For instance, I learned there was something called lycanthropic disorder, which was in actuality a mental condition wherein a person believed he, or she, was really a Werewolf even though they didn't change shape. It didn't say if these people went running around the countryside killing things.
And then there was the real deal, where a man or a woman physically transformed into a beast. True Werewolves were immune from aging since their bodies were constantly regenerating. The only way to kill a Werewolf was to destroy the heart or the brain or deprive them of oxygen. I assumed the same was true for any Were-creature. I had always thought that a person had to be bitten to become fanged and furry, but one source said that you could become a Werewolf by birth or by being cursed by a witch. In Europe, between 1520 and 1630, some thirty thousand cases of lycanthropy had been reported.
There were legends of Were-cats, which were also shape-shifters, but instead of turning into wolves, they turned into felines. In days of old in Europe, shape-shifters, including Werewolves, had been considered witches. Were-creature folklore was found on all the continents except for Antarctica, with the Were-creatures turning into whatever wild feline was native to the area, such as domestic cats, lions, leopards, tigers, or lynx.
Researching Vampires proved to be not only interesting and fascinating, but, at times, amusing. For instance, I had always believed that Vampires were made, not born, but according to ancient folklore, those who were born under a new moon or on certain holy days were believed to be predisposed to becoming Vampires, as were those who were born with a red caul, with teeth, or with excess hair. The same was true for those born with a red birthmark, or with two hearts and, of course, being born the seventh son of a seventh son. Others who might be similarly affected were those who were weaned too young, or those who died without baptism. Expectant mothers in Romania were encouraged to eat plenty of salt to ensure that their babies didn't become Vampires.
Others who were good candidates for vampirism were people who committed suicide, prostitutes, and murderers.
Sitting back in my chair, I unwrapped a candy bar and indulged my passion for chocolate. I was about to resume my search when the phone rang. It was my mother, reminding me that my father's birthday was coming up, as if I'd forget.
“So,” she said, getting to the real reason for her call. “Are you ready to come back home?”
I blew out a sigh. She was still upset because I'd left New York.
“I saw Jimmy Lee the other day,” she said cheerfully. “He's still single.”
“That doesn't surprise me,” I muttered. Jimmy Lee Brown thought he was the sexiest thing in shoe leather, had no interests other than computers and computer games, and, to put it politely, he smelled bad.
“Honestly, Kathy, don't you think it's time you came home and settled down?”
“Mom, how many times are we going to have this conversation?” It wasn't enough that she called me every week or so, she also sent me e-mails asking the same question.
There was a long silence. I knew she was sitting there, slowly counting to ten, while she asked herself where she'd gone wrong. My brother and sister were both happily married and producing grandchildren, while I, her youngest, remained single with no husband in sight.
“Listen, Mom, I've got to go. Say hi to Dad for me.”
After we hung up, I went back to my research. There were a number of references linking wolves with Vampires. In Greece, it was believed that anyone who ate a sheep that had been killed by a wolf was doomed to become a Vampire. In Montenegro, it was believed that all Vampires had to spend a certain amount of time as a wolf. The Gypsies of Kosovo were of the opinion that Vampires were doomed to wander the earth until they met a wolf, which would then tear them to pieces. In Romania, Gypsy villages were supposedly guarded by white wolves that stood watch in cemeteries where they gobbled up any rising Vampires. Totally bizarre, I thought. Who would ever seriously believe such nonsense?
Of course, the dead weren't safe, either. According to folklore, you might become a Vampire if someone passed a candle over your corpse, if your brother was a sleepwalker, or if a cat jumped over your corpse. You were also in danger if you weren't buried with the proper rituals, or you were murdered and your murder went unavenged, or you died by drowning.
There were a number of signs to look for if you wanted to know if someone who had been buried had become one of the Undead. These included disturbed earth around the grave, fallen tombstones, broken or fallen crosses, footsteps leading away from the grave, no birds singing nearby, dogs barking or refusing to enter the cemetery, or horses shying away from the site. Numerous finger-sized holes used by the Vampire to escape his grave in mist like form were, you should pardon the pun, also a dead giveaway.
Vampires were reputed to have many Supernatural powers. Raphael had already admitted to being able to hypnotize people, and he seemed pretty adept at reading my mind. According to folklore, Vampires were able to change shape, dissolve into mist, control the elements as well as some animals, and scurry up a wall like a spider. Of course, it was common knowledge that they could create other Vampires, and that they had superior strength.
Reading on, I learned that Vampires couldn't swim or cross running water because water was a purifier which washed away evil and sin. In olden times, a corpse believed to be a Vampire might be placed in a river or a lake. If the body floated, it was a Vampire and the necessary steps were taken.
Destroying a Vampire was a messy business. A hawthorn stake driven into a Vampire's heart was the most common method of destruction. Beheading was also recommended. Sunlight was also fatal, although Vampires in Poland and Russia prowled the streets from noon until midnight.
Most interesting of all was the description of folk Vampires and those in literature, which described the Undead as really disgusting creatures, not only because of their grotesque appearance, which included razor like, blood-stained fangs, hairy palms, and glowing red eyes, but the stink that clung to them from the dried blood of their victims. Vampires had apparently changed with the times. Modern Vampires were hypnotically and sensually attractive and much more pleasing to look upon, thanks to the influence of Bram Stoker's Dracula and suave actors like Bela Lugosi, George Hamilton, and Frank Langella.
And real-life Vampire, Raphael Cordova, I thought with a smile.
Ah, Rafe. I wondered what he was doing. Sleeping, I supposed, and I wondered if he rested in a coffin, and what he wore to sleep in. I couldn't imagine him in anything as mundane as a pair of cotton pajamas. Maybe a black T-shirt and briefs…or maybe nothing at all.
Feeling suddenly warm, I went into the back room for a bottle of cold water. What I had read was fascinating. Of course, I had no idea how much of it was based on fact and how much was pure fiction. It occurred to me that I was wasting a lot of time searching the Internet when I had something much better—an actual Vampire. Or did I? After last night, I wasn't sure he was ever coming back. The thought of never seeing him again brought the sting of hot tears to my eyes.
But I didn't have time to wallow in self-pity. The jangle of the bell over the door announced that I had one of those all-too-rare creatures—a customer. Blinking back my tears, I smoothed a hand over my hair, pasted a smile on my face, and went out front.
A pair of elderly women were browsing the romance shelves. One was tall and angular with shoulder-length white hair. The other was short and a trifle plump. Her curly red hair was obviously dyed. In addition to wide silver bracelets, silver crosses, and dangling silver earrings, they both wore designer jeans, brightly colored silk blouses, comfortable sneakers, and fake flowers in their hair. I guessed them to be in their mid-seventies.
They both looked over at me and smiled, then turned back to the stacks. I watched them for a few minutes as they picked up one book after another, read the back cover copy and the first page, and then either added the book to the growing pile on top of the shelf or put it back. By the time they were ready to go, they had twenty-two paperbacks between them.
“So glad you're here,” the redheaded one said. “I don't drive, you know, so whenever new books come out, I either have to impose on my grandson and ask him to drive me over to one of the bookstores in River's Edge, or order them online. But now you're here!”
“Come along, Edna,” the other woman said, taking hold of her friend's arm. “I'm sure she doesn't give a fig about your shopping habits.”
“Oh, but I do,” I said, smiling at the two of them. If they bought this many books every time they came in, I could stop worrying about going out of business.
Edna moved closer to the counter. “I don't suppose you give a senior discount, do you?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Well, I never have,” I said, “but I will today. How does 10 percent sound?”
“You see, Pearl,” Edna said with a triumphant grin, “I told you it wouldn't hurt to ask!”
“Have you two been friends long?” I asked as I rang up their sales.
“Oh, my, yes,” Pearl exclaimed.
“Fifty-five years come January,” Edna said. “We met in the maternity ward. I was having my first baby.”
“And I was having my second.” Pearl looked at Edna, and the two women smiled, obviously remembering the day they had met.
Edna sighed wistfully. “Where does the time go?”
“And you've lived here, in Oak Hollow, the whole time?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed.” Edna leaned forward. “Things have certainly changed, I can tell you that,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “All these strange people lurking about. Why last night, I heard a wolf howl, right here in the city!”
Pearl nodded. “I don't know which is worse, the Werewolves or the Vampires.”
“You've seen them?” I asked, surprised that they talked about it so openly.
“The Vampires tend to be very secretive, you know,” Edna remarked. “They never tell you where they take their rest. And they never meet in the same place twice. The Werewolves meet in an abandoned building out at the end of Foster Road.”
