My husband is sitting at the kitchen table reading the questions on his Red Hand Files. I’m almost out the door, heading to the brand new Vampire’s Wife offices in magical, mystical Lewes. He says—
“Hey, there is a girl called Francesca from Vienna who wants to know if I believe in Vampires.”
“She might be a Vampire herself. You better watch out.”
“Do you believe in Vampires?”
“Well, of course, you’re a Vampire. No doubt about that. You feed off everything. All the time! You feed off me.”
”Is that okay? Do you mind?” he says.
“No. I don’t mind at all.”
I look at him sitting there, in his black suit, surrounded by darkness, but full of light—my husband.
And I’m out the door.