During one of her many YouTube binges, Phoebe had stumbled across a man claiming to be a vampire. He had all the stereotypes, heavy eyeliner and Gothic clothing and fangs that rested over pouty lips. And although she had watched the video out of boredom, she had known that he was as real as Olivia’s charmed jewelry. Phoebe may not have had magical abilities but she could recognize fakes.

There was no doubting the authenticity of the vampire inspecting her, though.

Phoebe winced at the obvious threat in his words, and she nearly screamed as his tongue darted out and dragged over the glass, leaving behind a glistening trail of saliva. She sensed the eagerness in his actions, heard the way that he drew in breath excitedly. This was a thirsty man who had discovered water in the desert and he could barely disguise his need.

The giant unscrewed the top of the jar and tossed it aside. His long fingers invaded her prison, grasping for her. Phoebe wiggled, trying to avoid his reach, and she gasped as one finger slid through her hair, the flesh shockingly cold. He withdrew his hand when he realized that she wasn’t coming out easily. Undeterred, he tipped the jar toward his open mouth.

She was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Phoebe found herself suddenly wishing for her previous predicament. Being sold to an unscrupulous magic dealer didn’t seem so bad, especially compared to the nightmare at the other end of the jar. The vampire’s mouth awaited her, a dark cavern lined with teeth. She began to slide down, toward the writhing tongue and the black throat, and the glass was too slippery for her to slow her descent.

Her feet hit the bottom row of teeth, momentarily stopping her slide. Wet gusts of air — the giant’s hurricane breaths — blew over her skin as she tried to clamber back up the jar. It was futile; all that it would take was a quick shake of the jar and she would be launched down into his throat. Phoebe had almost prepared herself for a gruesome end when they both heard the footsteps.

A couple was leaving Annwn, whispering and giggling, and the vampire moved the jar from their view. He couldn’t hide the body sprawled out in the alleyway, although it turned out that the man and woman were too absorbed in each other to even notice. Phoebe watched them leave, heads pressed together, and her heart sank in despair. The interruption had only bought her a few more minutes. She didn’t have any weapons or magic, and at her size she couldn’t even fight back.

She was nothing more than a snack, destined to be consumed and then forgotten.

But the vampire just stood there, a dazed expression on his face. It was as if he had been awakened from a long and fitful dream. Gradually his eyes came to rest on Phoebe, smoke-gray eyes with pupils that gleamed like garnets. The eyes were neither alive nor dead, but something in-between, and she couldn’t maintain contact with them.

Luckily, he pulled his gaze away. The confusion on his face vanished, as did the outside world. The giant placed the jar into one of his pockets, cutting off the light and her view of the alleyway. In the darkness, Phoebe shivered and marveled at the fact that she was still alive. For now, at least. She listened as he marched down the sidewalk, boots echoing against the pavement.

Then came the noises of a vehicle door opening and the ignition of an engine. So he wasn’t transforming into a horde of bats and flying off with her or whatever it was that vampires did. In her semi-delirious state, the idea of a monster casually driving a Subaru or Volvo made Phoebe chuckle. Laughing, she slowly collapsed to the jar floor and buried her face into her arms.

***

They drove and drove.

Just as Phoebe was beginning to think that they would drive for eternity, the vehicle stopped and the giant turned off the engine. By his movements, she could tell that he was climbing out and then heading somewhere. The jar and Phoebe lifted and fell with his steps, upsetting her balance and her nerves. She was learning that everything affected small things, including the simple act of walking.

He removed the jar from his pocket when they reached their destination, which happened to be an apartment. Phoebe guessed that it was his apartment, judging from the light-blocking curtains and blinds on the windows. She glanced around, trying to take in her surroundings. The place was sparsely-furnished and there weren’t any photos or paintings; the only decoration were clocks. Other than at a clock store, she had never seen so many. Baroque cuckoo clocks and vintage diner clocks and Art Deco clocks crowded the walls, and there was even a grandfather clock next to the faded sofa.

There were also stacks of books, skyscrapers of them. They were as eclectic as the clocks, ranging from classic literature to modern science fiction. Phoebe only had time to skim a few of the titles before the giant placed the jar on a wooden side table. She cowered as he bent down slightly, his strange eyes scrutinizing her.

“So you’re another one of Emmanuel’s victims, huh?” The giant rumbled at last.

“W-who?” Phoebe stammered. Then she realized that he was referencing the dead Lab Mouse, the man who had shrank her. She finally knew his name, although that knowledge wasn’t exactly useful at this point. “Oh. Him. Yeah.”

“He always was an asshole. I shouldn’t have kept falling for his promises.” The vampire didn’t bother to expand upon that. Instead, he took off his leather jacket and hung it on a nearby hook. With his back still turned, he said, “I’m sorry for earlier. Blood makes me crazy at times. The hunger does as well.”

Phoebe realized that he was apologizing for trying to devour her, which she supposed was a step in the right direction. She didn’t know how to respond. The subsequent silence became awkward, so she forced herself to speak. “I’m Phoebe, by the way.”

He glanced over the impressive slope of his shoulder. “Hiram.”

She remembered that she was nude and crossed one arm over her breasts. The other arm slid down between her thighs, trying to shield herself. But the giant didn’t seem overly interested in her. Now that he wasn’t trying to eat her, she was able to take a good look at him. Hiram didn’t resemble the YouTube imposter or the vampires in movies and television shows. He was dressed in a slate-colored t-shirt and worn jeans, not aristocratic finery, and he would have fit in better at a car mechanic’s shop than a castle. There was a harsh intenseness to him, his face all sharp angles and his dark hair cropped close to his skull, and she could see how tense his lean muscles were. Always ready to run, she guessed, or more likely, to pounce.

“Are you going to let me go?” Her voice was so soft that most people wouldn’t have heard her. But the vampire wasn’t like most people.

“Even if I did let you go, you’d probably be eaten by a cat or something,” Hiram answered, and Phoebe wasn’t nearly brazen enough to remind him that she had nearly faced a similar fate that night.

“Besides,” he continued, “I don’t need you telling anyone that I’m a vampire. I don’t want a stake through the heart while I’m asleep.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” Phoebe pleaded, but already she could tell that she had lost the argument. He lifted his hand in a dismissive wave.

“We’ll talk later. The sun’s almost up,” he told her, and she said nothing more.

***

Hiram’s head was throbbing.

His sole consolation was that the hunger had retreated. It was only temporary, of course; the hunger never completely left. It was always there, feral and insatiable, bubbling up into his thoughts and gnawing at them. He couldn’t ignore it, not for very long, and that was the reason why he had gone to Annwn. Desperation had once more driven him to talk to Emmanuel, who would have gladly turned Hiram into a statue or a lizard if he hadn’t been immune to magic.

“You know, vampire blood is worth quite a lot of money,” Emmanuel had said. “Sell some more of it to me and I promise you a cure this time.”

Hiram loathed this, having to put up with the weaselly man and his weaselly smile. He couldn’t pretend that his soul was clean; the hunger and his rage had forced him to do atrocious things. But Emmanuel had been a sadist, delighting in making people suffer. It had been rumored that he practiced the darkest of magic, finding victims amongst those with some sort of weakness.

Like Hiram.

But that night had been different. As Emmanuel tried to strike another bargain, the hunger had been ravaging Hiram’s mind. It had been days since he had fed, and the need for blood had become intolerable. He found that whenever he was in such a state, his body ceased to be his own. He was reduced to a helpless marionette, his strings pulled and yanked by the hunger.

Most of the time, Hiram despaired as he watched himself sinking his teeth into vulnerable flesh, tearing and ripping with a frenzied violence. But he hadn’t felt any regret when he had fed on Emmanuel. The sorcerer hadn’t even fought him, too stunned to do anything but fall to his knees. And as the life had drained from Emmanuel’s eyes, Hiram had known that another possible cure was gone.

He would keep searching, of course. He had all the time in the world.

The tiny woman turned out to be the source of the headache.

Hiram had been digging through Emmanuel’s bag, hoping that the bastard had something of worth, when he had found the jar. If he had been in a more reasonable state, he would have regarded the shrunken woman with curiosity. Pity, maybe. But bloodlust had been roaring through his veins and saliva had been filling his mouth. Hiram had been a puppet for the thousandth time, unable to withstand the horror controlling his body.

If Fate hadn’t intervened, he would have swallowed the woman without a second thought.

And now Hiram was stuck with her.

The headache was making it difficult to think clearly. He considered the options: release her, although at her size, everything was a life threatening danger. There was also the risk of her spilling his secret to her friends and family. Or he could keep her until he figured out another solution. Hiram decided on the latter option.

He found a cardboard box in the closet and transferred Phoebe into it, careful not to touch her any longer than necessary. The hunger may have been muted but it was still there, tempting him. This was why he avoided people; the warmth of their flesh, the salty richness of their blood, teased him. If Hiram touched her for too long, he would want to taste her. Suck on her soft curves, roll her around in his mouth and savor her like an exquisite bonbon.

Thinking about it made the pain in his skull explode.

To distract himself, Hiram gathered up supplies for the tiny woman. Some tissues, which he supposed she could use for blankets or clothing. A teaspoon of water, which at her size looked like a large beverage tub. He didn’t have any food, since anything but blood made him violently ill, but she didn’t seem to be very hungry. If anything, she was pale, her reddish hair plastered damply to her forehead. When he placed anything in the box, she flinched and scuttled away from his hand.

They were both silent.

The sun was rising, Hiram knew. His limbs became heavy, weakened, and weariness settled over him. The damned headache persisted, but he ignored it. Casting one last glance at the tiny woman in the box, he slunk into his bedroom, already welcoming the oblivion of sleep.