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standing on the floor, as I had assumed. Perhaps if they were dressed like Bela Lugosi, with black tuxes and white shirts beneath full-length capes, it might’ve been an easier pill to swallow. Both wore jeans and flannel shirts. Given their sleek features, they seemed more like pale-faced lumberjack supermodels best suited for a parade along Fifth Avenue, or for an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement.
    “But to answer your question, yes, we are very
real
, and we are most certainly vampires,” Armando continued, while his and Garvan’s heads bobbed just below the ceiling. Garvan moved closer to him, allowing me to hold my flashlight in one spot instead of alternating back and forth between them.
    “So, it’s a bunch of pretty Hollywood vampires against the so-called others, huh?”
    This meaningful question posed from an irreverent perspective slipped out before I could consider the consequences. The initial looks I got from my visitors made me regret it, but before I could apologize for being so forward, Garvan spoke up again.
    “In a sense, you are not far off the mark.” His expression was solemn. “Like your movie stars, only a few fortunate souls make it to the Big Screen, as they say. That is similar to us, where just a few hundred vampires like us exist throughout the entire world. However, the army that is looking to destroy your kind numbers in the thousands.”
    This revelation sounded ridiculous. I mean, all this attention for just little ol’ me?
    “So, these other vampires don’t look much like you two, huh?”
    “That is correct,” said Armando. “Perhaps you would find them grotesque and frightful. The closest thing you have in your modern world that I can compare them to is the Nosferatu. But even their portrayal on the silver screen would be considered generous compared to the race known to the people of Spain as
la sangre fea embauca
.”
    “Or
monstres glabres
to the good citizens of France,” added Garvan, interrupting Armando, which drew another stern look from him. Garvan looked away. If hierarchy existed among vampires, I had just been given a clue as to who was the boss between these two.
    “These other vampires are like rabid dogs,” Armando resumed, after returning his attention to me. “They are highly dangerous mongrels with no self control, no decency. They feast on what amounts to road kill in your terms, at least until recently.
La sangre fea embauca
were once a menace to ancient villages in Europe and Asia until the Industrial Age. They scurried underground like the vile vermin they are, and we’ve rarely heard from them since the early nineteenth century. But now they have regained a lust for living blood and tissue, and no longer are content to hide in the shadows like recluse spiders, waiting for a meal to show up for them.”
    He studied my expression. I’m sure he sought a trace of squeamishness in my blank look. But I was fascinated by the tale he wove about these other vampires with an obvious bent toward violence.
    “So, you and they are different?” I persisted. “But you both survive off the blood of people—”
    “Or, sometimes animals,” interjected Garvan. “But our kind doesn’t need to feed as often as the others do.”
    “The difference is in how strong the germ is with them,” said Armando. “The mutation they bear comes from the same source that has afflicted everyone of us, a condition that
all
vampires deal with. Think of chupacabras. You have heard of these creatures, no?”
    “The hairless mutated dogs that attack sheep and cows down in Texas? Yes, I’ve heard of them.”
    “They’re in Mexico, too,” said Garvan.
    “Yes, they are,” agreed Armando, glancing briefly toward our door as if he just heard something. Perhaps Elaine, the RA, had heard him speak. It could be bad if she ventured a peek inside my room. “They, too, suffer from a germ that is similar to ours, although the canine version does not slow the aging process. But the