At dinner, several days later, we heard about vampires again. We were on the other side of town, in a brand new Indian restaurant which had been recommended to us. As we were sipping our after-dinner coffee, a man came over to our table.
"Excuse me, Miss Sleet," he said, holding his cap in his hands.
"Yes?" she said.
"I have a problem–"
"If it's medical in nature, please go to the hospital. You can mention my name, if you like, though it will have no effect on the treatment you receive. If your problem is not medical, please come to see me during regular office hours." He moved a fraction of an inch toward the empty third chair. "Someone your size," she said, "Marshall could overpower you without having to stand up, and he could eject you from this place without putting down his cup or spilling his coffee. Is there any reason this couldn't be handled normally?"
"I'd be embarrassed," he said, stepping back. "I think someone who lives in my building is a vampire." She waved a hand, dismissing him, and turned back to the table, tapping the ash from her cigarette.
After he had gone away, I smiled. "Are you even a little bit intrigued?" I asked.
"Not yet," she said. "Maybe soon, but not yet."
"So, we're not going to have a big vampire hunt?"