The Year of Disappearances by Susan Hubbard

another.
    There are a few tests. Does he cast a shadow? Is he susceptible to sunburn? (UVB rays burn our skin more than a thousand times faster than they burn human skin.)
    Neither of those tests works at night, of course. Others are more subjective. I mentioned earlier that vampires have cool skin, don’t perspire, and have no smell; humans, particularly those who eat meat, have a pronounced sweet, salty odor that deodorants and antiperspirants can’t mask or prevent. Because we monitor our diets, vampires tend to be thin; there are tales of Colonists who gorge themselves on red meat, but I think those are urban legends, all in all.
    Many vampires, including my father, suffer from periodic sensory overload syndrome (SOS). Artificial light and sunlight, as well as complex visual patterns that overstimulate the optic nerve, may cause dizziness, anxiety, and nausea.
    Since most vampires are aware of SOS, they tend to avoid patterned clothing, particularly paisley, herringbone, and polka dots, as a courtesy to others. And most of us have acute sensitivity to sound, smell, and texture. That’s why we avoid op art, tend to play music low and wear ear protection when we go to rock concerts, don’t wear perfume, and get nervous around shag carpeting and sandpaper.
    My mother had told me that vampires are prone to vertigo induced not only by heights and loss of balance, but by enclosed spaces that appear to have spiral or labyrinth patterns.
    Short of testing susceptibility to these stimuli, we rely on instinct and observation. Does he speak in carefully phrased sentences? Does he have a low, well-modulated voice? Does he demonstrate near-perfect memory? Since we associate these traits with fellow vampires, we become guilty of the same tendency humans have: to stereotype, or profile, one another.
    When Mãe invited Michael to join us for a drink back at the hotel, I was relieved when he said he’d come. It would give me a chance to figure out who he was.

    The bartender was falling in love with my mother.
    Michael and I sat in high-backed wicker chairs on the glassed-in porch of the hotel bar, a pretty place with tall ficus trees and votive candles glimmering on each table. Mãe stood at the bar trying to order. But the bartender wanted to flirt with her. And she wasn’t stopping it.
    Half of my attention was on her, the rest on Michael. As far as I could tell, he was not a vampire. His voice was low enough, and he did think before he spoke. But his thoughts didn’t have the same texture as those of my mother, my father, and Dashay, the vampires I knew best. His were wispy, soft; theirs had more substance, even when they were emotional or perplexed.
    “I’ve been meaning to call you.” Michael was watching my mother, too, thinking how pretty she was.
    Why isn’t she wearing a wedding ring? I thought suddenly. After all, she’s still married.
    Michael looked at me. His brown eyes had an unfamiliar, docile expression.
    “Are you taking drugs?” I asked. I felt glad that no one was sitting near us.
    “Well, yeah.” He smiled. “I told you, I’m a vampire now.”
    I noticed that he was perspiring slightly. No, you’re not, I thought.
    “You haven’t tried V?” His voice trembled slightly.
    “V as in…?”
    “Vallanium. The drug that makes you a vampire.” Michael pushed back his long hair with both hands. “Ari, it’s amazing. You take two a day, and you live forever.”
    “This stuff is a pill?”
    He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small black canister, like the ones film comes in. He snapped off its lid and shook two dark red capsules into the palm of his hand.
    “Want to try it? It’s a nice buzz, kind of like smoking weed, but if you take it with vodka you get these images…” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.”
    “Is it expensive?” I looked down at the capsules. Each was inscribed with a tiny V.
    “Yeah. But I have a job now. I’m not in school anymore, I’m working