“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?”
“You know, that tone you have right now? Not cool. Yeah, psychic vampires. They drain psychic energy.” She shrugged. “Or that’s what they say. I don’t go around knocking down people’s beliefs. Stones in a glass house and all that.”
“But you feed on human blood, right?” Zoe asked.
“Well, duh.”
“And you believe you need it to survive?” Tatum asked.
“I need it to stay healthy,” she said. “I get headaches and dizzy spells. Sometimes all my joints ache. A little blood, and it’s all gone.”
Tatum’s and Zoe’s eyes met.
“Oh, yeah, I see what you’re thinking,” Carmela said. “Placebo effect, right? You think I have some made-up psychological illness, and when I drink blood, I get better because I believe it’s helping me.”
“What do you think?” Zoe asked.
“I wish that was the case,” Carmela said. “Hell, I’d love to find out I don’t need blood. It’s not like they sell it in the supermarket. Sometimes it’s a real pain in the ass to get some. But I didn’t find anything else that helps.”
“What first made you think that blood helps?” Zoe asked.
“I always had headaches and dizzy spells, even as a kid,” Carmela said. “Then, when I was thirteen, I drank some of my friend’s blood on a dare. And guess what? Poof—no more headache.”
“Back to the case at hand,” Tatum said. He suspected Zoe could spend all day talking to Carmela about vampirism. He wasn’t particularly interested. “Can you give us a list of all, uh . . . self-proclaimed vampires in Chicago?”
“Hell, no.” Carmela screwed up her nose. “You think I’d go and out all the community like that? The majority of them are totally in the coffin, won’t even tell their parents, not to mention two randos.”
In the coffin. Tatum had to smile.
“This is very important,” Zoe said.
“Yeah? So’s our secrecy. What do you think happens if people around us figure out we drink people’s blood? Do you think they’d care it’s all voluntary? They’d lynch us.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Tatum said.
“Dude, no offense, but I just met you guys, and it’s pretty clear both of you are freaked out by my identity.”
Well, you do drink people’s blood. Tatum kept his mouth shut, but judging by the way Carmela eyed him, he didn’t do a great job at hiding the way he felt.
“We can get a warrant for that list,” Tatum said.
She stared at him. “Didn’t you say you’re psychologists?”
“She’s a forensic psychologist,” Tatum said, leaning over the counter, fishing his badge from his pocket. “I am a federal agent.”
Well, at least now all three of them were freaked. Carmela looked as if he’d just announced he was Van Helsing or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“You two should leave,” she blurted, taking a step back.
“One of your friends killed a woman a couple of days ago,” Tatum said. “We need to know who.”
“I don’t know anyone who killed . . . everything we do is voluntary. We use donors!”
“Until one of you flips out, kills someone for her blood.”
“I’m telling you, no one in the community would ever kill anyone.”
“You know them all that well? All ninety-six?”
A flicker of hesitation. Both of them leaned over the counter, eyes intent on Carmela.
“Look,” Carmela said, her voice trembling, eyes wet. “I don’t even know them that well? I don’t go to the parties or the events? And I’m not a lifestyler or anything—I don’t have a cape at home?” Her tone shifted, each sentence ending in a question. “I just need a drop of blood every now and then to feel okay? It’s not like I have a list of crypts in my pocket, or whatever?”
“But you have contacts,” Tatum said. “Emails, probably some sort of Twitter users. Hashtag Chicago-vampires-for-the-win? Do you really want us to get a search warrant for your computer and phone?”
They couldn’t; he knew that. No judge would sign it. And if she had two brain cells, she must have known it too. But there’s knowing, and there’s really knowing. And when you were afraid, even the things you usually took for granted were suddenly examined again. He watched her frantic tear-filled eyes, imagining what was going on in her mind. Could they really do that? What if I’m a suspect? What if they took me to an interrogation room, like on TV? And all the news articles about police brutality, and unconventional investigation techniques, and dirty cops who didn’t follow the rules, were playing into their hands, inflating her fear.
“I know this guy,” she finally blurted. “He’s also a vampire, but he knows everyone here. Like, totally everyone. He’d be able to help you two for sure.”
“Give us his name.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll talk to him first. No way am I outing him to you two without making sure it’s fine with him first.”
The slightest pressure would get them the guy’s name, phone, address, and favorite color. But they also wanted cooperation. And it wasn’t like this woman was going anywhere.