When I was eight, I hid in my bedroom closet during a game of hide-and-seek. A fairy light appeared in the darkness. The little blue speck landed on my nose, and when I sneezed, it vanished. I could never get it to come back, no matter how many times I went in there. But things were different after that. The light had given me magic, kind of. I can see auras, dream all night about other worlds, understand what animals want; and if I’m alone, sometimes I can light matches twice.

And that’s not all. Since the fairy light came, I compel people to overshare, even when I’m not interested.

And they love to share, especially about their own paranormal experiences. Everyone has at least one story—a voice in the vents, or lights in the sky, or a dream that came true, or a nightmare that wouldn’t stop until they prayed. Sleep paralysis. Missing time. Tarot cards that told the truth. Aliens outside the window at night. Vampires.

I hear a lot of vampire stories. The strange thing about them: after they are told, the victims forget having shared it. They forget anything happened to them at all. And if I press them on it, they become so angry. It’s scary.

When three of my friends told me a boy at Sanctuary nightclub had bitten their necks and drank until they were pale, I knew I had to do something. Ash even ended up in the hospital. Doctors were running tests, but they weren’t going to find anything a transfusion couldn’t fix. Even the bite was gone with a kiss.

Tuesday night and Sanctuary is nearly dead. Music pounds behind the black windows of the nearly empty club. I lean on the patio’s railing at the top of the steps and sip my virgin sunset. Regulars ask me about Ash. I tell them she’s fine, but they get the hint. I’m in no mood to talk. My anxiety is burning, hands are shaking, and I wish I could have a real drink.

I’m in a slim, low-cut tee to show my neck. My hair and coat cover it a little, but to a vampire, the bare skin is a seductive invitation. I wait for something to happen.

A wave of vertigo washes over me and my head lolls. It’s a feeling I know—the euphoria of a dream. Something that comes from magic rather than medicine. I fight it off like a bout of sleep paralysis, willing my eyes to focus. The feeling passes as quickly as it came on. A man is standing in front of me, surprise written across his face as my gaze knowingly meets his. He’s unbelievably beautiful. Maybe a head taller than me and wearing a nice, fitted t-shirt and dark jeans. His hair is an intentional mess, and he’s thin like a model. Dimpled cheeks and a sharp jaw give him a kind of alien hotness I’d normally brush off as photoshop. Was this him?

“Hi,” I say, and I look away from his eyes before I get lost in them. He’s standing too close but for some reason, I don’t want him to step away. It’s his magic. He’s in my mind, or nearly. I don’t dare shove him all the way out for fear of giving up the game. “What’s up?”

He looks around to see if we are alone. We are.

“I like your shirt,” he says. “You look good. Dance?”

“Yeah,” I say, more sheepishly than I mean. I’m holding his cold hand, and I can’t help wanting him. Poor Ash. She didn’t stand a chance.

I put my phone away and roll the ball of gum around the inside of my mouth like the marble it’s becoming. He’s standing too close, and the alarm bells are ringing. The door to the club opens and one of Ash’s friends sticks his head out. “Hey,” I say, waving, and though he looks right at us, he doesn’t see us at all. Please come outside, I pray, but the door closes. I made a mistake coming here. Magic, again, and now I know it isn’t only the vampire’s victims subject to his power; passersby can’t see him either. I want to run. I’m breathing less than he is.

He sways like a snake to the beat, and I move my hips with him, but he’s done dancing already. He leans as if to kiss my neck, but I can’t let him. Obviously, I can’t. Nose to nose, I dare him to let his lips brush mine. “You’re different,” he says, almost in a growl, and he kisses me. His teeth are so sharp.

I bite into my gum with a hard crunch, exposing the fresh clove of garlic wrapped inside.

He recoils as hot steam billows from his mouth with a startling, animal scream. “What did you do to me?” He hisses the words between retching and clawing at his tongue. “Was that garlic, you disgus—”

There is no question now; he’s the vampire. With the doubt gone, I feel cold inside. He hurt my friends. Tried to hurt me. He’s not even alive.

I draw the athame from my coat pocket and drive the silver blade into his heart. The point skips off his ribs, but I’m committed, and the guard bites into my hand as I ram the blade home. “You’ll pay for this,” he whispers as his body and clothing immolate in white-hot fire. I kick him down the stairs as his body disintegrates.

“How?” I ask. “No one will even remember you were here.”