Page 43 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
“I know what you’re thinking about; it’s written all over your face. No. Coffins have never been my style. I try not to lean into the wholetechnically deadthing.”
I lift the lid. Silver spikes poke through the satin lining.
“What in the hell are those there for?”
“Torture. Silver causes significant pain. A setup like this will keep a vampire alive and in agony for as long as the hunter wishes. Definitely not a great choice for a good night's sleep.”
“That seems pretty cruel.”
“Most hunting families started out because they saw their villages and homes destroyed by monsters; I can’t blame them for wanting vengeance." His voice is low and calm considering what he's talking about. "But things got twisted over the years. Modern hunters think they’re doing some sort of holy work.”
I feel gross being here. I wipe my dusty fingers off on my leggings with a grimace.
A hinge creaks, and I’m pushed against another coffin. A puff of cool air passes in front of me.
I brace my hands against the wood, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“Damn,” Dennis grunts, catching the lid of the coffin before it falls on me. He lowers it gently and shakes his hand. “Silver.”
“Are you ok?”
“I’m fine. There’s nothing important here. Let’s go look near the main foyer. Maybe there’s some sort of display case.”
I’m not mad about it. He matches my quick-walk pace, and when we come to the end of the hall we’re greeted by much better lighting.
“We’ll have to be quiet,” he warns, his feet light on the steps. “Faith will be pissed if she catches us down here without her.”
The first floor is decorated with plenty of objects that look like they have some potential. A stake sits on a shelf below a plaque that reads:Millennium vampire.
“What’s that mean?” I ask, lifting the sharp object from its display.
“My best guess is that it was used to kill a vampire that was over a thousand years old. Quite the accomplishment.”
I put it back and step to the bookshelves, scanning the rows for a diary or a collection of letters. The shelves are filled with conflicting texts on scripture and the occult. A few medical journals filled with monstrous anatomy are scattered throughout.
“Nothing here,” I whisper, and Dennis gestures toward a door.
“It’s a cellar,” he mouths softly.
It smells about as musty as I’m expecting as we go down the concrete steps. I pull my hands inside my hoodie sleeves; it feels like a fridge. Dennis gets to the bottom and clicks the light on for me.
It’s surprisingly modern, considering how much the rest of the mansion leans into the old goth aesthetic. White shelves line the wall, and each rack holds several bottles of deep red wine.
“Nice,” I say and pick one up to check the label.Northern France. 2012.“Weird. What bougie brand is this?”
I shake it around and the liquid leaves a slick coating after it slips away from the side of the bottle. It’s not wine.
It’s blood.
I suppress my urge to freak out about it. It’s pretty rude to make a scene about blood in front of a guy who drinks the stuff.
“Hey! There’s enough here for you to have a good time,” I say, holding the bottle up for him.
He looks away, his whole body tense. His hands curl up at his sides.
“That’s not for me,” he says.
“I guess the old-fashioned way is probably more fun,” I joke, trying to break through the icy mood settling over him.
