cpike.thelastvampire-第4部分

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。　Blood　that　is　drunk　goes　through　the　digestive　tract　and　is　broken　down　into　many　parts。　I　do　not　know　how　the　legends　started　that　oral　exchange　could　bring　about　the　transformation。　I　can　only　make　another　vampire　by　exchanging　blood　with　the　person；　and　not　just　a　little　blood。　My　blood　has　to　overwhelm　the　other　person's　system　before　he　or　she　bees　immortal。
　Of　course；　I　do　not　make　vampires　these　days。
　I　drive　south　along　the　coast。　I　am　in　Northern　California　before　I　stop；　it　is　late。　There　is　a　bar　off　the　side　of　the　road；　fairly　large。　I　make　a　smooth　entrance。　The　men　look　me　over；　exchange　glances　with　their　buddies。　The　bartender　does　not　ask　me　for　my　ID；　not　after　I　give　him　a　hard　glance。　There　are　many　more　men　than　women　around。　I　am　searching　for　a　particular　type；　someone　passing　through；　and　I　spot　a　candidate　sitting　alone　in　the　er。　He　is　big　and　burly；　unshaven；　his　warm　jacket　is　not　dirty；　but　there　are　oil　stains　that　did　not　e　out　from　the　last　cleaning。　His　face　is　pleasant　enough；　sitting　behind　his　frosty　beer；　but　a　tad　lonely。　He　is　a　long…distance　truck　driver；　I　know　the　type。　I　have　often　drunk　from　their　veins。
　I　sit　down　in　front　of　him；　and　he　looks　up　in　surprise。　I　smile；　the　expression　can　disarm　as　well　as　alarm；　but　he　is　happy　to　see　me。　He　orders　me　a　beer　and　we　talk。　I　do　not　ask　if　he　is　married…though　it　is　obvious　he　is…and　he　does　not　bring　it　up。　After　a　while　we　leave　and　he　takes　me　to　a　motel；　although　I　would　have　been　satisfied　with　the　back　of　his　truck。　I　tell　him　as　much；　but　he　pats　my　leg　and　shakes　his　head。　He　is　a　gentleman。　I　won't　kill　him。
　It　is　while　he　is　undressing　me　that　I　bite　into　his　neck。　The　act　makes　him　sigh　with　pleasure　and　lean　his　head　back；　he　is　not　really　sure　what　I　am　doing。　He　stays　in　that　position　the　whole　time　I　drink；　hypnotized　with　the　sensation；　which　to　him　feels　as　if　he　is　being　caressed　from　the　inside　out…with　the　tip　of　my　nails。　Which　to　me　feels　like　it　always　does；　sweet　and　natural；　as　natural　as　making　love。　But　I　do　not　have　sex　with　him。　Instead；　I　bite　the　tip　of　my　own　tongue　and　let　a　drop　of　my　blood　fall　onto　his　wounds。　They　heal　instantly；　leaving　no　scar；　and　I　lay　him　down　to　rest。　I　have　drunk　a　couple　pints。　He　will　sleep　deep；　maybe　wake　up　with　a　slight　headache：
　〃Forget；〃　I　whisper　in　his　ear。
　He　won't　remember　me。　They　seldom　do。
　The　next　morning　I　sit　in　Mr。　Castro's　history　class。　My　cream…colored　dress　is　fashionable；　on　the　rich　side；　the　embroidered　hem　swings　four　inches　above　my　knees。　I　have　very　nice　legs　and　do　not　mind　showing　them　off。　My　long　wavy　blond　hair　hangs　loose　on　my　shoulders。　I　wear　no　makeup　or　jewelry。　Ray　Riley　sits　off　to　my　right；　and　I　study　him　with　interest。　Class　will　begin　in　three　minutes。
　His　face　has　a　depth　his　father's　never　imagined。　He　is　cut　in　the　mode　of　many　handsome　modern　youths；　with　curly　brown　hair　and　a　chiseled　profile。　Yet　his　inner　character　pushes　through　his　natural　beauty　and　almost　makes　a　mockery　of　it。　The　boy　is　already　more　man　than　boy。　It　shows　in　his　brown　eyes；　soft　but　quick；　in　his　silent　pauses；　as　he　takes　in　what　his　classmates　say。　He　reflects　on　it；　and　either　accepts　or　rejects　it；　not　caring　what　the　others　think。　He　is　his　own　person；　Ray　Riley；　and　I　like　that　about　him。
　He　talks　to　a　girl　on　his　right。　Her　name　is　Pat；　and　she　is　clearly　his　girlfriend。　She　is　a　scrawny　thing；　but　with　a　smile　that　lights　up　whenever　she　looks　at　Ray。　Her　manner　is　assertive　but　not　pushy；　simply　full　of　life。　Her　hands　are　always　busy；　often　touching　him。　I　like　her　as　well　and　wonder　if　she　is　going　to　be　an　obstacle。　For　her　sake；　I　hope　not。　I　honestly　prefer　not　to　kill　young　people。　Pat's　clothes　are　simple；　a　blouse　and　jeans。　I　suspect　her　family　has　little　money。　But　Ray　is　dressed　sharp。　It　makes　me　think　of　the　million　I　offered　his　father。　Ray　does　not　appear　upset。　Probably　his　father　often　disappears　for　days　at　a　time。
　I　clear　my　throat　and　he　looks　over　at　me。
　〃Hello；〃　he　says。　〃Are　you　new？〃
　〃Hi；〃　I　say。　〃Yes。　I　just　checked　in　this　morning。〃　I　offer　my　dainty　hand。　〃My　name's　Lara　Adams。〃
　〃Ray　Riley。〃　He　shakes　my　hand。　His　touch　is　warm；　his　blood　healthy。　I　can　smell　blood　through　people's　skin　and　tell　if　they　have　any　serious　ailments…even　years　before　the　disease　manifests。　Ray　continues　to　stare　at　me；　and　I　bat　my　long　lashes。　Behind　him　Pat　has　stopped　talking　to　another　classmate　and　looks　over。　〃Where　are　you　from？〃　he　asks。
　〃Colorado。〃
　〃Really？　You　have　a　slight　accent。〃
　His　ment　startles　me　because　I　am　a　master　at　accents。　〃What　accent　do　you　hear？〃　I　ask；　genuinely　curious。
　〃I　don't　know。　English；　French…it　sounds　like　a　bination。〃
　I　have　lived　in　both　England　and　France　for　extended　periods　of　time。　〃I　have　traveled　a　lot；〃　I　say。　〃Maybe　that's　what　you　hear。〃
　〃Must　be。〃　He　gestures　to　his　side。　〃Lara；　this　is　my　girlfriend；　Pat　McQueen。　Pat；　meet　Lara　Adams。〃
　Pat　nods。　〃Hi；　Lara。〃　Her　manner　is　not　the　least　defensive。　She　trusts　in　Ray's　love；　and　in　her　own。
　That　is　going　to　change。　I　think　of　Riley's　puter；　which　I　have　left　in　his　office。　It　will　not　be　terribly　long　before　the　police　e　to　look　around；　and　maybe　take　the　puter　away。　But　I　have　not　taken　the　machine　because　I　would　have　no　way　of　explaining　to　Ray　what　I　was　doing　with　it；　much　less　be　able　to　convince　him　to　open　its　data　files。　〃Hello；　Pat；〃　I　say。　〃Nice　to　meet　you。〃　〃Same　here；〃　she　says。　〃That's　a　beautiful　dress。〃　〃Thank　you。〃　I　would　have　preferred　to　have　met　Ray　without　Pat　around。　Then　it　would　have　been　easier　for　him　to　start　a　relationship　with　me　without　her　between　us。　Yet　I　am　confident　I　can　gather　Ray's　interest。　What　man　could　resist　what　I　have　to　offer？　My　eyes　go　back　to　him。　〃What　are　we　studying　in　this　class？〃　I　ask。
　〃European　history；〃　he　says；　〃The　class　just　gives　a　broad　overview。　Right　now　we're　talking　about　the　French　Revolution。　Know　anything　about　it？〃
　〃I　knew　Marie　Antoinette　personally；〃　I　lie。　I　knew　of　Antoinette；　but　I　was　never　close　to　the　French　nobility；　for　they　were　boring。　But　I　was　there；　in　the　crowd；　the　day　Marie　Antoinette　was　beheaded。　I　actually　sighed　when　the　blade　sliced　across　her　neck。　The　guillotine　was　one　of　the　few　methods　of　execution　that　disturbed　me。　I　have　been　hanged　a　couple　of　times　and　crucified　on　four　separate　occasions；　but　I　got　over　it。　But　had　I　lost　my　head；　I　know　that　would　have　been　the　end。　I　was　there　at　the　start　of　the　French　Revolution；　but　I　was　in　America　before　it　ended。
　〃Did　she　really　say；　'Let　them　eat　cake'？〃　Ray　asks；　going　along　with　what　he　thought　was　a　joke。
　〃I　believe　it　was　her　aunt　who　said　that。〃　The　teacher；　Mr。　Castor；　enters　the　room；　a　sad…looking　example　of　a　modern　educator　if　ever　there　was　one。　He　only　smiles　at　the　pretty　girls　as　he　strides　to　the　front　of　the　room。　He　is　attractive　in　an　aftershave…mercial　sort　of　way。　I　nod　to　him。　〃What's　he　like？〃
　Ray　shrugs。　〃Not　bad。〃
　〃But　not　good？〃
　Ray　sizes　me　up。　〃I　think　he'll　like　you。〃
　〃Understood。〃
　The　class　starts。　Mr。　Castro　introduces　me　to　the　rest　of　the　students　and　asks　me　to　stand　and　talk　about　myself。　I　remain　seated　and　say　ten　words。　Mr。　Castor　appears　put　out　but　lets　it　go。　The　lesson　begins。
　Ah；　history；　what　an　illusion　humanity　has　of　the　past。　And　yet　scholars　argue　the　reality　of　their　texts　until　they　are　blue　in　the　face；　even　though　something　as　recent　as　the　Second　World　War　is　remembered　in　a　manner　that　has　no　feeling　for　the　times；　for　feeling；　not　events；　is　to　me　the　essence　of　history。　The　majority　of　people　recollect　World　War　II　as　a　great　adventure　against　impossible　odds；　while　it　was　nothing　but　an　unceasing　parade　of　suffering。　How　quickly　mortals　forget。　But　I　forget　nothing。　Even　I；　a　bloodthirsty　harlot　if　ever　there　was　one；　have　never　witnessed　a　glorious　war。
　Mr。　Castro　has　no　feeling　for　the　past。　He　doesn't　even　have　his　facts　straight。　He　lectures　for　thirty　minutes；　and　I　grow　increasingly　bored。　The　bright　sun　has　me　a　bit　sleepy。　He　catches　me　peeking　out　the　window。
　〃Miss　Adams；〃　he　says；　interrupting　my　reverie。　〃Could　you　give　us　your　thoughts　on　the　French　nobility？〃
　〃I　think　they　were　very　noble；〃　I　say；
　Mr。　Castro　frowns。　〃You　approve　of　their　excesses　at　the　expense　of　the　poor？〃
　I　glance　at　Ray　before　answering；　I　do　not　think　he　wants　the　typical　teenage　girl；　not　deep　inside；　and　I　have　no　intention　of　acting　like　one。　He　is　watching　me；　the　darling　boy。
　〃I　don't　approve　or　disapprove；〃　I　say。　〃I　accept　it。　People　in　power　always　take　advantage　of　those　without　power。〃
　〃That　sounds　like　a　generalization　if　I　ever　heard　one；〃　Mr。　Castro　replies。　〃What　school　did　you　go　to　before　moving　to　Mayfair？〃
　〃What　school　I　went　to　doesn't　matter〃
　〃It　sounds　as　if　you　have　a　problem　with　authority；〃　Mr。　Castro　says。
　〃Not　always。　It　depends。〃
　〃On　what？〃
　〃Whether　the　authority　is　foolish　or　not；〃　I　say　with　a　smite　that　leaves　no　doubt　I　am　talking　about　him。　Mr。　Castro；　wisely；　passes　me　over　and　goes　on　to　another　topic。
　But　the　teacher　asks　me　to　stay　behind　when　the　bell　rings。　This　bothers　me；　I　wish　to　use　this　ti