Blood Currency: Feeding the Vampire & Hunting the Siren

Blood Currency: Feeding the Vampire & Hunting the Siren by Jeffe Kennedy

Publisher: Brightlynx Publishing

Date Published: Dec 2016


“I’ll do it,” I said.

And there I was—standing up in our circle of folding chairs before I realized I’d made the decision.

A few of the others glanced at me, dull surprise momentarily lifting their tired faces. They’d forgotten I was there, the invisible taker of notes. And likely no one expected finding a volunteer would be this easy. The rest of the Select Board and utility chairs didn’t look at me at all, filled with their guilty relief.

After all, nobody else wanted to feed the vampire.

The canister coffee percolator burbled in the background, over on the sparse table with the box of preservative-laden, grocery store donuts someone had dug out of their hoard and shared. Ironic, that all those bad-for-you foods were what we lived on now. I could be at any number of self-help meetings, standing to recite my name and addiction to create the impression I was honestly dealing with my issues.

The days of self-help were over, however, unless you counted struggling to stay alive. The ultimate self-help, really. The ever-present scent of mold floated on a base of hot aluminum and the smell of people who had more to worry about than daily hygiene. Fluorescent lights—thanks to the restored hydroelectric plant—hummed in the stark room with banal reality.

Luxuries, all of this, and everyone relished the carefully rationed electricity needed to light the stark church basement.

All to accommodate the vampire.

Before the earthquakes, none of us believed creatures like him really existed. Now we needed him.

And he needed us.

Directly across the circle, Ivan watched me, the burning hunger of a predator lighting interest in his gray eyes. I felt suddenly small and soft in my light sundress. The buzzing bulbs cast uncomfortable violet glints on his dark-blond hair. Even with the sallow shadows on his gaunt complexion, he attracted me. Attracted like a hapless bug to the sticky-sweet pink lure of the Venus flytrap.

I was compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really.

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