From his tone, I wasn’t getting anything else out of him. Fine. If he wanted to play it that way, fine. I’d just try later.
“How did you become a vampire?” I asked next, surprising even myself with the question.
A brow arched.
“Want an interview with the vampire, luv? It didn’t turn out too well for the reporter in the movie.”
As I murmured, “I never saw it. My mother thought it was too violent,” the humor of it made me laugh. Bones grinned as well, and cast a meaningful look toward the car.
“I can see that. Good thing you didn’t watch it, then. Heaven knows what might have happened.”
Laughter fading, it occurred to me that I really did want to know, so I looked at him pointedly until he let out an acquiescing noise.
“All right, I’ll tell you, but then you’ll have to answer one of my questions. Got an hour to burn anyhow.”
“Is this quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter?” I scoffed. “Fine, but I hardly see the point. You already know everything about me.”
A look of pure heat was shot my way and his voice lowered to a whisper. “Not everything.”
Whoa. Back came that awkwardness in a flash. Clearing my suddenly dry throat, I fidgeted until I was scrunched up even smaller.
“When did it happen? When you were changed?” Please just talk. Please stop looking at me that way.
“Let’s see, it was 1790 and I was in Australia. I did this bloke a favor and he thought he was returning it by making me a vampire.”
“What?” I was shocked. “You’re Australian? I thought you were English!”
He smiled, but with little amusement.
“I’m a bit of both, as it were. I was born in England. It’s where I spent my youth, but it was in Australia that I was changed. That makes me part of it as well.”
Now I was fascinated, my earlier consternation forgotten. “You have to go into more detail than that.”
He settled back against the side of the trailer, legs casually splayed in front of him. “I was twenty-four. It happened just a month after my birthday.”
“My God, we’re almost the same age!” As soon they were out, I realized the absurdity of the words.
He snorted. “Sure. Give or take two hundred and seventeen years.”
“Er, you know what I mean. You look older than twenty-four.”
“Thanks ever so.” He laughed at my obvious chagrin, but put me out of my misery. “Times were different. People aged far more rapidly. You bloody folks don’t know how good you have it.”
“Tell me more.” He hesitated, and I blurted out, “Please.”
Bones leaned forward, all serious now. “It’s not pretty, Kitten. Not romantic like the movies or books. You remember you told me you slugged those lads when you were young because they called your mum a whore? Well, my mum was a whore. Her name was Penelope and she was fifteen when she had me. It was fortunate that she and the madam of the place were friendly, or I never would have been allowed to live there. Only girl-children were kept at the whorehouse, for obvious reasons. When I was little, I didn’t know there was anything unusual with where I lived. All the women doted on me, and I would do house chores and such until I got older. The madam, her name was Lucille, later inquired as to whether or not I wanted to follow in the family business. Several of the male customers who were so inclined had taken notice of me, for I was a pretty lad. But by the time Madam approached me with the offer, I knew enough to know I wouldn’t want to perform such activities. Begging was a common occupation in London then. Thieving was as well, so to earn my keep, I began to steal. Then when I was seventeen, my mum died of syphilis. She was thirty-three.”
My face paled considerably listening to him speak, but I wanted to hear the rest. “Go on.”
“Lucille informed me two weeks afterwards that I had to go. Wasn’t bringing in enough quid to justify the space. It wasn’t that she was cruel, she was simply being practical. Another girl could take my room and bring in three times the money. Again she offered me a choice—leave and face the streets, or stay and service the customers. Yet she added a kindness. There were a few highborn women she was acquainted with that she’d described me to, and they were interested. I could choose to sell myself to women rather than men. And so that is what I did.
“The girls at the house trained me first, of course, and it turned out I had a knack for the work. Lucille kept me in high demand and soon I had quite a few regulars among the blue bloods. One of them ended up saving my life.
“I was still picking pockets, you see. One unlucky day, I pulled the purse off a toff right in front of a bobby. Next thing I knew, I was in chains and up before one of the meanest hanging judges in London. One of my clients heard of my predicament and took pity on me. She persuaded the judge through carnal means that sending me to the new penal colonies would be just the thing. Three weeks later they shipped me and sixty-two other unlucky buggers to South Wales.”