Call of the Vampire by Gayla Twist

access to my car. I was sure that in a big city, a perv harassing a high school girl wouldn’t warrant a police report, but in Tiburon, it was taken seriously.
    “What are you doing tonight?” Blossom asked me when we bumped into each other in the hallway between classes that afternoon. “Jimmy’s cousin is in town, and he’s totally gorgeous. We could double.” Jimmy Stevens was Blossom’s latest flame. A very recent flame. I think she decided she’d better reel it in a little after being drugged and spending the night unconscious. She’d been being extra nice to me ever since our escapade from the castle without actually bringing the whole thing up. I think she knew on some level she’d crossed a line with me. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to be friends with her anymore; I just needed a little break. Besides, going out with her would mean I couldn’t dance with Jessie’s jacket.
    “Thanks, but I’m still pretty grounded,” I told her. I wasn’t grounded, of course, but she didn’t know that.
    I had all my homework for the weekend done by eight o’clock on Friday night. I was turning into a real party girl. Still, there were vampires out in the world, so I wasn’t super excited about going out late at night.
    Saturday, I worked the morning shift at Cup of Joe’s, my humble part-time, minimum wage job. Mornings are always the busiest and when you’re most likely to get a few tips. The steam from the cappuccino machine always sends my hair into overdrive, as far as curls are concerned. In the afternoon, I drove out to Ashtabula Care with Grandma Gibson’s photograph in an envelope and a plate full of ginger snaps. They were her favorite, and I wanted to thank her for lending me the photo.
    “Aurora,” she sang out when I poked my head through her door. “Come here, my girl. Let me look at you.” She held her arms out to me from where she sat at her table, a deck of cards laid out in front of her.
    “Hi, Grandma Gibson.” I walked in and gave her a hug. I loved when she recognized me. It usually meant she was in a good mood.
    “Always such a beauty,” she said, touching my hair.
    “Too bad none of the guys at my school think so,” I said, blushing.
    “Well, don’t worry about them. Young boys are too foolish at your age to know what’s good.”
    “I brought you some ginger snaps. Homemade,” I told her, in part to distract her from talking about my continued failures at romance.
    “You made me ginger snaps?” she asked, beaming. “Aren’t you a sweet girl. Plug in my kettle, and we’ll have a real tea party.”
    Ashtabula Care had rules against their residents having appliances—even hair dryers were illegal—but Grandma kept a contraband electric kettle so she could brew tea properly. I was pretty sure some of the nurses knew about it but were kind enough to look the other way. I pulled the kettle out from a hatbox in her closet and filled it with water from a plastic jug she had on the table.
    “The blue cups, please, Aurora,” Grandma told me. “And the tea things.” She had a tea set of bone China and two different sets of cups and saucers, one blue with white and one green with pink flowers.
    Once we were all set up with tea and snaps, I said to her, “I brought back your picture. Just like I said I would.”
    “What’s that, now?” Grandma looked a little confused.
    Fishing the envelope out of my bag, I handed to her. “Last time I was here, you lent me a photograph.”
    “Did I?” she frowned slightly, sliding the black and white from its envelope. “Ah, the castle. Yes, I can see why you’d be interested in it.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked, taking a sip of the scalding hot tea.
    “Don’t you remember? You would ask me about it all the time when you were a little girl. I made the mistake of telling you once that I worked there for a few months, and then the questions never stopped.”
    “How old was I?” Her story barely rang the faintest of