Efficiency

Efficiency
by Lawrence Watt-Evans

She peered around the heavy hospital door. "Jenny?" she called quietly.

The woman in the bed looked up and smiled, a bit weakly. "Abby? Come on in!"

Abby slipped in, and looked around nervously. "You're sure it's all right?"

"Of course it's all right! Come on in, please--I don't have the strength to shout." She beckoned.

Abby crossed to the bedside, glanced over at the semi-private room's other bed, which was vacant at the moment. "I don't want to tire you out," she said.

"Oh, don't worry so! I expect to get thoroughly tired out later, when Fabio gets here, but a few minutes' chat with you isn't going to kill me."

"Fabio's coming?" Abby asked, startled.

"He will be," Jenny said, smirking.

Abby looked at Jenny's face, which was horribly pale and thin. "You sure you're up to a visit from Fabio?" she said, attempting a feeble joke.

Jenny's smile faded. "I hope I am," she said.

"Oh, of course you are!" Abby said, suddenly annoyed at both herself, for making stupid jokes, and at Jenny, for coming down with acute anemia. "I mean, it's not like he was going to do anything but talk!"

"Yes, it is," Jenny said, suddenly serious. "I figure it's the only way."

Abby blinked in sudden confusion. "Jenny," she asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about what Fabio and I are planning to do, about twenty minutes from now," she said. "I had to bribe the hospital to make sure that other bed would be empty, and that they'd keep visitors out, and I had to do a lot of talking to convince Fabio I was serious and that he should do it."

"You mean the two of you--I mean..."

Jenny sighed feebly. "Abby," she said, "You're a virgin, right?"

"I don't see that it's any of your..." Abby began.

"I don't have the strength to argue. You are, right?"

"Well..." Abby blushed slightly. "Yeah."

"That's why I asked you here," Jenny said. "So am I, so far."

"Jenny," Abby said worriedly, "You aren't making sense."

"Yes, I am." She shifted on the bed. "Can you keep a secret?"

Abby frowned. "Of course I can," she said.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"All right, then close the door and come sit here." She patted the bed.

Abby, mystified, obeyed. Jenny leaned over toward her and whispered, "I'm an agent of the SPCM."

"The SPCA has agents?" Abby asked, baffled.

"No, no," Jenny corrected her, "The SPCM. Society for the Preservation of Creatures of Myth." She stared expectantly up at Abby.

Abby stared blankly back. "But how can you preserve things that don't exist?" she asked at last.

"They do exist, though," Jenny told her. "Some of them. Oh, they're rare, very rare, but there are a few left. We lost the last hippogriff in '89, and I don't even remember the succaraths, but we've saved a few. And the Society takes care of them."

"They do?"

"We do."

Abby considered this, and decided to humor Jenny, play along a little. "So you were an agent for these guys? You went out hunting mythological beasts?"

"No, I wasn't a hunter," Jenny said, "I was a keeper. That's how I wound up here."

"You lost me again," Abby admitted.

"Okay, look, you know about unicorns, right?"

"Of course! When I was a kid I loved unicorn stories!"

"Me, too--and I still do. I think maybe I stayed a virgin just so I could see one someday--and Abby, it worked. They appointed me official unicorn-keeper."

"But unicorns aren't real!"

"Oh, yes, they are--or at least, one is; we think it's the last one. And it was my job," she said, swelling with pride, "To take care of it, and feed it."

Abby stared at Jenny, unsure what to say. Was this a hoax? Did Jenny believe it, or was she teasing?

Or might it even be true?

"There was one little problem," Jenny said, slumping back against the pillows.

"What's that?"

"Well," Jenny explained, "The Society is very small, with a very limited budget. We have to cut a lot of corners for the sake of efficiency."

"So?"

"So we can't always afford to keep every creature individually. We realized that when we lost the hippogriff, I guess. So our mermaid and our siren are the same creature--a half-breed. Our naiad's also a dryad--her tree's a mangrove in a swamp in Florida." She shrugged. "It saves us a lot of trouble."

Abby frowned. "So?" she said again.

"So we cut corners with the unicorn, too."

"How?"

Jenny was clearly reluctant to speak, but finally she admitted, "He's a vampire."

Abby just stared.

"And feeding him was my job," Jenny explained, "And that's why I'm here, with acute anemia. And I can't do it any more, or it'll kill me..." Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. "I thought I'd be able to resist, but God, Abby, he's so beautiful, and it feels so wonderful, even when it hurts, and I just couldn't stop, and finally the rest of the Society made me stop, they sent me here and called Fabio..."

"There, there," Abby said, feeling stupid and helpless as the tears spilled over.

After a moment, Jenny recollected herself. She took a deep, sobbing breath, and said, "Abby, you've got to take over. He won't go near anyone but virgins, and someone's got to feed him. I called him Caliban--he's white, with a golden horn, and he's so beautiful, and after Fabio I'll never be able to see him again, but if I do see him I'll die..." She paused, and then asked, "Will you do it?"

"This is crazy," Abby said.

"Will you do it?" Jenny insisted.

She hesitated, hesitated, until... "All right, I'll do it!" she shouted.

*      *      *

The forest was dim and colorless, silver and black in the light of a three-quarter moon, as Abby followed Jenny's directions. She shivered with cold and fear and anticipation.

Then she found the glade, and seated herself beneath the tree, just as Jenny had told her.

At first nothing happened, and she began to think the whole thing was a hoax after all, that at any minute Jenny and Fabio and a bunch of other people were going to jump out and laugh at her for sitting here in the woods waiting for a vampire unicorn, of all things...

But then she remembered how serious Jenny had been, how she had wept, and the screams and moans that she had heard through the door after Fabio had arrived.

And something moved in the moonlight.

She held her breath, held perfectly still.

It was watching her--he was watching her. She could see him now, half-hidden in the trees. "Caliban?" she called.

The apparition made a quiet, breathy sound.

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Enter freely and of your own will," she said.

She had been joking, but the beast stepped forward into the clearing, and she gasped.

He was magnificent, even in the dimness--his movement like silk in the moonlight, like smooth-flowing water. His horn glittered pale gold as he approached.

She sat, frozen, as he came slowly closer, until he stood over her.

Then he lowered his head and his horn touched her cheek, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth, of health. She knew her cheek was flushed where he had touched her.

The horn slid slowly back and down, pushing her long hair aside, until the point was against her neck.

She could see the wordless question in his eyes, and she leaned back, baring her throat to the beast. A surging heat filled her, but she remembered the warnings Jenny had given her, and she said, "Not too much. Please. Be gentle."

The beast whinnied, and she closed her eyes.

His breath was cold, but she didn't flinch. She felt the soft touch of his lips as he nuzzled her hair--and then the sharp sting as his fangs struck home. The scent of dry leaves and horseflesh mingled with the hot reek of her own blood, and as ecstasy overcame her, like the heroine of some dreadful Victorian romance, she swooned.

*      *      *

She played the scene over and over in her mind that week, remembering its every detail. She shuddered at the whole idea, but at the same time she was relentlessly drawn to it.

She had to see him again. She had to feel that soft nuzzling, that silky hide--and that intense piercing bite.

But Jenny had warned her--

"Not too often. Be very careful about that. Once every two weeks, tops, and not during a full moon."

Abby didn't see what the moon had to do with anything; would Caliban drink too deeply at the full moon, perhaps? Were they more likely to be discovered?

Or did Jenny want the full moons for herself?

Abby knew this last idea was ridiculous; Jenny was out of the hospital, but still weak, still pale. She laughed and hung around with the guys in a way she never had before, but there was an undefinable sadness in her, as well.

And she wasn't a virgin any more; Caliban wouldn't go near her. Abby knew that--but still, she felt an irrational, all-consuming envy.

And on Saturday, when she looked out her window and saw the first thin sliver of the full moon peeping over the black horizon, it was more than she could stand. Barely taking time to throw on her robe, and entirely abandoning any notion of taking the time to dress, she ran out of her apartment and down the stairs and down the street, toward the forest.

It was dark, with the moon still so low in the east, very dark indeed, and she stumbled more than once as she sought the glade, but at last she found it, saw the clearing before her, and she tumbled down against the tree roots as she took her place. Panting, with anticipation as much as exertion, she tugged her robe's collar down, away from the half-healed wounds on her throat.

"Caliban!" she called.

And there he was, standing among the trees, staring at her with eyes that seemed red and glowing.

She didn't remember them being so fierce, so red.

He stepped forward into the clearing, but his stride was unsteady, not the smooth, rippling grace he had shown before, but almost a drunken stagger. His gleaming white hide seemed less bright than before.

The full moon's light spilled over the treetops onto the unicorn, and Abby stared in uncomprehending horror as he shrank, turning dark, the horn contracting to a mere stub.

What was happening? she asked herself, What was wrong?

The creature in the clearing stared at her, and bared gleaming white fangs--and as it growled and leapt, Abby recognized it for what it was.

A wolf.

And she remembered Jenny's warnings, remembered what Jenny had said about cutting corners.

It was all just a matter of efficiency, she realized, and the last sound to escape her before the were-beast tore her throat out was hysterical laughter.