Malice Aforethought

We sit across from one another at an expensive dining room table in a swanky high rise. I'm pretty sure if the curtains weren't closed, there would be a killer view of Central Park.

Between us is my digital voice recorder, and an analog backup.

After I had modest success with a couple of fictionalized true crime books that became semifamous podcasts, this lady set up an interview at her place. It's just the two of us. She sips from a Yeti stainless steel tumbler and stares at me over the rim. I shift in my seat and swirl my Jameson's in fancy crystal. She smiles through glistening teeth. She licks away a pink sheen and I don't for a second forget what she is, because the scariest monsters are beautiful.

"I can tell you're nervous." Her voice is a whisper of delight and damnation. "I'm fascinated by your work; I'm surprised you accepted my invitation."

"I couldn't resist my chance to follow Rice's footsteps."

She scoffs. "Anne had many things wrong, but enough was right that I'm sure she was acquainted with the family."

Some family. They never hesitate to fuck each other over as much as they fuck each other.

She continues. "I found the conclusions of your first novel fascinating. It was masterful how you implied supernatural causes without expressly embracing them."

"You mean vampires, and there's nothing super about you."

She tries to hide her shock. "Go on," she grins like a crocodile.

"I know you know."

"You were visited by my cousins."

"You're all related in a way, which makes your swinger parties the weirdest family reunions outside Alabama."

She laughs, and the throaty chuckle stirs me in ways I'm not comfortable being stirred.

I shift in my seat, nodding. "I've met your kind before."

"It's interesting that shortly after you were...advised...to point your book towards obvious fiction, my cousin disappeared."

"I'm sorry for the loss of your lover."

Her eyes narrow. "Even rabbits scratch and bite when cornered."

"Maybe I'm no ordinary rabbit."

When she laughs again, fear lances up my spine.

"Why'd you come here?"

"I'd like to have my own spin on the interview."

"For whom?"

"Maybe just my blog."

"Have you ever considered dreaming bigger?"

She steps from behind the table and peeks outside.

As fancy as this apartment is, it's missing something that most people wouldn't notice. This table, that china cabinet sitting over to my left, the drawers in the kitchen, none of it has silver.

The only sterling in the house is in the Glock I empty into her turned back.

Just like that, she went from thinking about eating me to turning her back and dying at my feet.

I calmly reload.

The recorder is rolling, so I savor an action-movie moment; I decide to forgive myself the cliche.

"I dream of a world where the dead stay dead," I declare before giving her what remains of thirty pieces of silver. "Nothing super at all," I mumble.