Sabrina knew she should be terrified by the woman before her. She saw the blood on her face and clothing. She heard her refer to herself as a vampire – but that couldn’t be true, could it? At the very least, this woman was a killer ever bit as dangerous as her would-be rapists. Yet she had looked into her eyes, heard the word “Melt” in her mind as much as in her ears and now she followed her like a duckling following its mother.

Or the rats following the pied piper, she thought grimly. 

The vampire led Sabrina to an elegant car parked on the street. It was one of those classic cars you see in old movies, with a long hood in front and a streamlined, curving back. A uniformed chauffeur sat in the drivers’ seat and did not react to seeing his employer covered in blood. Sabrina climbed in, struck by the rich upholstery of the seats.

The vampire followed, closing the door and telling the chauffeur “Home.”

The car moved off and the vampire produced a handkerchief and dabbed here and there on the blood drying on her face and person. Every now and then she gave the cloth a lick. 

“Now, then, I think introductions are in order,” she said as the car threaded its way through the Brooklyn night traffic towards the Manhattan Bridge. “My name is Natalie. Natalie de Tortois. And I know your name, Sabrina, and your apartment. I have been watching you for some time.”

“You have? Why?” 

“I am over five hundred years old,” the vampire said. “I have experienced most everything that can be experienced. Only the things that delight the mind have any real attraction for me – and the beauty, grace and sensuality of the ballet is chief among them.”

“And what are you going to do to me?” Sabrina asked. She was trying to be nonchalant, but she was trembling. She tried to hide it by looking out the window as the lights of the city went past them. 

Natalie smiled. “You have nothing to fear from me,” she said. “Let me show you: relax.”

Sabrina felt a sudden pressure in her mind, overriding her own will. She relaxed and ceased trembling. There was a sensation of motion, not even anything her eye could detect and suddenly Natalie was pressed closed to her. She took Sabrina’s chin in her hand and said “Kiss me.”

Sabrina was kissing her passionately before her mind could even process the command. The other woman’s lips were chilly, but soft. It was a bit like kissing a cold mask fresh from the freezer. Sabrina could taste lipstick and another, slightly metallic twang she could not identify, but then realized to her horror that it was probably blood. 

They stopped and Sabrina drew back as Natalie returned to her seat. 

“You see?” the vampire said. “If I wanted your body or your blood, I could have it, whenever I choose. But I don’t want that, Sabrina. I want the delight of your talent, artistry and hard work. I have seen the work you put into the ballet. You are special.”

“So you want to watch me dance? Don’t you already do that?”

She laughed. She actually laughed. “I love watching you dance. What I want is . . . hard to explain. You see, vampires are dead. You felt how cold I was. My heart is still, so I just see you as prey – but when a vampire and a human are  . . . close, genuinely close . . . something amazing happens. We start to feel . . . more human, like we’re almost alive. I’ll be warm and have a pulse, be more emotional. We call it ‘one heart beating for two’.”

Realization dawned on Sabrina. “You want to love me? And for me to love you?”

Natalie hesitated. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I want: to love you and be loved by you.” 

“But you’re a monster,” Sabrina said. She turned away from her captor and resumed staring out the winter. They had turned up the Bowery and were heading north, towards Cooper Union and Union Square. 

She did not see Natalie’s eyes flash read, but she heard the venom in her voice. “‘Monster?’ she mocked. “No. I am a killer, but I’m not a monster.”

Natalie closed her eyes and her head slumped over. The silence stretched on endlessly for Sabrina, though it was only a few seconds.

“Do you know why they fear and hate you?” she asked. “Many people – maybe yourself included – think it’s because transphobes hate the fact that you’re different. But I don’t think so. I think people are afraid of change. I remember when trains were new. People were terrified – they said it was ‘unnatural’ to travel as fast as 35 miles-per-hour. The pope condemned them as chemins d’infer – roads of hell. You, you are changing, but I can’t change.”

“Do you want to change?” Sabrina asked. She had never heard anything like this perspective before and certain things were beginning to make sense for her. Despite her fear, she was starting to be intrigued by Natalie.  

“All the time,” Natalie. “To change is to live. Many people say they’re afraid of dying, but most of them are also afraid of living. They reach a point where things are tolerable and they want to stay there, imagining they’ve found shelter from the storm. I never know whether to pity them or despise them. But you are not just changing all the time, you are change and you remind them of it by your very existence.”

“Then let us both be monsters, then,” Sabrina said.