of pressure, but strange to say the least. Then she felt a sharp prick on the edge of her tongue. Startled, Rachel opened her mouth and felt around.
"Oh, God," she breathed as she felt her canines protruding down from between her other teeth. Lurching away from the closet, she rushed for the bathroom and hurried to the mirror. Horror coursed through her at the sight.
"It must be a trick," she said desperately.
"It's not a trick," Etienne assured her. He'd followed her into the bathroom. "Bastien looked into it today and said that sometimes the turning is relatively fast. The teeth are the first major change. Soon you'll be able to see better in darkness, hear better, and... stuff," he finished vaguely.
Rachel shifted her gaze to his reflection in the mirror, then paused, distracted by the realization that she could see it. Etienne stood directly behind her, and his shoulders, neck, and head were plainly visible.
"Vampires don't have reflections," she argued. It was a rather desperate point to make, but Rachel was desperate.
"A myth," he informed her, then smiled. "See? You can do your makeup."
Somehow that didn't seem very reassuring. Rather than relax, Rachel felt herself slump unhappily. "I'm dead."
"You aren't dead," Etienne said patiently. "I turned you to save your life."
"Oh--thanks a lot, buddy. Kill me to save me. Perfect male logic." She cursed. "I guess that trip to Hawaii is off. Shoot! And I just found a swimsuit that didn't make me look like Godzilla."
"I didn't kill you," Etienne repeated. "Pudge--"
"Pudge? The guy in army fatigues?" she interrupted. The man's image rose in her mind, wielding his ax, and Rachel frowned. She glared at Etienne in the mirror. "Jeez, I should have let him hack your head off. At least then I wouldn't be dead and soulless."
"You are not soulless," Etienne argued. His patience was obviously beginning to fray. "Pudge wounded you mortally. To save your life, I had to turn you."
"I don't feel soulless." Rachel leaned close to the mirror and pulled her lips back in a snarl, then poked at her new teeth.
"You aren't soulless."