You could tell they were together, although she always walked away when they neared him in the corridors of the airport. That was the fifth group of fans he faced on the day, and even if he later grumbled about his lack of privacy while on holiday, he was secretly ravished by their subservience. They did nothing more than their obligation; people like him deserved a special treatment after all. He spent the whole morning looking back at his own face while signing the covers of countless magazines, whose texts announced his success in the last soap opera, dubbing him the sexiest man alive last year, the highest-paid actor in 2018, the nicest celebrity today. And this is how the public should see him: smiling, level-headed and pleasant. His personal life was nobody’s business. After years of unsuccessful relationships, he had finally found the woman of his dreams, the one who understood what privacy truly meant. The woman beside him wasn’t fond of attention, disappearing into the crowd with her head down and those huge sunglasses he had bought her in the previous months.


    After the unofficial meet-and-greet, he turned to her, both sitting on the terminal benches, as she typed on her new cell phone with that pale little hand, round nails painted in a virginal pink, as good girls should do. He stared at her a bit more. His love for her was overwhelming.


    He put his muscular arms around her frail shoulders, pulling her towards him, pressing her against his chest. Her sweet perfume flooded his senses. His little tigress coated in vanilla sugar.


    “I was already missing you...” he said, burying his face in her black hair, inhaling her scent, a tight grip around her.


    She smiled. “The way you treat your fans is so thoughtful, Igor... Maybe this will be the thousandth time I say this, but you deserve everything that’s happening to you, darling, everything that’s happening and what’s to come.”


    “I know I deserve these weeks by your side. It’s finally January, and now you can’t run away from me.”


    “Is that so?” She giggled. “The first thing I’m going to do in Paris is to run away from the hotel and go shopping... I doubt you’ll be able to find me among those giant shopping bags.”


    He kissed her forehead, increasing the pressure of his fingers on her arm.


    “I would find you even in hell.”


    The call to Flight 1457 echoed through the airport. The other passengers started to get in line. He let go of her, standing to pick up their suitcases.


    The woman’s fingers slid down her arm. The skin was bruised.


    —


    Anna caught herself wishing once again that this was a hallucination, but that little town house in Laranjeiras matched the address she had received. The sun was setting behind her, sanguine rays of light warming her skin and washing her face with red tones.


    She took in the white walls, the freshly cut grass, the old window locks and the small carpet. An ordinary little house, she considered. But that snake-shaped brass knocker creeped her out. She swallowed hard and knocked on the door.


    A whole minute passed before it opened with a ghostly silence. Anna squinted, trying to see through the darkness inside the house. As soon as she entered, the door slammed itself shut. Dread slithered down her body, making her shiver. Inside it was ice cold, and the first notes of Danse Macabre, by Camille Saint-Sa?ns, resounded through the room. She walked forward with reluctant steps.


    The walls displayed dry blood stains, and Anna imagined the house owners right there, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing, the cloth getting filthier and filthier, stained with a color that made her nauseous just by the thought of it.


    She looked up. On the ceiling, hanging like party balloons, lay countless bats, with their little black oiled eyes staring at her with a dead gleam.


    In the center of the room, further ahead, she found a table dressed with a velvet cloth. On top of it, beside the silver plates and the cutlery, rested candles, crystal glasses filled with a dark and viscous liquid, garlic strings, long red prayer beads and wooden stakes of various sizes. Anna held one with trembling hands. The surface was polished and varnished. Her index finger skimmed along it, halting at the razor-sharp edge. She pressed it against her finger, feeling the tip of the wood piercing the skin.


    Reality plummeted on her sweaty back. Yeah, that was it. No, she wasn’t able to do it. No way. Anna dropped the stake as if it burned her skin. She looked around nervously. Maybe she still had enough time to quit and sprint towards the —


    The disturbing song gave way to another, full of heavy electronic beats, a female voice singing a lyric sprinkled with profanity and double entendres. Anna’s rib cage rattled in sync. Her teeth closed on the soft inside of her cheek. The tongue welcomed a rush of blood. She just wanted the music to stop. The rhythm was agonizing, forcing her to feel the bones shaking beneath her skin, as if they were about to break at any second.


    Emerging from god-knows-where, two young women popped up wearing long black cloaks embroidered with vivid red initials. The one worn by the short girl had the letter L. The other, which belonged to the woman wearing glasses, bore the letter T. The short girl shouted the lyrics as she bobbed her head, causing the hood to fall backwards, revealing her short tousled hair. T. glanced at Anna and then nudged L.


    “Lygia, that’s enough.”


    Lygia didn’t hear the words. She kept dancing and bouncing around like a hyperactive child. T. pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up close, her eyes becoming large and disproportionate to the rest of her face, as if she were a cartoon character. T. crossed the room and turned off the music.


    “Hey! You spoilsport! Damn it, Theresa, I can’t even have a little fun that you’re already cutting me off, I was just trying to create a certain mood...”


    Anna’s eyes darted around the room. What kind of mood? A gruesome, R-rated one?


    Theresa nodded in her direction. Lygia came to a halt.


    “Whoa, look who’s here...” She approached Anna and gave her a pat on the back. “So, rookie, did you enjoy our thematic reception? If it were up to me, we would’ve bought some fake fangs, ordered more bat replicas for the ceiling, maybe a little more fake blood on the walls there, and I’d get us some random hot dudes dressed up as Lestat and Louis, but you know how it works, mommy’s allowance isn’t that great...” She pointed at Theresa.


    Anna blinked, static. Lygia’s small, warm hands held her face, and her childlike eyes regarded her for a few seconds.


    “Do you want a little beetroot tomato juice to calm down?” The concern in Lygia’s eyes seemed to grow when Anna didn’t answer. “Yeah, I think I’d better go get it for you,” she muttered as she walked away.


    “Lygia sometimes gets too excited and ends up overdoing it, but you’ll get used to it. I hope the decor didn’t scare you.” She extended her hand. “I’m Theresa. What’s your name again? It was in the paper, but I think Lygia ended up burning it by mistake.”


    Jesus, what kind of person sets something on fire by mistake?


    “A-Anna.” Her lips were trembling. She pressed them tight and tried to pull herself together. “Nice to meet you.”


    “You must be full of questions, so we’d better sit down and talk a bit, okay?”


    Anna nodded, letting Theresa guide her to the couch. Lygia returned from the kitchen with a glass almost overflowing with red juice, and promptly shoved it into Anna’s faltering hand, insisting that she take a sip. Hesitating for a moment, she drank a little, and then, surprised by the pleasant taste, she turned the glass over, the liquid sliding down her throat at once.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She banged the empty glass on the table. “I can’t do that.”


    “Do what?”


    “This” — Anna gestured to the objects on the dinner table — “all of this. I don’t know how to use a s-stake and... d-drive it through...” The words tangled in her mouth like the threads of a cobweb. “Oh, God.”


    Anna’s anguished voice clashed with Lygia’s high-pitched laughter.


    “Is that what you’re worried about? Relax, woman... Here’s what you’ll do, get rid of all those blockbusters books and movies, because here in real life none of that applies, okay?” She paused for a moment, contemplating. “I mean, nearly, right Theresa? You can’t deny that those bastards are really good-looking, one time I even — “


    “What she’s trying to say, Anna, is that we don’t use garlic or prayer beads, let alone stakes to kill. So don’t worry, there’s no need to — “


    “Well, Theresa, if I were in her shoes, I’d want to learn how to use a stake. Okay, it may not be lethal, but at least it can hurt them, right?” She turned to Anna. “Now, as for the garlics and the prayer beads... Trust me, don’t even bother. At the very least, they’ll laugh in your face. Or want to kill you.” Lygia shrugged. “Speaking from experience.”


    “W-what about the sun?”


    “They love a good old tan.”


    “Bats?”


    “Great pets.”


    “C-coffins?”


    “Didn’t you know king-size beds are in vogue?”


    Anna broke off. She gawked at them with wide eyes. “Damn. So how do you destroy one?”


    Theresa and Lygia pulled her off the couch and took Anna to the back of the house.


    Upon arriving, Anna came across a small garden. The grass was green, freshly cut, and there was a collection of white vases with dozens of plants, the pleasant smell entering her nostrils. Everything was so beautiful and well-kept that a childish urge to touch what was within reach took over her body before she realized what she was doing.


    “Hands off!”


    She withdrew her hand with Lygia’s warning. Anna had never seen such beautiful flowers in her life — the purplish petals displayed fine lines that resembled blue capillaries. They enclosed themselves as if they wanted to protect their center; hanged in the air as if they were asleep.


    “Wolfsbane. Have you ever heard of it?” Theresa asked.


    “Should I?”


    Theresa walked towards her and the flowers. “We can only touch it while wearing gloves. And after we make sure to wash our hands thoroughly. Look over here. All of its parts are toxic,” she said, pointing at the stem, the leaves and the petals, “but our main interest lies on the root. It’s where you find the highest concentration of — “


    “Aconite,” Lygia said, bored. “That’s enough technical stuff for today, right, Theresa? What you really need to know about this little beauty, rookie, is that it’s dangerous for us — “


    “Death can occur in less than an hour, depending on the ingested amount,” Theresa added.


    “— and pure poison for them. A good glass of blood with this shit and boom!” — Lygia lifted her hands in the air — “Dead as a doornail.”


    “How exactly do you —“


    “Anna, don’t fret about any of this for now, okay? It’s been a while since we used the poison... This may surprise you, but we have a peaceful coexistence with them. Usually we don’t have to intervene in almost anything. And since we have no task in view...” Theresa and Lygia looked at each other before Theresa went on:


    “We are thinking of going to Chapada dos Veadeiros the day after tomorrow.”


    “Nature trails and waterfalls all day long! It’s going to be the shit!”


    Better than hunting vampires, Anna thought, already picturing the inevitable cramps, sweat and burns on her body.


    —


    Igor caught her peeking at that old, rusty watch — it’s vintage, darling, vintage — for the third time that night. He lifted her chin to survey her, rough fingers squeezing soft cheeks.


    “You barely touched your food.”


    “I think I’m still digesting lunch.”


    He laughed, but it was nothing more than a flexion of facial muscles.


    “You should’ve told me that before I ordered the tasting menu from one of the most expensive restaurants in this damn city...”


    She glanced at the windows. Outside, on the sidewalks of Saint-Honoré, there was a small line of Parisians and moneyed tourists, gloves typing impatiently on cell phones and mouths opening in lazy conversations, their breaths releasing white smokes, momentary fogs forming and dissipating in the air. Giulia’s gray eyes crawled up to him.


    “Sorry.” Thin little hands fetched his by the edge of the table, stroking the bulging veins on the back of his hand.


    “Eat at least a little.”


    “Igor, really, I don’t think — “


    “Come on.” He took the fork and pierced the soft, rare meat, diluted blood spreading on the plate. “Open your mouth.”


    “Igor...”


    “Quit the stubbornness and open your mouth, Giulia.”


    Her plump lips parted two centimeters, mouth shaped like a heart. He followed her every move, her tongue welcoming the slice of meat, her mouth closing in a pout around the fork, sucking the metal for a moment before releasing it, letting the tines rub the lower lip. She chewed slowly before swallowing, hypnotic feline eyes fixed on his. Tigress.


    Igor swallowed the desire that surged up his throat.


    “Good girl...”


    He put the fork back on the table. Giulia smiled. “What are the final plans for our travel, darling?”


    “Our last days will be busy. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I’ve already scheduled visits to the Sacré-Coeur, Rodin, Orangerie and the Louvre, of course. I have a meeting with my agent on Friday, but it shouldn’t take long.” Igor took a sip of the red wine. “Two or three hours at most.”


    “Hmm... On Friday I can go shopping or maybe get my nails done, get a new haircut... Look good for you...”


    Igor grinned. The waiter took the plates away.


    “It’s a great idea, babe, as long as you don’t change your hair.” He gazed at her long black and silky locks. “I prefer it like this. That way I can recognize you from miles away.”


    “I’m always in your sight, aren’t I?”


    “I love you, Giulia.”


    “Ditto, silly.”


    “Do you know how long we’ve been together? I know. In two months it’ll be a year.”


    “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you longer than that. The hours at your side seem eternal.”


    He frowned, the words echoing in his mind. The hours at his side seemed eternal. What she meant by — He searched Giulia’s eyes for something that he himself did not know what it was, but which he couldn’t find anyway.


    The waiter returned with the dessert, putting the plates in front of them. He served more wine before muttering a discreet “bon appétit” and leaving them alone. In the center of the immaculate plate there was a dainty pavlova with layers of fouettée cream and raspberry topping, the syrup making a red pool on top.


    Igor watched Giulia hesitate before the first bite. She jerked up her head and caught him staring at her. She took the spoon into her mouth.


    “Wow, this is great!” Giulia said between bites, her voice tinged with a childish excitement. “I’ve never tasted anything like it, can you imagine? It’s a mixture of...”


    In those fleeting moments, Igor perceived her as a na?ve little girl, sweet and oblivious of the effect she had on members of the opposite sex. She might not notice it, but he did. The surrounding men now seemed attentive to what was going on at his table. A disgusting old man had his wrinkled eyes on Giulia. Yes, Igor did notice. And he didn’t like it one bit.


    “Lower your voice, you’re drawing unnecessary attention...”


    “But no one’s looking at us, why don’t you — “


    He banged his fist on the table and the spoon she was holding near her mouth dropped from her hand. The cream stained her expensive clothes, and the syrup looked like a drop of blood, red liquid trailing her lips, chin and collarbone, disappearing into the neckline of her blouse. “Oh, shoot,” Giulia muttered, picking up her napkin and dabbing it right in the middle of her breasts. Igor glanced around. He could almost hear what those motherfuckers were thinking.


    “Giulia.”


    She was still trying to clean herself.


    “Stop it.”


    “Do you think it will get blemished? God, these things always happen when I’m wearing white, it’s really unbelie —"


    “I said stop it.”


    “I’m almost done, give me one sec...”


    Igor contemplated snatching the napkin out of her hand and shaking her shoulders, obey me fucking obey me I told you to stop and you keep rubbing the napkin on your breasts like a whore, but he remembered where he was and had to swallow the surge of fury like a bitter pill. His knuckles became white.


    But everything was fine; everything was under control. He knew how to be patient.


    He would tame his disobedient little tigress when they came back to the hotel room.