The Chip

It was the phone that woke me.

When I opened my eyes, it was walking itself across my bedside table with the vibrations. With sleep-clumsy hands, I picked it up and answered.

“Josephine,” The ancient voice crackled from the other end, “It is Ladislav…I am sorry for the early hour, but I need your help…I feel as though I may feed.”

I shook the sleep away and sat up, pushing myself against the pillows.

“Alright, where are you now?”

“I am at a party with some old friends…they all still partake in-” He hesitated before he could say ‘blood’, “They are old-fashioned. I managed to excuse myself for a smoke. I am in the bathroom.”

I tried to picture the three hundred-year-old vampire sitting on a toilet somewhere, covering his mouth with one hand. A far cry from the few paintings I had seen of him since I became his sponsor.

“Well, that’s good,” I said. “You know what to do. Remove yourself from the situation. Do you think you could get out of there without offending anyone?”

“I think…perhaps…they are a prickly lot when it comes to etiquette. I told them this was a call from my servant - I am sorry, my assistant; they might let me off…”

I was wide awake then; the involuntary excitement at the mention of feeding had dragged me all the way from sleep’s clutches.

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You’re having doubts.”

The silence came back even louder then.

“I do not want to feed anymore…but…”

“Hey,” I cut him off, “It’s alright to want to, it’s an illness, it’s not you. Do you have your chip on you?”

“It is in my vest pocket.”

“Get it out and give it a feel.”

“Alright,” he sighed, “ It is in my hand.”

“You earned that, remember? Two months is nothing to shake your head at, Ladislav. You’re bigger than this, stronger than this, and it doesn’t make you any less of a vampire not to feed. You hear me?”

“You are right Jospehine of Bromley. I cannot just discard all this progress that I have made. I shall tell my friends I have an emergency at my lair, woodworm in my coffin perhaps, and I shall leave. Thank you, I will not forget this.”

And the line went dead.

I sat there a while longer, thinking everything over. I hoped he wouldn’t feed; he’d only been coming to the group for a year and spent three hundred before that as a voracious killer. As things went, Ladislav the thirsty was a very old dog to be teaching new tricks. In the end, I decided to park it until the next meeting and drifted off to sleep. In the end, I didn’t have to wait long.

I’d taken up a job at an all-night diner, just something for pocket change and a way to pass time. On my next shift, I caught Ladislav sitting in a window booth, all dark eyes and snowy hair. He must have looked a terrible sight if you’d been caught by him on a lonely night in the Carpathians, but that night he’d settled into business casual. His hands still dripped with golden rings, though, and he wore a ruby medallion around his neck, a gift from some inbred noble in the 11700s. I sidled over with the pot of coffee, and he gave me a curt nod. When I’d first been changed, a look like that would have chilled me to the bone, but then I’d met enough of the old-timers to know they had their own faults. Under all those layers of crinoline and silk, they were lost in this new age.

“Good evening, young Josephine.”

I leant over to refill his cup. “I’ve told you before, you can call me Joe.”

He took the mug and shook his head, “No. It would be improper.”

I looked back over at the counter. I could hear the cooks chatting about cars in the back; the rest of the place was a ghost town. I put the pot down and slid into the booth across from Ladislav.

“Why are you here anyway?”

He lifted his hand. Tweezed between two claw-like nails was the brass chip.

“I came to thank you. I was very…vulnerable the other night. I called for aid, and you obliged me.” He gave a weak smile, showing off his impressive canines. “You will be pleased to learn, I exited the party quietly and went home without drinking a single drop.”

I nodded, feeling pride swelling up inside of me. “Hey, way to go, Ladislav, that’s really good.”

He gave a nod and a weak smile. “Thank you. I could not have done it without your help. It has been a trying time for me, and you have been the perfect sponsor throughout.”

He reached down and pulled something out of his pocket. When he brought it up and opened his palm, I saw a small pile of golden jewellery, each one no doubt worth a small fortune.

“Please. Take these as a symbol of my gratitude.”

I put my hands up, “You don’t have to give me anything. I’m just happy you made it through without feeding. That’s reward enough.”

He blinked at me, probably feeling a little silly to be holding a handful of antique jewellery just inches above a dirty formica table in an all-night cafe, then he reached in with his free hand and picked out a single brooch, inlaid with pearl and a gothic cross.

“Well, I insist you take at least this one, as a token of my appreciation. It belonged to a second aunt of mine…before I was turned.”

Realising it was the best way to make him happy, I picked it from his hand and slipped it into my apron.

“Thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you.”

“No,” Ladislav held up one bloodless hand, “Thank you. For one so young, you are very wise…but perhaps it takes the young to see what the old cannot.”

He tucked away the rest of his loot and shrugged on an overcoat. “I must leave now; my assistant is bringing my suits back from the dry cleaners, and I must make sure they are all still intact. The silk in them comes from a variety of worm that has been extinct since nineteen twelve.”

He lifted himself from the booth and caught hold of the ends of his coat.

“Goodnight, Ladislav,” I gave him a wave, “You know where I am if you need me.”

“Goodnight, Josephine.” He nodded back, then threw the coat around himself, shrinking up, curling in on himself until he took to the air in bat form and flitted through the open window.

I shook my head and fished the brooch out again, turning it over in my hand. It caught the light from the street and set it glittering over the table. Real gold, no doubt about that. It was a long fight against the blood, longer if you’d been drinking it for so many years as Ladislav the thirsty.

But hell, we had all the time in the world.