Blacke Harbor

“Like the Goth movement that was big a few years ago.” A churning began in Erik’s stomach and he looked at the bowl in front of him, certain that its contents had nothing to do with the sudden panic he felt building in his gut.

“Sometimes,” whispered Jurgis, “but some of those eventually move into the next category. These are the ones who get really into it. You know, sleeping in coffins and that kind of thing.”

Catherine tapped her fingernails on the table. “Then you get into the third group. What sets them apart is the blood sharing and the increased sexual aspect.”

“Blood letting and blood drinking can both be fetishes,” Jurgis interrupted.

Erik began to lean forward but then sat back and crossed his legs. “They’re not really vampires, though?”

“No,” said Catherine. “And they certainly don’t murder people. There’ve been a few deaths over the years but all the blood ritual deaths I’ve ever read about were accidents. People who practice the taking and giving of blood always do it with other consenting adults.”

Erik forced himself to take a spoonful of the creamy soup and swallow it. The motion helped ease his stomach but it did little to squash the fear that pushed against his heart. “But aren’t there people who really believe they’re vampires and werewolves and stuff?” he asked.