My Vampire's Points System novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Morvath File
Molly gets the file nobody wants, meets Cyrus Morvath on her first visit, and his violation report arrives before she is out of his street.
Brenda Kessinger set the Morvath file on my desk with both hands.
"Molly Novak," she said. "Sit down."
I was already sitting.
"Then stay there."
It was eleven binders in a milk crate.
"Everyone else said no," she said, and tapped the crate. "You're the only one who hasn't said it yet."
I had been a caseworker for the Cuyahoga County Night Compliance Office for exactly seven weeks.
Before that I was the woman at the front counter who stamped vampire registration cards.
"Cyrus Morvath," I said. "The Biter of Lakewood?"
"The newspapers named him that. The file says assault, twice."
"Twice is a lot."
"Read the whole thing before you decide what it means."
Brenda pushed her reading glasses up into her grey hair.
"He's at thirty-eight points. Seventy is revocation."
Revocation meant Containment, a locked dormitory in Lorain with no windows and no way out.
Nobody I had ever stamped a card for wanted to see that building.
"First visit tonight," Brenda said. "Dusk is at six-forty. Bring the clipboard, not the stake."
"We don't carry stakes."
"I know. I wanted to see your face."
Kyle Overfield leaned over his cubicle wall with a donut in his teeth.
"Good luck," he said around it. "He bit a man's ear off."
"Did not," Brenda said. "He bit a man's wrist, and the man was holding a woman by her hair."
Kyle swallowed. "Right. That's the one."
I carried the crate to my car and drove west on Detroit Avenue with the binders sliding in my back seat.
His address was an old brick bank on a corner, with columns out front and a steel door.
Every window was covered in dark film.
I sat in my car with the engine off and opened the top binder to page one.
I read until page forty, where a photograph showed a man in a charcoal coat looking straight at the camera.
He had a long face and grey eyes and he did not look like a man who bit anyone.
I closed the binder.
I did not want to know yet.
At six-forty-two the sky over the lake went the color of a bruise, and the steel door opened before I knocked.
"Ms. Novak," he said. "I've been told to expect you."
His voice was low and slightly formal.
He was taller than the photograph, six-two at least, with dark wavy hair that touched his collar.
He wore a dark sweater and no shoes.
"Mr. Morvath. I'm your new caseworker."
"So I heard. The last one retired on a Tuesday and sent me a card."
"That's nice of her."
"It said, 'Good luck.'" One corner of his mouth lifted. "Everyone says it."
I followed him inside.
The bank lobby was huge and nearly empty, with a marble floor, a long counter, and one lamp.
There was one armchair.
There was a chessboard on a small table, mid-game.
"I'll need to see the kitchen, the sleeping area, and the refrigerator," I said. "Then we go through the intake form."
"Of course."
He did not argue about any of it, and he did not stand in my way.
The kitchen was enormous and spotless, with a stove that looked like nobody had ever turned it on.
The refrigerator held forty blood bags from a licensed supplier, each one stamped and dated.
The vault in the back, where he slept, had a bed, a lamp, and no windows.
I checked the window film on every pane and photographed every corner.
All of it was perfect.
I came back to the lobby with my clipboard, and he was standing by the lamp.
"You're thorough," he said.
"It's the job."
"Most of them don't come past the lobby."
"Most of them are scared of you."
He tilted his head, and the lamp caught his eyes.
"And you aren't?"
"I read to page forty," I said. "I'll tell you after the rest."
He laughed once, a short surprised sound.
I sat in the armchair for the intake and he stood, because he said sitting made people nervous.
Question one was name, question two was address.
Question nine was whether he fed from anyone outside the licensed supply.
"No," he said.
Question fourteen asked whether he had visitors, family, or anyone who would be told if he was taken in.
He looked at the floor for a moment.
"Put none," he said. "Please."
I wrote it down and my pen slipped.
He reached over and steadied the clipboard against my knee, and his hand closed over mine.
His fingers were cold, but not unpleasant, like a glass of water on a hot day.
I felt my pulse in my wrist, right under his thumb.
He felt it too, I knew he did, because his eyes went to my wrist and then very carefully away.
"Sorry," he said, and let go.
"It's fine."
It was not fine, because my hand stayed warm and bright for a full minute after.
I finished the form with a steady voice.
At the door he said, "Thank you for coming past the lobby, Ms. Novak."
"See you at the next check-in, Mr. Morvath."
"Cyrus," he said. "If you like."
"I don't think I'm allowed."
"No," he agreed. "Probably not."
I got into my car and started the engine.
My phone buzzed on the dashboard before I reached the end of his block.
It was the compliance portal.
NEW SELF-REPORT: MORVATH, CYRUS. Window film breach, front east pane. 5 points. Visit required within 24 hours.
I stared at it.
I had photographed that pane myself twenty minutes ago, and the film had been perfect.
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