Turning Isn't as Easy as It Looks

         “Let me turn you and we shall rule the mortal world together,” he implored, starkly imposing in a black velvet cloak that accentuated the silver gilt of his hair, the pale blue of his eyes.

         “No way,” I said, revolted, edging away from him.  “That’s just gross.  And who are you, anyway?  Why’d you just come busting into my bedroom?  I am so calling the cops.”

         He frowned.

         “You don’t know who I am?” he asked.  “How can you not?  I am Lucian von Hempsted.  Your immortal lover.  I have come to turn you for all of eternity to join me as my consort.”

         “Dude, ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose.  “I have no idea who you are and there is no way you’re my immortal anything.”

         “Isn’t this the room of Adrianna Vichy?” he asked, now looking thoroughly confused.

         “Uh, no,” I said.  “This is the room of Becky Jones, who is getting way freaked out here.  Can you leave?  Adrianna lives down the hall.  Just two windows down.”

         “Oh.  Thank you,” he said, swooping out the window on bat wings.

         What a weirdo, I thought, fluffing up my pillow and settling down into my bed, comfortably wrapped in my Snoopy-printed blue pajamas.

         Ten minutes later, there came a light tap on my window.

         “Oh, not again,” I groaned, rolling out of bed.  “Who is it?”

         “Let me in,” a muffled voice replied.

         “O-kay,” I said, arching one eyebrow skeptically.  “Who are you?”

         “I’m your immortal lover, Sir Benjamin O’Malley,” replied the vampire who stepped calmly into my bedroom.  He had flaming red hair that proclaimed his Irish heritage as surely as his name.  “I have come to turn you and welcome you into the world of night.”

         “Are you looking for Adrianna?” I asked suspiciously.

         “You mean—you’re not her?” he asked, flabbergasted.

         “Two windows down,” I said wearily.  “And could you pass the word?  This is just little Becky Jones.  Not Adrianna.”

         “I apologize,” Benjamin said stiffly and awkwardly climbed back out the window.  I was starting to think of deadbolting it.

         “My God, Adrianna’s a whore,” I said.  “A little vampire whore.  I wonder what she’s going to do with all her lovers coming now?  But why should I care?  Maybe now all these freaks will stop coming to my window now, anyway,” I said without much hope and crawled back into bed.

         Five minutes later, a black-haired vampire with silver blue eyes slipped into my bedroom.

         “Shall we rule the world of eternal twilight together, my love?” he asked sepulcherally.

         “Get out!” I yelled, throwing my pillow at him.  “I am not Adrianna!”

         “You’re not?” he asked.  “But…”

         “She’s two windows down,” I sighed.  "You might as well join the club."

         Twenty minutes later, there came another knock.

         “This is not Adrianna’s room!” I shrieked at the window.  “This is Becky’s, who’s getting more than a little P.O.’d here!”

         “Becky, it’s just me,” came the familiar voice.  “It’s just Rodney.”

         “Oh,” I said, mollified.  “Well, come in then.”

         Rodney Hamill stepped genteelly into the room, somehow managing to look dapper in blue jeans and a ripped black Avenged Sevenfold tee shirt.  He smiled at me and I could see his fangs.

         “Are you ready to party?” he asked.  “I’m a little nervous—this is my first turning.”

         “Sure,” I said, relaxing against my pillow.  “At least you aren’t babbling about ‘turning me and ruling the world of night,’ or something.”

         “Is that why you told me to go to Adrianna?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.  “I wondered.”  I related the tale of the vampires coming in search of Adrianna and he laughed.

         “Oh, sure, you think it’s funny,” I grumbled.  “Think about me for a second.  All these psycho vampires coming to my window, trying to ‘turn me.’  It was just creepy.”

         “I’m sorry,” he said, still chortling.  “But…I can just imagine you trying to explain that you’re not Adrianna and…” he went off into another gale of laughter.

         A discreet tap at the window made me groan and say “not again,” while hiding my head under the pillow.

         “Get rid of him,” I whispered to Rodney.  He took a look outside and started laughing again.

         “There’s one problem, Becky,” he told me.  “It’s not a him.”

         He opened the window.  A tall, blonde-haired woman stepped through, daringly dressed in a scarlet gown that showed most of her boobs.

         “Adrianna?” she asked uncertainly.  “What is this lout doing here?  I thought we agreed that your night of change would be done alone?”

         “For the last time,” I said through gritted teeth.  “I am not Adrianna.  I’m Becky Jones.  Adrianna is two windows down.  Okay?”

         The woman stiffened and flushed crimson, although it was hard to see how that was possible, considering she was a vampire.  She must have been very embarrassed.

         “I’m sorry,” she said, curtsying and nearly flashing Rodney a good chest-full.  She fled through the window.  I could hear her mortified curses.

         “No more interruptions,” I said, sliding out of bed and deadbolting the window myself.

         “No more interruptions,” Rodney agreed.  He swooped down on me like an overgrown bat—something he was way too good at—then carefully bent my head to one side, exposing my neck.  “Are you sure you want the bite on your neck?” he asked me.  “I mean, I could always do it somewhere else…somewhere a bit lower, if you want…”

         “My neck, you pervert,” I said darkly.  “Don’t even think about biting my boob or something.  Can you say ow?”

         “Just thought I’d try,” Rodney sighed.  “Now, this might hurt…”  He carefully inserted his fangs into my neck.  It felt strangely ticklish.  I had to fight the urge to laugh.  But it didn’t work; a few muffled snorts escaped my tightly clenched mouth and I flushed a little as Rodney lifted his head in a huff, my blood trickling down my chin.

         “Just what is so funny?” he asked in high dudgeon, lifting his nose and looking down it at me.

         “Uh, your fangs, they’re, uh, ticklish,” I explained, letting a few more muffled chuckles come out.  Rodney shook his head.

         “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he said, glaring at me.  Then he bent down and slipped his fangs in my neck again.

         A strange feeling of lethargy weighed down my body after a few minutes.  My vision grayed around the edges and the whole world seemed to be drifting away.  I should have been frightened, but wasn’t.

         Suddenly, a white wrist with two dark trickles of blood was thrust into my face.

         “Drink, Becky,” came Rodney’s voice from a long way away.  “Drink, or you’ll die.”

         I tried to protest, tried to shove the wrist away, but I was too weak.  Rodney insistently thrust his wrist into my mouth, and a few drops of his blood trickled down my throat.

         Instantly, I was ravenous.  I battened on it like a—well, like a vampire—and drank thirstily.  So much that Rodney had to yank his wrist away, grimacing in pain as my teeth stuck in his skin.

         “Now what?” I asked, my mouth painted in blood, my eyes glazed over.

         “Now you die,” he told me.

         “What?” I demanded, but the world was going away again and I collapsed, my legs too weak and rubbery to hold me anymore.  A ravening thirst awoke like a raging fire in my body, and my mouth seemed parched as the desert.  I convulsed, wanting to fulfill that thirst, wanting it to end, but unable to make it stop.

         “Don’t fight it, Becky,” Rodney said, stroking my hair.  He felt a million miles away.  “You’ll hurt yourself.”  He looked worried for me, which frightened me a little, but the emotion was also far away.  It was easy to remember that I was his first, though, from the anxiety on his face.  It made me feel a little like an older woman seducing the innocent teenager, which made me laugh on the inside.

         A loud tap startled me, breaking me a little from my turning.  Rodney frowned, his mouth a large carmine slice in my vision, and got up.

         “Just a moment, love,” he said, and went to the window.

         “Where is that bitch?” a raving voice shrieked.  “Where’s Becky?”

         “Who are you?” Rodney asked coldly, his fangs sliding into greater prominence.

         “I’m Adrianna,” the girl on the other side of the glass yelled.  “And that bitch just sent me all my…uh, friends…at one time!  They’re fighting each other!  And it’s all her fault!”

         “Uh, excuse me?” I managed to climb weakly to my knees, glaring at her.  “What the hell do you mean it’s my fault?  You’re the one playing the field with, let’s see, three guys and…a woman?” I raised an eyebrow at her.  She flushed bright red.

         “She’s just a friend,” Adrianna murmured unconvincingly.

         “That’s not what she said,” Rodney muttered sotto voce from his post by the window.

         “You shut up!” Adrianna turned on him, her face now glowing stoplight red.

         “Hey, don’t tell my boyfriend to shut up, you hag,” I interrupted, managing to get to my feet.  The dizziness and weakness was passing swiftly.  I felt stronger by the second.  “You’re the whore who can’t keep her pants up or her neck hidden.  Remember?  Now get the hell out of here.”

         “I see you can’t, either,” she sneered.  “The bites on your neck…”  She stopped with a squeak of fear as Rodney ripped up the window and grabbed her neck with one hand, squeezing gently.

         “You were saying?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

         “Nothing!” Adrianna squeaked.  “Nothing at all.”

         “Good,” Rodney said, still in that low, creepy voice.  “Now why don’t you go back along the balcony to your room.  All right?”

         Adrianna bobbed her head in an anxious effort to please.

         “Good girl,” Rodney said, releasing her.  “Now get out of here, you blood-thirsty whore.”

         Adrianna ran back down to her room so fast, you could almost see a plume of smoke rising up behind her.

         I giggled, feeling oddly light-headed.

         “I wonder what she’s going to do when she gets back to her room,” I said.  Rodney shrugged, padding lithely over the carpet to my side.

         “Choose,” he said.  “And somehow, I think they’re all the jealous type.  Don’t you?”

         “Oh, yes,” I said, staring up into his dark blue eyes.  They reminded me of sapphires.  “So how do you think your first turning went?”

         “It went marvelously,” Rodney assured me, just before bending his head down to kiss me.

         The only thing I could do was agree.