“What did you think?” the librarian asked him, her voice shrill. “That I would swoop down in the form of a bat and lunge at her throat?”
“I’m not sure,” Tatum said weakly.
“Right.” Carmela turned back to Zoe. “Never mind that. Are we doing this?”
“Doing what?” Tatum asked.
“Your girlfriend agreed to be my donor,” Carmela said.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Zoe hurriedly corrected.
“Fine, whatever. Sign this.” Carmela put a form in front of Zoe. “This says you are a willing donor.”
“Hang on, what the hell is going on?” Tatum skimmed the form, incredulous. “You agreed to let this woman drink your blood?”
“I wouldn’t meet you otherwise,” Carmela said. “Do you think I’d be outing myself to any stranger who comes my way?”
“You can’t be serious,” Tatum said.
Zoe read the form, forehead crinkled in concentration, as if she were signing a simple bank statement. “This isn’t a big deal, Tatum. Stop fretting. I want to see how she does it.”
“Absolutely not!”
“Your boyfriend is a pain in the ass,” Carmela said.
“I’m not her boyfriend, and she’s not your damn food,” Tatum snapped.
“It’s safe.” Zoe looked at him in exasperation. “My acquaintance vouched for her.”
“I can drink your blood, if you prefer.” Carmela scrutinized him as if she were inspecting meat in a butcher’s shop. “Frankly, I’d prefer it.”
“No one is drinking my blood.”
Zoe signed the form. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said.
“Let’s go to the science fiction aisle,” Carmela suggested. “It’s usually empty around this time of the day.”
Tatum followed the two women, feeling lost in a surreal dream. The science fiction aisle smelled different than the rest of the library, almost sweaty. The visible book covers displayed spaceships, planets, a red-eyed robot.
“Are you left handed or right handed?” Carmela asked Zoe.
“Right handed.”
“Give me your left hand.” Carmela fished in her purse, retrieving a box of disposable scalpels. She took one out, tearing the sterile wrapping.
Zoe hesitated for just a fraction, and Tatum immediately stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
She shot him a furious glance and gave Carmela her hand. Carmela took it and carefully pricked Zoe’s thumb, making a small incision, about half an inch long. A large drop of blood materialized. Carmela pressed the skin by the thumb, and more blood emerged, starting to trickle. She then bent forward and licked the blood from Zoe’s finger.
Tatum held his breath, his entire body tense. His right hand was just above his hidden holster, as if he was about to pull the gun and shoot the librarian vampiress. He forced himself to relax, breathing deeply. This weirdo was creepy as hell, but she wasn’t dangerous.
She pulled away, smacked her lips, and watched Zoe’s thumb as blood emerged a second time. She licked it again, then nodded, satisfied. “Not bad.”
“The food is to your liking?” Tatum asked derisively.
“You’d be surprised—some people’s blood tastes like shit,” Carmela said. She retrieved a Band-Aid box and a small bottle of disinfectant from her purse and handed them to Zoe.
Zoe dabbed the cut with the disinfectant, then pried a single Band-Aid from the box. Her fingers shook as she put it on her thumb. As much as she tried to hide it, she’d been rattled by the eerie experience.
“Come on,” Carmela said. “I’ve got a job to do.”
She walked back to the counter, and Tatum followed her, eyeing Zoe worriedly. She was frowning, biting her lip, probably still processing the strange ordeal. Carmela grabbed a pile of books and began scanning them, one at a time.
“So,” she said. “Nate said you have some questions. Are you two journalists?”
“I’m a psychologist,” Zoe said.
Tatum leaned on the counter, deciding to let Zoe run the show.
“Okay. What is this? Are you writing some sort of academic paper?” Carmela asked.
“Something like that. We’re interested in a specific case. A person in Chicago.”
“Uh-huh. What do you want from me?”
“Did you hear about other people with your . . . condition in Chicago?”
Carmela raised an eyebrow. “Other vampires, you mean?”
Zoe hesitated for just a moment. “Yes.”
“Sure. There’s a whole community here.” She said it matter-of-factly, and Tatum wasn’t sure if she was being ironic or serious.
“A community of vampires?”
“Yeah. Ninety-six, last time I checked.”
“Seriously?” Tatum blurted.
She shrugged. “Why would I lie? You think vampires are so rare? There are over five thousand self-proclaimed vampires in the entire world. And those are just the ones we know about.”
“All drinking blood?” Zoe asked.
“Nah. Some are psychic vampires.”
Tatum tried not to roll his eyes. “Psychic vampires?”