WITH YOUR OWN EYES

I believe in things I can prove.

Things I can measure.

Things I can calculate.

And, if all else fails, things I can see with my own eyes.

Give me data. Give me evidence. Give me a formula that produces the same result every time you run it, and I'm perfectly happy to accept your conclusion.

Reincarnation?

No.

Ghosts?

No.

Magic?

Definitely no.

Vampires?

Please.

I've read about all of them. I've watched documentaries about people who claim to have encountered them. I've suffered through enough strange television programs and movies to know that apparently half the population has either lived before, been abducted by aliens, spoken to the dead or discovered something with fangs living in their basement.

I'm a skeptic.

My friends have always found this particularly amusing because there is one night every year when I become someone completely different.

Halloween.

I love Halloween.

I know. It doesn't make sense.

Neither does my inexplicable love of Gothic imagery.

Give me a dark castle, a full moon, black lace, flickering candles and an unnecessarily dramatic amount of fog, and I'm happy.

I don't believe any of it.

I just like it.

As a child, Halloween meant trick-or-treating. As a teenager, it meant hanging out with friends and doing things our parents probably didn't need to know about. As an adult, it became parties.

Once a year, I gave myself permission to be ridiculous.

I could put away the practical clothes, sensible shoes and facts and become something else for a few hours.

Then midnight would come.

The costume would go back into the closet.

And reality would resume.

One year, some friends invited me to a Halloween party with a Gothic vampire theme.

I was delighted.

I found a long black dress that made me look like a Southern belle whose entire family had died under mysterious circumstances. I powdered my face until I looked appropriately deceased, darkened my eyes, painted my lips and added a pair of fake fangs.

When I arrived, I discovered that nearly everyone else had taken the theme just as seriously.

Vampires everywhere.

Some elegant.

Some terrifying.

Some who had clearly stopped at a costume store twenty minutes before the party.

My friends and I spent the first part of the evening drifting between tables, pretending to charm strangers and making increasingly ridiculous vampire jokes.

Then I saw him.

And yes, I know how this sounds.

But he was gorgeous.

Not regular handsome.

Not Oh, he's cute handsome.

I mean the kind of gorgeous that makes you briefly forget whatever sentence you were saying.

He was tall and slender, with dark hair, pale skin and features that looked almost too precise. His clothes were immaculate. Black trousers, dark shirt, fitted coat. Nothing elaborate, but somehow he looked more convincing than anyone else there.

Several women had already noticed him.

Apparently, he hadn't noticed them.

He noticed me.

My friends noticed him noticing me.

"Oh, he likes you."

"He does not."

"He hasn't stopped looking at you."

"Maybe he thinks my fangs are crooked."

"They are crooked."

I immediately covered my mouth.

My friends howled.

I eventually found myself standing beside him near the bar.

He smiled.

"Your friends seem to be enjoying themselves."

"They enjoy my suffering."

"They seem very good at it."

"They've had years of practice."

That was how it started.

His name was Lucien.

Of course it was.

I remember thinking that if you're going to dress as a Gothic vampire and go to a Gothic vampire party, having a name like Lucien was almost cheating.

We talked.

And talked.

Eventually we wandered outside and found a quiet table on the patio beneath the stars.

It was surprisingly romantic.

He was charming without trying too hard. He asked questions and actually listened to the answers. He didn't spend the entire conversation talking about himself. He had traveled extensively, knew an astonishing amount about history and occasionally used expressions that sounded as though he'd learned English from someone several generations older than either of us.

I drank.

He didn't.

Not wine.

Not a cocktail.

Not even water.

I noticed, but didn't think much about it.

It was Halloween.

People were strange on Halloween.

Every so often, Lucien would excuse himself, disappear for several minutes and return.

I didn't think much about that either.

I had probably had enough wine by then that a reasonable explanation wasn't terribly important.

Eventually, my friends announced that we were leaving.

I didn't want to go.

Lucien walked me toward the door.

I hesitated.

"Do you want my number?"

He looked at me for a moment.

Then smiled.

"I don't think I'll need it."

Ouch.

"Oh."

"It was lovely meeting you."

"Yeah. You too."

I walked away trying to maintain whatever dignity remained after being rejected by a man dressed as a vampire.

My friends were waiting.

"What happened?"

"He doesn't want my number."

"What?"

"Apparently I'm charming enough for three hours but not seven digits."

There followed several theories regarding what was wrong with him.

I contributed enthusiastically.

By the time I got home, I had decided Lucien was simply another disappointing man in an impressively large collection of disappointing men.

I went to bed.

I woke up the next morning still mildly annoyed.

Then Halloween was over.

The dress went into the closet.

The fangs went into a drawer.

Reality resumed.

A few weeks later, I was walking through the mall one evening, trying to get ahead of my holiday shopping, when I saw him.

Lucien.

No costume this time.

At least I assumed there was no costume.

He wore a dark coat over a black shirt and looked almost exactly as he had at the party.

He smiled when he saw me.

"I'm glad I found you."

"Found me?"

"Ran into you."

There was something about the correction that caught my attention.

For one brief moment, I wondered if he'd been looking for me.

Then I decided that sounded creepy and dismissed it.

We walked through the mall together.

We talked about work. Family. Places we'd traveled. Places we wanted to travel. Books, although he quickly discovered I wasn't much interested in fiction.

"You don't read novels?"

"Rarely."

"Why?"

"There are too many interesting things that actually happened."

He seemed amused by that.

"What about fantasy?"

"No."

"Ghost stories?"

"No."

"Vampires?"

I looked at him.

"Absolutely not."

He smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

We kept walking.

A little before nine, Lucien checked his watch.

"I should go."

"Where?"

"I have work."

"At nine o'clock at night?"

"That's when I get most of it done."

I stared at him.

"What exactly do you do?"

"A little of this. A little of that."

"That's suspiciously vague."

"I have an unusual schedule."

The mall was beginning to close.

This time, before he left, he asked for my number.

I gave it to him.

Over the next several months, we talked constantly.

We saw each other when we could.

Sometimes dinner.

Sometimes coffee.

Sometimes long walks at night.

Nothing about the relationship was particularly dramatic.

There was no whirlwind romance.

No declarations after three dates.

No moving in together after a month.

It was more like kindling.

Something small that caught slowly.

A friendship became affection.

Affection became something neither of us bothered pretending wasn't happening.

There were odd things about Lucien.

He hated mornings.

Actually, hated is probably too mild a word.

He avoided them.

Our dinners were always late. Our walks happened at night. If we spoke during the day, it was usually by text, and sometimes hours passed before he answered.

He was extraordinarily private.

I never met his family.

I knew almost nothing about his work.

He seemed to know more about certain historical periods than anyone I'd ever met, but when I asked where he'd learned so much, he'd give me some vague answer about family history.

Once, while discussing a nineteenth-century political conflict, I told him his interpretation contradicted several contemporary accounts.

He replied, "Most of them weren't there."

I laughed.

He didn't.

Still, none of this amounted to anything.

People are strange.

Every human being on the planet is strange in some way.

Lucien was simply strange in a charming way.

Then one evening, he invited me to a wedding.

"A wedding?"

"A relative."

"When?"

"A few months."

"Where?"

He hesitated.

"Overseas."

I stared at him.

"Overseas where?"

"It's complicated."

"Is it classified?"

"No."

"Then where?"

"I thought I might surprise you."

I laughed.

"I'm not getting on an airplane with a man who refuses to tell me what country we're going to."

"I'm hardly a strange man."

"All men are strange."

"That's unfair."

"Accurate, though."

He smiled.

"We've known each other for quite some time."

"Yes."

"You trust me."

That was always a dangerous question.

Unfortunately, I did.

Eventually, he told me where we were going.

The wedding was being held in a small European country I had never visited. I researched it thoroughly, because that is what sensible people do before traveling somewhere new.

Then I did what sensible women apparently do after being invited to an important wedding with a man they really like.

I panicked about what I was going to wear.

For several months I exercised more than usual, shopped far more than necessary and finally found a dress I considered worthy of an international family wedding.

When the trip arrived, Lucien treated me like royalty.

For three days, he showed me the country.

We explored old streets, museums, cafés and tiny shops. We ate late dinners in beautiful restaurants. We drove into the countryside and walked through villages that looked untouched by time.

Or rather, I ate late dinners.

Lucien mostly kept me company.

He slept during much of the day.

Jet lag, I decided.

Yes, we'd traveled together.

Yes, I was experiencing the same time change.

But different people react differently to travel.

There was always an explanation.

The wedding was held at night.

That was unusual.

Not impossible.

Just unusual.

Lucien arrived at my hotel room wearing formal black evening clothes.

He looked unfairly good.

He stared at me when I opened the door.

"Well?"

I turned once.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

"Lucien?"

"You look beautiful."

"That took you long enough."

"I was distracted."

I smiled.

"Good answer."

We drove out of the city and into the hills.

The roads narrowed.

Streetlights disappeared.

Then the castle appeared.

There is no other word for it.

Castle.

A massive stone estate rose from the hillside above us, illuminated against the night sky.

I stared through the windshield.

"Your relative is getting married there?"

"Yes."

"That's a castle."

"Technically."

"What does technically mean? Either something is a castle or it isn't."

"It's been renovated."

I looked at him.

"That does not make it less of a castle."

He laughed.

Up close, the estate wasn't frightening.

Not really.

There were no cobwebs hanging from iron gates. No bats circling towers. No lightning dramatically illuminating the sky.

It was beautiful.

Ancient stone blended with modern lighting and immaculate landscaping. Cars lined the drive. Music drifted from inside.

People in formal clothing moved through enormous wooden doors.

For just a moment, though, standing there beneath the towers, I thought about Halloween.

Gothic vampires.

Dark castles.

Full moons.

I almost laughed.

Then we walked inside.

People stared at me.

Not everyone.

Enough.

I checked my dress.

Nothing seemed wrong.

I touched my hair.

"Lucien."

"Hmm?"

"Is something wrong with me?"

He looked around.

Then his expression changed.

"I should have warned you."

Those are never comforting words.

"Warned me about what?"

He gently took my arm and guided me away from the crowd.

"What?"

"You'll be one of very few humans here tonight."

I stared at him.

"One of the very few what?"

"Humans."

I laughed.

He didn't.

"Lucien."

"I should have explained before we came."

"Explained what?"

He took my wrist.

Before I could pull away, he raised it to his lips and kissed the inside.

Pain shot through my arm.

"Ow!"

I yanked my hand away.

"What the hell did you do?"

A small dark mark had appeared on the inside of my wrist.

It looked almost like a tattoo.

I rubbed it.

It didn't come off.

"You marked me?"

"It's protection."

"You MARKED me?"

"Keep your voice down."

"You burned something into my wrist!"

"No one will bother you now."

I stared at the symbol.

Then noticed the pin on his lapel.

Same shape.

Lucien touched it.

"My family crest."

"You put your family crest on me?"

"Temporarily."

"How temporarily?"

"Can we discuss this later?"

"No!"

Several people were watching us now.

Lucien glanced toward them.

Then back at me.

I looked at the crest.

I looked at the castle.

I looked at the people moving through the hall.

Then at Lucien.

A ridiculous thought entered my mind.

I grinned.

"What are you, some kind of vampire?"

Lucien smiled.

He didn't laugh.

His eyes changed.

Only for a moment.

Red.

Not reflected light.

Not contact lenses.

Red.

I stopped smiling.

Lucien reached for my hand.

"Come on. We're going to be late."

I didn't move.

"Lucien."

"I promise you're safe."

"That's not the question."

"I know."

"What are you?"

He looked at me.

Then, very calmly, he said, "You already know."

I should have left.

I know that.

Any sensible person hearing this story would say that was the moment to turn around, find a car, drive to the airport and get on the first available flight home.

Instead, I went to the wedding.

In my defense, I'd already bought the dress.

Also, I had questions.

Many questions.

I met Lucien's family.

They were regal.

They were charming.

They were gracious.

And they were vampires.

Not people pretending to be vampires.

Not members of some strange aristocratic club with an unhealthy commitment to Gothic aesthetics.

Vampires.

I spent the evening seated at an enormous table celebrating the marriage of two of them.

There were a handful of other humans present.

They knew exactly where they were.

Apparently, I was the only idiot who had arrived thinking this was merely an unusually elaborate European wedding.

No one bothered me.

No one tried to bite me.

Several people noticed the mark on my wrist and immediately became extraordinarily polite.

Lucien's mother hugged me.

His father welcomed me to the family.

His aunt told me embarrassing stories about him.

Some things, apparently, transcend species.

By the time we left, my understanding of the universe had suffered considerable damage.

Lucien drove us back toward the hotel.

For several minutes, I said nothing.

Neither did he.

Finally, I turned toward him.

"When were you going to tell me?"

He kept his eyes on the road.

"Tell you what?"

I stared at him.

He smiled.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a vampire."

"Yes."

"Your entire family is made up of vampires."

"Mostly."

"I just attended a vampire wedding."

"Yes."

"In a castle."

"It's an estate."

"It's a castle."

"Fair enough."

I folded my arms.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Lucien was quiet for a moment.

Then he glanced at me.

"How exactly do you tell someone you're a vampire when she doesn't believe in anything?"

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing.

The bastard had a point.

That was years ago.

I live here now.

Not in the castle.

Let's not get ridiculous.

Lucien and I have a home in the town below it.

I opened a small business not far from the center of town. From the front window, if the weather is clear, I can see his family's estate rising above the hills.

We were married there.

At night, naturally.

I'm still human.

That surprises people when they hear the story.

They assume Lucien eventually turned me.

He didn't.

I don't want to be a vampire.

I like being human.

I like mornings.

I like food.

I like sunlight.

And I have absolutely no interest in reorganizing my entire life around avoiding windows.

Lucien respects that.

I love my husband.

Fangs and all.

And I'm still a skeptic.

I still don't believe in reincarnation.

I don't believe in ghosts.

I'm undecided about aliens, although statistically I admit there's an argument to be made.

Magic remains questionable.

I don't believe something simply because someone tells me it's true.

Show me the evidence.

Give me facts.

Let me examine the results.

And vampires?

Vampires are real.

I know that.

Not because I read about them.

Not because I saw them in a movie.

Not because someone told me a story.

I know because I met them.

I sat at their table.

I attended their wedding.

I married one.

I saw it with my own eyes.

**

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