Chapter Text
Carlos awoke the next evening to seven voicemails, thirteen emails, and forty-two text messages on his phone. They were all from Cecil. The subjects of the emails were increasingly creative variations on please, and later in the day, I'm sorry.
He deleted everything with opening any.
When he started his car, the radio came on. Cecil's voice was solid and certain as ever, as he said, "And before we end for the night, a plea from your community radio: if anybody has any more information on curing vampirism, you know my email address. If you don't know it, imagine what it must be. You know me pretty well, listeners; I'm sure you'll get it right. Good night, Night Vale—"
Carlos slapped the console, silencing the sign-off.
The first thing he did upon getting to the lab was to unplug the radio. The second was to contact the blood donor due later in the evening, canceling that appointment and all future scheduled.
He was half-expecting Cecil to come to the lab, but though his show was over, he never appeared. Carlos left his phone off, though its silence was nearly as distracting; throughout the night he kept automatically checking it, remembering only after he saw the dark screen why he hadn't received any good-night text from Cecil.
The next night, someone rapped on the lab's front door less than ten minutes after he arrived. Carlos frowned. None of the other scientists would knock; but Cecil knew to let himself in if the light was on.
With trepidation he answered the door. It wasn't Cecil on the stoop, however, but a secret police officer. "Yes?" Carlos said irritably. "Shouldn't you be sneaking in through the air ducts?"
"I'm not here on an investigation, sir," the officer said. "I've come to donate," and she pushed up her black sleeve, baring her arm.
"Sorry, that's canceled. Besides, you weren't due here for another week," Carlos told her.
The officer blinked behind her balaclava. "You didn't hear about the schedule change?"
"What change?" Carlos asked, as one of the Big Rico's cooks, still in apron and red shirt, came hurrying around the block, asking, "Just got on break; I'm not too late to donate, am I?"
"Look, there's been some mistake," Carlos began. "I'm not accepting donations now—"
"Really?" the police officer said. "It just said on the radio that you'd be taking donations every night this week."
"'Go to Carlos's lab and give blood' was the only thing on the community calendar, actually," the waiter said. "Do you have needles, or is it bring your own? I can go pick up a pack at the Ralph's..."
As Carlos watched in dismay, three more cars pulled up and parked behind the secret cruiser. Occasionally he forgot just how much influence his boyfriend wielded in the community.
Ex-boyfriend, Carlos reminded himself.
Though perhaps Cecil hadn't realized yet that it was really over. Or else he'd realized but was employing his much-practiced aptitude for denial.
Carlos cleared his throat, announced, "Thank you all for coming, but I won't be accepting any more donations, regardless of what you hear on the radio. I'm, um, on a diet. Please just take your blood and go home." He retreated back into the lab, locking the door behind him.
There were knocks on the door periodically throughout the night. He stopped answering after he turned away the third eager donor. Maybe Cecil did realize, and this was his vengeance, that Carlos would never again work in peace.
He could call Cecil and ask him to rescind the calendar on tomorrow's show. He could call Cecil and berate him for this stunt.
He could call Cecil and...
Instead Carlos emailed all his volunteer donors, suspending the schedule, and explaining the consequences of the blood giving, as best he understood them. He also printed out a copy of the explanation and taped it to the lab's front door. Such belated disclosure was barely ethical, but it was the best he could do.
The night after that, Carlos woke up to find his color vision gone. He navigated his black and white world to the lab, where he found a veritable crowd gathered outside the door.
Carlos waved his arms to get their attention. "What are you doing here? Didn't any of you get my email?"
"Yes, but the radio—" began Tak Wallaby.
"Forget the radio!" Carlos shouted. Dozens of gray monochrome faces gaped at him in scandalized shock. Carlos barreled on regardless. His head was pounding; he didn't have the patience for this. "Did Cecil tell you that giving blood to me is sacrificing some of your life?"
"—Yes, he was quite clear about that," chimed in a woman further back in line. Carlos vaguely recognized her face, but couldn't recall from where; he didn't think she was on the donor list at all. "Though isn't it obvious? It's blood, after all. And just a single offering, at that."
"There may be delayed effects from even one donation," Carlos said. "I have no research on the long-term consequences; they could be severe."
"As dangerous as picnicking in Radon Canyon?" inquired Tak.
"Possibly even worse than that level of radiation exposure," Carlos said. "I can't say—"
"As dangerous as rolling blackouts?" called Hannah Gutierrez.
"More physical than metaphysical risk—"
"As dangerous as...Valentine's Day?" muttered Jeremy Godfrey, to the gasps of those around him.
"...Perhaps not that bad," Carlos admitted, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. "But that's the point, we don't know for sure. We're talking about your life itself—"
"Exactly!" the vaguely familiar woman said. "My life, which I owe you anyway. So..." and she took out of her handbag a formidable knife, a ceremonial dagger to tell by the bloodstone embedded in the hilt. Without hesitation and before Carlos could stop her, she drew the razor-sharp blade across her palm.
"What are you doing?!" Carlos cried, leaping forward to press his hands over her wounded one, as blood welled from the cut. "This isn't how you donate blood, and anyway you don't owe me a thing—"
The woman shook her head, serene in spite of the bloody dagger in her clenched fist. "Don't you remember? Last year, I turned into one of those buzzing shadow creatures, right in front of you and Cecil when you were driving back from your date. The only reason I have blood to offer now, rather than existing as a malevolent hole in reality, is because of your experiments. You restored my life as a human, so it's only right to return the debt. Hopefully before it impacts my credit rating."
"Besides," Tak chimed in, "the radio said all donations were tax-deductible."
Carlos looked at him, at the woman with the knife whose name he didn't even know; at all the Night Vale citizens around him, expectant and generous. Shame mixed with the frustration in his gut, blazing like sodium in hydrochloric acid, leaving salty gratitude caked in his throat.
"All right," he said. "If I accept a donation now, will you all leave me alone?" He raised his voice to be heard at the end of the line and beyond. Maybe loud enough to get back to Cecil, however that happened. Lifting his hand from the woman's, he brought it to his mouth and licked her blood off his fingers.
Its metallic stench turned his stomach, and the taste was worse; he'd forgotten how bad it could be. But he made himself swallow in front of everyone, and the woman smiled at him, an echo of Cecil's encouraging smile, coming back into color as the blood restored his vision. Forcing down bile, Carlos told her, "Thank you."
"You're welcome!" she chirped, holding her over hand over her cut palm.
"I have a first aid kit, so come inside to clean that," Carlos told her. He looked around the crowd, sighed in resignation and said, "I'll email all of you a revised schedule, okay?"
"Sure thing!" they cheerfully agreed, and dispersed with the speed of citizens out past curfew.
Carlos gave his donor bandages and antiseptic, and observed her closely as she treated her cut. She was experienced with such knife-work; it wasn't quite deep enough to need stitches, already scabbing over. And she didn't otherwise seem any worse for her sacrifice; she was steady on her feet, and the bags under her eyes were no darker than any other denizen's of Night Vale. Once her hand was treated, she bade him good night, adding, "And give Cecil my regards."
"Um," Carlos said, "I'm not going to see him..."
"Working late again, huh? Tomorrow evening, then."
Carlos hesitated. "Has Cecil talked much about our...about our relationship, on his show, in the last few days?"
"Not really; he's been using his free airtime to talk about your undead situation. Which Management isn't too keen on, since that's hardly news anymore..."
How willing would all those generous citizens have been, if Cecil had told them they were broken up? That Carlos had broken up with him—broken his heart, after drinking his life's blood. What would they have done, if the radio had commanded them to come to Carlos's lab with garlic and flamethrowers, instead of clean hypodermics? Night Vale was well-accustomed to dealing with monsters.
But then, Cecil wouldn't do that, would he. Not to Carlos, whatever he had become. Not to his boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend.
After the donor departed, Carlos finally turned on his phone. He was expecting a flood of messages, distressed texts into the void. But there was nothing. Cecil hadn't tried to contact him once, since the first day.
Carlos didn't listen to the radio to hear the calendar, but no one turned up at the lab the next night, or the nights after that. Three days later he accepted a teaspoon of blood from the secret police officer, as scheduled. It tasted terrible. But his vision stayed in color.
He ate in the lab, when he remembered to eat at all, microwave burritos and instant ramen cups, but not enough to put on any weight. He paid the fines rather than go to Big Rico's, not knowing when Cecil might stop by for his mandatory slices.
However hot the desert days became, Carlos's dreams were cold, full of cold dead things. Come nightfall he would wake shivering, needlessly curled on one side of the bed. He stopped going home to sleep, using the cot in the lab instead. It was still chilly, but at least it didn't feel too big.
He'd slept by himself for most of his life. He would get used to being alone again.
He kept the radio at the lab unplugged. Sometimes while working he would look up from his flasks and spreadsheets at the mute speakers. He could almost hear Cecil's voice in that silence, subliminal, that presence which had been a part of Night Vale since he had arrived, had become part of the background noise of Carlos's universe.
He didn't need the radio on; in his mind's ear Cecil was always broadcasting, making announcements and editorials, terrifying his listeners with one breath and comforting them the next.
He wouldn't tell them that Carlos had left him. But maybe they would notice that Cecil mentioned vampires less and less. That he no longer went on tangents about anniversaries and dinner plans, that he'd lost interest in science.
And sooner or later some new man would come to town—another time traveler, or a treasure hunter, or an artist. A man with a perfect nose and eyes like freshwater pearls, or maybe highway mirages. And Cecil would report his arrival, would see him smile and fall in love instantly.
It would be slow, would take time for the newcomer to realize what he was being offered. But finally he would understand, and when he did, how could he refuse? Perhaps he'd want sex, and Cecil would give it to him, happily, because that was what Cecil did when he was in love, gave without hesitation or thought of himself. Eventually Cecil might even learn to enjoy that sacrifice, that harmless normal offering, sharing himself with his perfect new lover...
Carlos thought about that hypothetical man with his hypothetical eyes and hypothetical smile and hypothetical desires, until the crack of breaking glass snapped him out of his reverie. He stared down at the flask shattered in his hand, opened his fist with a sigh and went to get the tweezers.
After he picked all the glass shards out of his bloodless flesh, he locked the radio away in the chemicals cabinet, out of sight. Then he determinedly went back to work. He was a scientist yet, and there was always more science to be done.
So his nights passed, until the evening came that Carlos was working in the empty lab and realized it had been two weeks. Thirteen days since he had heard Cecil's voice on the phone or the radio.
Carlos looked at the beaker in his hand and said aloud, to himself, "Good." And wondered how many more times he'd have to say it to begin to believe it.
He was still gazing down at the same beaker, fifteen minutes later, when there was a knock at the lab door. Carlos started, put down the beaker and went to answer it, frowning with annoyance at the interruption.
He was prepared to refuse some overly-helpful citizen, when he opened the door. Or else to offer a bribe, if it was another pair of Suspiciously Ambiguous Property Insurance salesmen. So he was reaching for his wallet, even as he said, "If you're here to donate, you're a couple days early—"
Then he stopped. It wasn't a donor, nor a salesman, but Cecil, leaning against the door-jam.
"Hello, Carlos," Cecil said, rubbing his neck in an abashed manner. "I apologize for not calling ahead, but I'm not sure your phone is working."
Carlos swallowed. "It's working," he said, thinking frantically. He had a script planned for this, a monologue of not-you-it's-me and we're-going-different-directions and let's-still-be-friends. How he'd lied about his disinterest in sex and the taste of Cecil's blood. How Cecil wasn't ever really what he'd wanted and he'd tried to make it work but let's face facts like mature adults...
But every time he'd rehearsed it in his head, Cecil had been confused, or frustrated, or angry. Not smiling at Carlos with a weak but gentle smile, like he was hurting but happy anyway, just to see Carlos before him.
"What—what are you doing here?" Carlos stammered, trying to collect himself, fighting not to return that smile. "I've got a lot of science to do; I don't have time for dinner, or a date, or—"
"I know," Cecil said. "Please excuse the interruption, this shouldn't take long. I'd have let myself in, but I didn't want to tarnish the handle," and he raised the hand pressed to his neck, revealing fingers smeared with sticky red.
Carlos gaped at the bloody hand, at Cecil, still leaning heavily against the side of the door. "Cecil—? Mother of god, are you all right?"
Cecil glanced at the blood, then back to Carlos. "As a matter of fact, no," he said, and collapsed.
It was only thanks to vampiric reflexes that Carlos caught him before his head cracked into the door jam. Cecil sagged in his arms; Carlos lifted him up and carried him into the lab.
Cecil clung to him, mumbling, "Oh, Carlos, you're so strong and supportive..." Under the fluorescent lights, his skin was gray-tinged, cool even to Carlos's undead touch. Carlos brought him to the backroom, laid him down on the cot and carefully blotted his neck with tissues to examine the injury beneath the blood.
Cecil plucked at his sleeve, his face drawn with concern. "Your pristine coat—you shouldn't—"
Carlos glanced at the red stains spattering the white lab coat, shook his head. "To hell with the coat, that's what it's for. Cecil, what happened?" The wound was on the opposite side of the neck from where Carlos had bitten him, but the fang-marks were unmistakable, no longer bleeding but still red and angry, swollen like insect stings. "You promised, you promised me you wouldn't—"
"I didn't let her bite me," Cecil said, desperation strengthening his voice. "I protested most strenuously, when the vampire confronted me outside the station after the show. But she said the cabal had had enough of me talking about undead interests on the radio. And she was so strong; I only managed to get away because Khoshekh meowed through the window and surprised her. You'd think she'd never heard a cat before. Please believe me, Carlos, if I could've escaped sooner, I would have, I swear—"
"I believe you," Carlos said. He cupped his hand to Cecil's cheek, clammy with cold sweat. "Just hold on, Cecil, I'll call an ambulance—"
"That—won't do any good," Cecil said, sinking back on the cot. His breaths were coming shallower, his voice catching between them. "The secret police would've already summoned one, if modern medicine could help now."
"So..." Carlos shuddered, his fingers unconsciously curling around the familiar line of Cecil's jaw. "How long will it take for you to change? Have your fangs started to grow?"
Cecil coughed, shaking his head. "They won't. I checked with city hall, as a precaution, some days back; it turns out my radio contract doesn't allow it, and since the town's at its undead quota anyway..."
"So you won't become a vampire?" Carlos said. He sank onto the cot with a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. Then how long will it take you to recover?"
"Not long." Cecil coughed again, weak and rattling. "Depending on one's definition of recovery..."
Carlos went cold in a way that had nothing to do with his mortality or lack thereof. "What do you mean?"
"The cabal vampire would have come after me, if there was any chance I could live through the night," Cecil said, as matter-of-factly as he reported fire sales at the Ralph's.
"No," Carlos said blankly. He put his arms around Cecil to lift him up. "Come on, I'll take you to the hospital, get you a transfusion—"
"Can't." Cecil shook his head. "My blood-type's too rare, and besides it wouldn't help now anyway."
It wasn't plasma or hemoglobin he needed, but life itself. And that could only be taken from someone else.
"Then what can I do?" Carlos demanded. "Science must be able to help, even if medicine can't; why else did you come to the lab?"
"Because you'd be here," Cecil said, far too calmly. "I thought maybe you could learn something about feeding, or the cure, examining me."
"Cecil—"
"And more than that, I wanted to see you." Cecil's expression twisted with guilt, though his gaze stayed fixed on Carlos's face. "I'm very sorry; I know you don't want to see me anymore. It was selfish for me to come. But dying doesn't bring out the best in me. And you won't have to again, after tonight."
"No," Carlos said. "No, that's—I wanted to see you, of course I wanted to!"
Cecil blinked at him. "You did? But you said...you didn't answer my calls...?"
"I wanted to see you, but I couldn't," Carlos said. "I couldn't risk it. I knew you'd offer again, if I did—you'd keep asking me to drink, and eventually I'd stop saying no. Eventually I'd be asking you, I'd be the one begging you for your blood..."
"You wouldn't have had to beg," Cecil said, letting his head fall back on the cot. "I'd have said yes, every time."
"And that's why! That's why I left—that's why I couldn't see you again. I couldn't become something that would do this to you, I couldn't let that happen."
"But if it was what you wanted...?"
"I never wanted to drink your life, Cecil; I wanted to share it." Carlos clasped Cecil's hand, trying to rub warmth into his plastic-cool skin. "I wanted to live with you. I wanted to coax you out of bed every morning with coffee and kisses, I wanted to listen to your show broadcasting as I worked, I wanted to keep you warm when the nights get cool. I wanted to take you to a beach someday, a real beach, so you could see what sunlight looks like on ocean waves. I wanted to grow old with you."
"Oh," and Cecil smiled, weak and wan but heartfelt, as his eyes drifted shut. "Neat."
"No it isn't!" Carlos was abstractly aware that his voice was cracking, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on Cecil's face, haggard but calm. Content, even, as if having Carlos here, holding his hand, was all he wanted. "I broke up with you to protect you from this, that was the only reason. If I'd known other vampires would come after you—I should've realized the danger, I should've left Night Vale before the cabal ever came after me—this never should've happened to you—"
"S'all right, Carlos." Cecil's voice was only a mumble, barely audible through his ashen lips. "I don't mind...was worth it, being with..."
He trailed off, his head listing to the side, his fingers going slack in Carlos's.
"Cecil?" Carlos said frantically. "Cecil—I mind, I mind all of this! You can't—Cecil—!"
Cecil didn't answer, but he exhaled, inhaled again, just loud enough for Carlos to hear the wheeze of breath in his struggling lungs.
Carlos's own breath was stopped in his throat, and while technically oxygen was no longer a physiological requirement, black spots still swirled before his vision, looming darkness pressing in. He made himself inhale, deep and slow, focusing on the superfluous action to compose himself. Stop panicking. You're a scientist. The first thing a scientist is is self-reliant.
And wasn't it the height of irony, that the one person who actually believed that absurd aphorism was the one person who Carlos could not live without.
"Hold on, Cecil," Carlos said. "Just keep holding on, while I figure this out." He curled his bloodstained fingers around Cecil's wrist, measuring the flutter of his thready pulse. The beats were slowing. Still pumping blood through his veins; but there wasn't enough life in that volume to sustain him.
The blood was a conduit, the medium of transference, according to Cecil. The vampire who bit him was no longer drinking from him, but was still drawing life, as Carlos had, doing science through the night as Cecil slept. Until too much was drained to sustain his body.
A transfusion could transfer life back to Cecil; but only at the expense of whoever gave it. He couldn't ask anyone to make that sacrifice, trade their life for Cecil's.
If only Carlos could offer it himself, could give Cecil the sacrificed blood that nourished his existence now—return his own blood to him, whatever was left in Carlos. But there was no way to draw it. Vampires had no blood to give, their veins running dry; what he drank was absorbed directly into his undead flesh.
Unless his undead physiology were altered, reversed, so he might extract a pint or two...
Carlos bolted upright, all but sprinting for the refrigerated unit in the corner of the lab. He almost wrenched its insulated door off the hinges as he flung it open, but for all his unnatural strength his hands were trembling as he took a bottle of compound 17 from the rack of test samples.
He steadied his hands with effort, got out a jet injector and measured a dose of the compound into the cartridge. It wasn't the first time he'd considered the optimal methods of introduction; while oral delivery was theoretically possible, intramuscular injection should be faster.
He put the injector to his arm, drew an unnecessary breath before he triggered it. It occurred to him that Cecil would not care for this solution. No more than Carlos himself had wanted Cecil's life.
But then, it was Cecil's life either way, wasn't it; Carlos wasn't alive at all. How could a dead thing love anyone? This was all he could offer Cecil, in the end. Return what had been so generously sacrificed to him. It wasn't enough; but then it would never be. That had been true before he'd ever become a vampire. Equal and opposite reactions never applied to Cecil, no more than any physics applied to Night Vale; Carlos could never give Cecil as much as Cecil gave him, no matter how long he existed.
Focused as he was, Carlos didn't register sound of the door opening. Not until an alto voice said, "Ah, excellent, you're here."
Carlos dropped the injector in surprise, practically vaulting the nearest lab counter to face the intruder. He was expecting a secret police officer or vague but menacing agent; but the woman standing in the doorway was no government official. She had on a white lab coat—like his own, except her collar was trimmed in thick gray fur that might have been wolf-hide, and underneath it she wore form-fitting red dress. Her eyes had the same red sheen and her lips were painted to match. Her perfunctorily polite smiled displayed gleaming fangs.
She was such the perfect picture of a vampire that under other circumstances Carlos might've been embarrassed about how he wore his own fangs. Now he just noted that he'd never encountered her at the dance club or the blood bank. He was sure he'd never seen her in Night Vale before.
The conclusion was obvious, but Carlos tried to keep the revelation from showing on his face as he came forward. The backroom's door was halfway open, but from the other vampire's position she couldn't see inside. Carlos was careful not to glance in that direction, and tucked his right arm behind his back to conceal the blood on his lab coat's sleeves. "Good evening," he said. "Um, are you new in town? I thought I'd met all the local vampires."
"I'm passing through on business," the other vampire said. "Business with you, as it happens. I'm from the county cabal. We'd like to offer you a more exclusive membership in our organization."
"Really?" Carlos concentrated on meeting her crimson-tinged gaze as he took another step forward, towards her, and his desk. The second drawer down held a taser and a .50 caliber revolver—scientists in Night Vale must always be prepared. "I'm afraid I can't afford much higher dues."
"We're looking for a different kind of payment from you," the woman said. "Specifically your research on vampires."
"There must be some mistake," Carlos said, advancing another step. The drawer was only two meters away. "My research is into Night Vale in general, not any particular—"
"You misunderstand me," the vampire said, a touch impatiently. "We're not opposed to your work; on the contrary, what we've seen of it is impressive, especially considering you're working alone, and handicapped by hunger, from the look of you. While your areas of concentration are a bit unorthodox, you've made breakthroughs in weeks that took other vampire scientists years to discover. We want to work with you. To give you a chance to expand your research, to the benefit all of our kind."
Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she approached him. If she turned her head now she might glimpse Cecil, through the ajar door.
"That sounds like quite an offer," Carlos said, trying to sound intrigued. "I'd be interested in seeing your own research. Have you found a viable cure?"
"A cure?" The woman smirked. "What, do you actually think you're sick? We're far beyond disease. Any illness you feel is due to needless dietary restrictions. They're not an uncommon issue with fledglings; we have counselors and programs to help you overcome the impairments of mortal morality. There should've been a number in your welcoming packet."
"What if I don't want to overcome it?" Carlos asked. "If I want to be mortal again?"
The vampire rolled her eyes. "It takes all kinds, I suppose. If you cooperate, and focus your efforts on more productive avenues of research, we may be able to indulge some of your...morbid desires."
"Well, in that case," Carlos said, and lunged for the armed drawer.
He didn't make it. Though he managed to open the drawer, before he could grab any weapon, she was upon him. He'd miscalculated; his own reflexes barely exceeded an ordinary human's, while the other vampire was far, far faster. He hardly saw her move, just the blur of action, before a crack across his jaw left his head ringing and his lip raw where his fangs scraped it.
The vampire's hand curled around his neck, filed fingernails digging into his trachea. She lifted him up easily, until his toes barely touched the ground. Her red-cast eyes bore into his, as mercilessly cold as her hand was burning hot against his neck. "You're making this more difficult than it has to be," she said. "We're willing to be quite magnanimous."
Carlos glared back at her, choking out with what breath could squeeze through her grip, "I've got no interest in working with killers."
"Killers? Says the scientist with the blood on his sleeve—did you think I wouldn't notice? Fresh, isn't it?" She took a sniff, then arched her eyebrow. "And familiar..."
"So it was you," Carlos said. "You're the one who attacked Cecil!"
"Cecil was the radio host? Yes, he was the other half of my assignment. It was his own fault; we repeatedly requested he desist discussing vampire feeding and cures on his show. This was the third warning."
"Warning? I've seen what you did to him!"
"A warning to the mortals in this town, to stay out of our business," she clarified. "As well as to any of the local vampires who might be...inspired by your irrational pursuit of mortality. But you saw, did you? How is that?" Still gripping Carlos by the throat, she turned around the lab. Her eyes brightened as she spotted the entry to the backroom. Dragging Carlos, struggling, over to it, she kicked the door wide open.
Cecil lay on the cot, bloodstained and motionless. Carlos couldn't see if his chest still rose, strained his ears but couldn't hear him breathing.
"Ah, there's not enough left in him to bother drinking," the vampire said in a tone of mild disappointment. "A shame; he was quite delicious."
Her casual dismissal made Carlos's nonexistent blood boil, even as relief surged through him. Not enough meant something yet; Cecil was alive. Fueled by hope and rage, he swung his arm at the other vampire's head as he slammed his shoe into her shin.
She ignored the kick and batted his hand aside with effortless exasperation, her cold eyes studying him. "Why so upset? He claimed on his show that you were refusing to drink from him. Obviously you'd lost interest. —Oh, or were you actually saving him for a special occasion? In that case I apologize for finishing off your treat."
"Cecil's not finished yet!"
The woman shrugged. "Close enough; he will be by dawn for sure. My apologies for poaching, but I can make it up to you. Would you care for a French vintage? I have a marvelous one, young but a full body, crisp with fruity undertones, the most fetching blue eyes—"
"No, him—save him!" Carlos gasped out. "Save Cecil, and I'll collaborate with you—I'll work on any research you want me to, if you save him!"
The vampire glanced back at Cecil, evaluating, then shook her head. "It's too late; there's not enough left of him to turn. I suggest you drain the dregs and be content with that. I'm guessing he's your first; but there will be other thralls."
"He's not my thrall; he's my boyfriend."
"Your what...?" The vampire peered at Carlos, the contempt in her eyes giving way to surprise. "My stars and garters, you actually believe that, don't you. You think you love him. A mere mortal! Albeit an unusual one, by his taste..." She licked her lips, leering. "But not one of us. Face facts, boy; he's of no real consequence to you."
"Cecil is of every consequence! If he dies—"
"Enough." The vampire tightened her grip around Carlos's throat, cutting off any more words. "I don't have the time for this nonsense; I don't intend to stay overday in this scorching hellhole. So I'll make this simple: either cooperate, gather up your research and come with me back to HQ now; or I'll snap your neck and burn this lab down around your broken body, before you can heal."
The threat wasn't hyperbole; Carlos could feel the iron strength of the fingers around his neck, their searing heat. She'd fed recently and well.
Fed on Cecil—this was Cecil's blood warming the hand around his neck. Cecil's life giving her this preternatural strength, while Cecil himself slipped away.
"Do you understand me?" the vampire asked.
Carlos nodded his head as much as he could.
"So what will it be?"
She loosened her grip slightly, allowing Carlos air enough to wheeze, "I'll come with you. Just let me get together my data and equipment."
And hopefully the quaver in his voice would be mistaken for fear.
The other vampire's red eyes were suspicious, but she released him. "Don't try anything," she threatened, moving to stand by the desk drawer, blocking his access. Folding her arms, she watched him, unwavering as Khoshekh stalking a poisonous moth.
Under that glare, Carlos went to the counter where he had been working before Cecil's arrival. He picked up the jet injector, checked the compound filling it, then set it aside to attend to his laptop, shutting it down and unplugging it. "So," he said, "can you tell me what kind of facilities you can offer? Should I bother to bring along any of this equipment?" He picked up two of the half-full beakers, nonchalantly, as if only posing them as examples.
Not nonchalantly enough, however; the cabal vampire blurred again, appearing beside him with her fingers locked around his wrists, keeping him from moving either beaker a millimeter further. "I warned you, boy," she snarled.
Carlos bared his fangs at her, far past caring how ridiculous it might look. "I know," he said, and tightened his fingers around both beakers. He had just enough unnatural strength of his own to shatter the glass, splattering the liquids inside.
The woman didn't flinch back, but then he wasn't expecting her to. The acid was too diluted to do either of them any harm; but the other liquid burned against his skin, and when splashed on the acid released a puff of pungent yellow smoke that caught in Carlos's nose, making him sneeze.
He was hoping for no more than that—a brief distraction, but maybe enough. But the effect on the other vampire was far more profound. At a mere whiff of the smoke, she began to cough and sneeze simultaneously. Thick gooey tears poured from her eyes as she staggered back, wiping frantically at her face. "What—" she choked out between fits, "what the hell—"
Carlos blinked clear his own watering eyes and lunged for the injector. The other vampire was hunched over, hacking and sneezing, her purely pale complexion splotched with violent scarlet to match her dress. Rubbing her eyes with her fist, she swung at him with her other, but blindly and clumsy. He ducked the blow, pressed the injector to her side and triggered it.
At the pinch of the injection she howled and sprang up like a red and white panther, crashing into him and knocking them both to the floor. Her vise-like grip locked around his wrists, forcing them down. Her eyes dripped gloppy tears onto his face as she bent over him. "What was that?" she snarled between coughs. "What was in those beakers?"
Carlos gazed up at her, unafraid. "Garlic extract."
"I wasn't told you were experimenting with chemical warfare! How is a fledgling like you not blinded?"
"I'm not sure," Carlos admitted. "Garlic doesn't bother me overly much; I didn't realize other vampires were so sensitive. At a guess, there are advantages to a restricted diet. But the effect on you should be declining now."
Indeed, the tears were no longer flowing so thickly from her eyes. More telling was the green blossoming through her chestnut hair, like the first grass of spring. Whatever served in place of a vampire's circulatory system was efficient; the compound took effect quickly.
The woman narrowed her eyes. They were bloodshot, but the scarlet glint to the irises was fading, revealing a hazel green to match her hair. "What have you done?" she demanded, glaring down at him.
"You said you were interested in my research," Carlos said. "I've given you a first-hand demonstration."
She blinked, her eyes widening at she looked down into Carlos's, seeing something unexpected. She opened her mouth, and he could see her running her tongue over her now-blunt teeth. "What—"
Carlos tipped his chin toward the lab counter beside them, where the polished metal doors showed a reflection of the laboratory—including the woman in white and red and green hair, kneeling on the floor over an empty space where Carlos's reflection should be.
The former vampire stared at herself, her grip around Carlos's wrists relaxing in her shock. He wrenched free, twisting around to flip her over. He was stronger than her now, and faster, and she was momentarily paralyzed by shock and the aftereffects of the change; he managed to hold her down long enough to bind her wrists and ankles with most of a roll of duct-tape, immobilizing her.
She yanked futilely against the tape, gnashing her blunt teeth as she shrieked, "What have you done to me!?"
"I've cured you," Carlos said.
"Ruined me—destroyed me—!"
She was clearly as terrified as she was furious, and Carlos thought he should pity her, but there was nothing at all where his compassion should be. Maybe he had lost it with his heartbeat. Or maybe when Cecil's blood stained his sleeve. "It's only temporary," he said as he stood and went to the biologists' counter to get a hypodermic and an empty blood bag. "Admittedly, how temporary I'm not sure; you're the first human test subject. Extrapolating from previous tests, you're more likely to revert to standard dead rather than undead, once you've run out of the life you've stolen. Unless you've researched a counteragent; or maybe you can be turned again. Anyway, for now I suggest you enjoy being mortal."
The former vampire spat curses and saliva at him as he crouched beside her. Ignoring both, he put his fingers to her throat, feeling for the carotid artery. Her pulse vibrated against his fingertips, fast with fear and anger, proof of the blood flowing in her newly restored vascular system.
By now he was accomplished as any nurse at drawing blood; even with the former vampire twisting and snapping at him with her blunt teeth, it was short work to find a vein in her arm. "Ow! What are you doing now?" she howled at the needle's jab. "You won't even use your fangs to feed? Pervert!"
"This isn't for me," Carlos said.
"For what, then? You're going to continue your research right now, on your first human," she grimaced, "subject?"
"Not exactly," Carlos said. "This has nothing to do with finding a cure." The red blood filling the bag looked human, at least, a thick deep red. No time to perform any scientific tests, but there was another way to verify it. He squeezed a single drop from the syringe onto his tongue.
The taste was unmistakable—not delicious, but definitely not revolting. Cecil's blood. Cecil's life on his tongue, and Carlos didn't know if he wanted to cheer or throw up.
"I thought you said it wasn't for feeding," the ex-vampire sneered. She watched Carlos carefully prepare a second hypodermic, and scowled in sudden comprehension. "No, you wouldn't—"
"You took Cecil's blood," Carlos said. "I'm returning it."
"No!" She twisted against the tape binding her arms, fighting to free herself. "You can't possibly believe—it would never work!"
"Do you have any evidence to support that claim?" Carlos studied her face, trying to read her haughty features. "Has such a solution been tested before, by any vampire scientists?"
"Not that I've ever heard. None of us are perverted enough to try recycling blood!"
"I've never been called a pervert before," Carlos remarked, withdrawing the needle from her arm and taping gauze over it with another length of duct tape. It wouldn't do for her to bleed out Cecil's life. "There's a first time for everything, I suppose."
"You can't do this, it's too late for him! His life is mine now—mine!" she cried behind him, as he hurried to the backroom.
Cecil hadn't moved, laying limp and gray on the cot. He didn't appear to be breathing at all and for a moment Carlos was so frightened he imagined he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, though that organ hadn't so much as twitched for so long. But when he raised his hand over Cecil's colorless lips, he felt a faint puff of air.
Cecil was holding on, just as Carlos had asked him to, and Carlos would have cried if he had the time. Instead he said, "Thank you," muttering under his breath, a steady monotone like a chant, "thank you, Cecil, just keep doing that, just keep breathing," as he set the hypodermic to Cecil's arm. Cecil didn't twitch as the needle pricked his skin. Carlos took a deep, unnecessary breath, then depressed the plunger.
Blood began to drain from the bag, but there was no immediate reaction, no change, except in Carlos, the illusion of his pulse thumping faint and erratic in his ears—but no, that was Cecil's pulse, resonating through Carlos's own body where his hand rested on Cecil's arm.
And it might be getting stronger, as Carlos focused upon it, picking up both pace and force—just barely; but maybe more than desperate delusion. He scrabbled for Cecil's wrist, turned it toward him to see his watch and counted the heartbeats as the secondhand ticked by. Yes, they were increasing, incrementally, gaining another beat with every twenty-five seconds.
He leaned over, rested his hand against Cecil's forehead, still cool and clammy but warming. Cecil's lips were warmer, too, when Carlos pressed his own to them.
His lab was no fairytale castle; Cecil didn't awaken with a kiss. But he exhaled, a soft sigh gusting against Carlos's cheeks.
Carlos's eyes were burning, worse than from the garlic extract. He scrubbed them dry in the name of scientific objectivity.
Outside the backroom, the former vampire continued to shout, "You won't get away with this! Even if your damned local police do nothing, when the cabal comes looking for me, and discovers what you've done—"
Carlos reluctantly let go of Cecil's arm, climbed to his feet and returned to the main lab room. He missed the rhythm of a heartbeat in his ears, but if he concentrated he could hear Cecil breathing. The woman had slumped back against the lab counter. Her face was as pallid as if she were once again a vampire, though her teeth were still dull as she sneered at Carlos. "Back for more?"
"Perhaps," Carlos said. "He seems to be stabilizing, but I'm waiting a little longer to evaluate. If my understanding's correct, it's not the amount of blood that matters as much as the direction of transference—I've either reversed the flow of energy, or else stopped it; I'm not sure which. Either way, his life is returning."
"Even if this does work, do you realize what you've done?" she demanded. "Do you understand the horror of what you've created? A poison that not only ends our existence, but our very nature—far from a cure, you've created a weapon. We keep our secrets as best we can, but there are those that hunt us; if they, or the rest of the world, learned of this—"
"You know, that did occur to me," Carlos said. "That's why I've made sure I have multiple backup copies of my research in various places. If anything ever happened to me, they'd go to all the scientists who I've left in my legacy. As well as emailed to a few more public outlets. —Don't look so surprised; I've been dealing with Night Vale's City Council for long enough to have learned a bit about leverage. I'd have taken precautions sooner if I'd realized your cabal would try to be a real threat."
The woman shook her head. "You wouldn't—you'd be in as much danger as any of us, if vampires were made public. For your own safety you should destroy this formula—"
"What makes you think I give a damn about my own safety?" Carlos inquired. "I came to Night Vale willingly, you realize."
"What about your lover, then? Even if you succeed in reviving him now, what about next time? Sooner or later you'll finally drink your fill from him, and what then?"
"I'm not going to feed on Cecil," Carlos said. "Never again."
"But you claim he's your boyfriend." The woman inclined her head, studying him curiously. "For all your research, you don't understand anything about what you truly are, do you. How else can we really love a mortal, except by drinking from them, sharing their life?"
Carlos sighed, crouching to meet her temporarily human eyes. "I might not know much about vampires, but you don't know a damn thing about love. There are all kinds of ways to love somebody, or to share their life. Even for me. I'm not brave enough or strong enough to manage the best of them; I'm not Cecil. But I'll do what I can, however I can now. For him.
"So you better hope that this works," and Carlos held up the syringe. "Because if it doesn't—if he dies, if you actually killed Cecil—then I've decided that I'm going to quit my research into a cure."
"Oh?" The vampire smirked. It was marginally less appalling without the fangs. "So that's what it'll take to convince you of our power?"
Carlos shook his head. "I'm not going to turn it over to you, either," he said, calm over the silence in his chest, quiet enough to listen to Cecil's breathing between his words. "Instead I'm going to drink every last drop of stolen blood in your veins, and burn whatever's left behind.
"Then I'm going to make up more of the formula, and do the same to every other vampire in town. While I'm at it, I'll contact those hunters you mentioned, and find out how much they'll pay for vampire poison. And we'll see if your cabal and all their research can stop me, when I'm fully fed and fully funded. It will be an experiment, and I have my own hypothesis what the result will be.
"Once I've verified it, I'll replicate the results with every other cabal in this state, then in this country, then on this planet. Until I've proved it absolutely. And when that's done, I'll lay myself down on the final pyre I build. So that no one else loses someone they love to this plague, ever again."
The vampire was staring at him. Her eyes were so wide that white showed all round the hazel. "You're insane."
"Scientists prefer 'mad'," Carlos corrected. "But I'm a vampire now. So maybe you should just say monstrous."
The vampire swallowed. "If your...what if he does survive? What then?"
Carlos rocked back on his heels, stroking his chin as he studied her. "If he recovers, then I may have a different proposition for you..."
The sun rose late, and sluggishly, dragging itself reluctantly above the horizon as if it was recovering from a night worse than Carlos's.
Carlos pulled up the blinds on the laboratory windows, but didn't watch the dawn. Instead he sat on the edge of the cot to observe the golden light slowly seep across Cecil's face, erasing the shadows and lines of fatigue and pain.
When the sunbeam reached his eyes, the lashes fluttered. "Cecil?" Carlos asked quietly, and at last his eyes blinked open to settle on Carlos's face.
"Hmm," Cecil said, his voice drowsy, slow and sweet as dark molasses. "So I failed to die after all?"
He might've sounded relieved, or else resigned. Carlos grinned either way. "Apparently so."
"Carlos?" Cecil's sleepy smile melted into a frown as he woke further. "The sun—you shouldn't—!"
He reached up his hand to shield Carlos's eyes from that light, but Carlos caught it instead in his, twined their fingers together. "It's all right," he said. "It doesn't bother me now."
"But...wait, your fangs—"
Carlos widened his grin to show off his teeth. He couldn't stop running his tongue over them; it was going to take time to get accustomed again to the blunt crowns.
Cecil sat up on the cot to take Carlos by the arms, grinning back twice as wide. "You found the cure! Oh, how marvelous! Happy day! How? Was I any help?"
Any doubts Carlos might have had about Cecil's true feelings, about his fangs or anything else, vanished like mist in the warmth of his joy. "You were," Carlos said, "absolutely essential. Though technically I'm not cured, not exactly."
"You're not? But your fangs, the sunlight—"
"It's a temporary fix," Carlos explained. "I'm still a vampire, but the, ah, symptoms of my condition are suppressed. The cabals have a treatment they've been using for some time to disguise their members; it's been refined to the point that it mimics mortality almost exactly. So no increased strength or reflexes or healing. But as long as I take it regularly, I'll have a pulse and can go out in the sun. And it should reset my circadian rhythms as well, so I can sleep nights again."
Cecil nodded, but his smile had faded. He cupped Carlos's cheek in his hand, ran his thumb over his lips. "But if you're still a vampire, what about feeding?"
"With this treatment, I'll need much less blood to sustain myself. So the donor schedule should be enough, until I find a real cure. Which I have several promising leads on—the cabals have quite a lot of data, though it's not a line of research they've pursued themselves. Apparently hunters have, however, so I'll be looking up some of those and see if any will collaborate."
"Wow," Cecil said, "it sounds like the cabal is being really helpful."
Carlos started guiltily. "Don't worry, Cecil, I'll only be communicating with them remotely, you'll never have to deal with them again. And the one who attacked you has her own problems to contend with; she won't be coming back to Night Vale anytime soon. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
"That's all right, I know what bureaucracies are like," Cecil said, with the magnanimity of a man used to dealing with Night Vale's city hall. "I'm just glad the cabal is coming through for you now."
"Well..." Carlos coughed. "It's not strictly altruistic cooperation. I, ah, may have threatened their existence and everything they hold dear."
"Really?"
"I had to," Carlos said, "they were threatening everything I hold dear."
Cecil's eyes widened in horror. "They threatened your science?"
"Yes," Carlos said, gazing into Cecil's eyes. There were twinned reflections of himself in the black of Cecil's pupils. "And worse, they threatened you."
Cecil blinked once, then twice. "Oh," he said, soft and surprised.
"They won't again," Carlos said. "The risk is too great for them to go after either of us, I've seen to that. No cabal will lay another fang on you. If they do, I'll destroy them—every last vampire on this planet, if I have to. And they know what I am now; they know I have the tools to do it, and the will."
"Oh, Carlos," Cecil said, softer still. He pulled back, and there was something in his expression that Carlos couldn't identify. Disbelief, or horror. As if in the sunlight he could finally see Carlos properly, finally recognize the monster Carlos had become.
Carlos couldn't speak. His new pulse thudded too loudly in his ears. There was nothing he could say to defend himself; the truth was the truth. And he had already tried to leave Cecil once; he didn't have the strength to again. Cecil would have to be the one to walk away this time, and Carlos readied himself, as Cecil opened his mouth and said,
"How sweet!"
"...Sweet?"
Cecil smiled at Carlos, soppy and adoring. "No one has ever threatened to eradicate an entire species for me before."
Carlos stared at his boyfriend. Cecil met his gaze contentedly, like he would be happy to sit here admiring Carlos's fangless smile until sunset.
Finally Carlos shook his head. "Sometimes, Cecil, I wonder what I ever did to deserve you."
"Do you want me to tell you?" Cecil said, in that particularly sinister tone that Carlos had yet to figure out whether was joking or not, and was always afraid to ask.
Instead, Carlos leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend, enjoying the warm ease of it, without having to worry about anyone's lips getting cut. If he skipped a dose of the suppressant the fangs would grow back; but he decided not to mention that to Cecil for the moment. It could be a surprise for a special occasion.
Now Carlos just remarked, "The morning shift will be arriving at the lab soon."
Cecil nodded and got up from the cot, a little stiffly but finding his feet. Carlos rose with him, putting an arm around him even though Cecil didn't need the help. The sunlight was returning the proper color to his complexion; his collar and Carlos's lab coat were the only remaining signs of last night's events, and in Night Vale a few bloodstains were merely a fashion statement. "Should I leave you to do science, then?"
"No," Carlos said, "I'm taking the morning off. It's been too long since I had a real breakfast at the right time of day. I could drive you home, so you can get some proper sleep..." He saw Cecil's face fall, and continued, "though I'd like some company at the diner, if you don't mind?"
And Cecil beamed, as bright as the desert sunlight they walked out into together.