"So what's it like?"

"What is what like?"

I raised my eyebrows at the man across from me. He was young, around my age I think, 20-something, with dark circles under his eyes and messy black hair. Handsome, strong jaw and all that. Though, there was something corpse-like to the cast of his face that gave me pause. We were sitting in a dark corner of a dark bar. I didn't remember the name; it didn't register high on my list of priorities.

"Being one."

He smirked a little and leaned in, the smell of musk and cologne drifting across the little sticky round table at me. He wanted me to say it, I think.

"Being one what?"

I rolled my eyes.

"A vampire." I said obligingly, before I took out my tape recorder and set it on the table between us. He ran his finger around the rim of his untouched wine glass and looked at it with swoon-worthy dark eyes.

"You don't believe me."

"Of course I don't." He looked up at me and blinked hard.

"And yet you're here."

"I'm curious. I'm a journalist. This is what I do," I replied, sipping my beer.

"If you're full of shit, I'll leave. But I don't discount anyone until it's proven they're nuts."

"A very open mindset, Miss Lowell." I shrugged, feeling slightly odd about a man my (admittedly apparent) age calling me 'miss'. This guy was certainly playing up the vibe.

"So, what's it like? Wanna fill me in?"

He nodded slow and gave me a long look.

"Wonderful."

I raised my eyebrow again.

"Wonderful? I thought vampires were supposed to be all tortured and tragic." He rolled his eyes now, echoing me.

"Only if you fight it. We're ancient, powerful. Apex predators. Keepers of knowledge."

"The stalkers in the dark."

"Exactly."

I sipped my beer again and pondered.

"So how old are you?" He appeared to think for a minute, eyes passing over the bar patrons.

"I was made in 1877." I whistled obligingly.

"So, old."

"Not as old as some."

I checked my tape recorder, hoping The Smashing Pumpkins wasn't interfering with what he was saying. I wanted every last word.

"So no regrets?" He shrugged those broad, manly shoulders. I wondered if vampires became beautiful after they were made, or if he was like this before. Maybe they only picked from the best stock.

"Some, perhaps. As you get older, you begin to forget things. Nights blend together." I sensed a hint of pain at the corner of his mouth and went for it.

"Anything else?"

He gave me a long piercing look. I didn't flinch.

"I was under the impression that our meeting was about what it was like to be a vampire, not my personal experiences therein." I nodded, relenting. He wasn't about to spill anything yet.

"Alright then. What can you do?"

"Most anything you can think of in classic myth.""Yes but what can YOU do?"

"Ah. Well. I have a particular talents with telepathy, an affinity with darkness.""And what about other vampires?""Kindred," he replied.

I furrowed my brow.

"Kindred. That is what we call ourselves."

"Oh. What about other Kindred?" He still hadn't touched the wine.

"Anything you could think of. We're split into clans, with each clan holding a particular talents with classic vampire powers. I am of clan Mekhet, the clan with the affinity for darkness and the mind, seekers of ancient secrets and such."

"There's others, I'm assuming."

"Yes."

I bit my lip, thinking.

"So, seekers of secrets. Know anything about those recent kidnappings? No one seems to know anything." His eyes returned to my face, searching and piercing. I kept my cool.

"Why do you ask?" He looked away and around the bar. Was that worry I saw in the dark depths of his eyes."Well like I said, no one seems to know anything. Except, there's some eyewitness reports about a man how looks a lot like you at every scene." I shrugged my little shoulders.

"Maybe they're lying. Maybe they're not. Regardless, I want to know.""Why?" He asked, peering at me. I shifted in my seat.

"Personal interest."

"Ah. That's correct. The last one was your roommate, wasn't she?" I frowned.

"So you DO know something."

"A little. But it's too dangerous for you, Miss Lowell." He started to get up, like he was dismissing me. I reached out and grabbed his arm.

"I think that's my choice, buddy. Besides, I'm more than I look like."

He turned back to me and gave me another one of those long, piercing looks I didn't like. He nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But I'll warn you, Miss Lowell, it's a dark world you're stepping into." I scoffed, thinking of the thing behind my eyes.

"I know."

He gave me a searching look, eyes lingering on the top of the scar peeking out of the collar of my shirt.

"Then come with me." He gathered his coat and stepped away.

'This is a bad idea, baby.'

I winced at the gun-shot voice of my Geist.

'I know.'

I followed the dead man into the night.