Nematoda Immortalis
Four two inch fangs splayed themselves out right in front of me. It's funny to think that they once were part of a live leopard. Not now, though, just part of a stuffed one.
“A leopard cannot change its spots. No animal can,” Ruby suddenly muttered, making me a jump a bit. Neither of us had spoken in several minutes.
“And yet man still tries to.” She smirked and puffed on her cigar. The smoke lingered, thick and heavy. It eventually drifted off into the other rooms of the museum; nobody had bothered to call her out on it, we were basically the only ones there.
“I gave up on that a long time ago.”
I remained silent; I wasn't sure what else there was to do. I was never sure what else to do around Ruby, she was just one of those women. The fact that she was a vampire didn't lessen how intimidating she was.
“It's a parasite,” she said. It took me awhile to figure out she was talking about her state of being. One of Ruby's favorite past times was switching conversation topics without warning; her train of thought waited for no man.
“It's called Nematoda immortalis. Latin for Immortal Worm. Ever heard of Turritopsis nutricula?”
“Uh, no.”
“It's a jellyfish that, in situations of peril, can revert back to its larval form. It's basically immortal, as long as nothing tears it apart or eats it. Nematoda immortalis basically does the same thing. Except, unlike Turritopsis nutricula, Nematoda immortalis has a brain, and knows how to use it.”
She took a long drag and looked deep into the stuffed leopard's mouth as she exhaled. The smoke made me want to cough, but I didn't dare.
“I'm getting tired of all this Latin,” she said. “From here on out I'll just call it The Vampire Worm. That's what it's really called anyway.”
I nodded slightly, showing compliance just as a precaution.
“Anyway, as I said, the Vampire Worm is a clever little bastard. Some have called it 'the perfect parasite'. If you've got it, the only way you can kick it is if you get shot or burned, anything unnatural. It has something to do with the way the worm tweaks with your genes. The worm itself is the opposite. The worm can't die by anything external; only dies of age. But, it's got that larval revert thing that the jelly has, so it only truly dies if it slips up and forgets.”
A quick little laugh escaped from her lips.
“And believe me, it never forgets.”
She sauntered across the room with her back to me, her heels clicking against the floor. It sounded almost painful, the footsteps of someone with no mercy.
“And then of course there's the blood. I guess that's sort of the main thing.”
She turned back around to face me, her red scarf billowing slightly. It occurred to me that she looked rather attractive for someone with a life-changing illness. Her face was sharp and angular, which created a nice juxtaposition with her long black hair It was so fluid that, when caught moving, bore a bizarre resemblance to a river.
“Being immortal has it's prices. Namely, nutritional prices. That's why the worm needs blood. Lots of it. Human is kind of preferred. It has all of the necessary nutrients in one place, though you can very easily go with a varied assortment of other animals.”
I coughed into my sleeve. I was getting sort of uncomfortable. She laughed, cold and sharp.
“Don't worry, I prefer animals.”
“Well, that really makes me feel better.”
I smiled. I was getting more comfortable around her; so comfortable in fact that I asked this question:
“So wait, what's the point of keeping you immortal? I mean, why not just spread the eggs and kill you off?”
She took another drag off of the cigar and then slowly blew the smoke out, moving her head to make sure the dark gray rising was evenly dispersed.
“Look at it this way: Imagine you live in a house, a house made of...bread. Now, in this house there's a fridge that magically restocks itself whenever you need it to. However, if you start to eat the bread the house is made of, the fridge stops being magic. The worm is in the same situation, where I'm basically the fridge and my body is the house. If I'm immortal, I'm the best goddamned host possible.”
I nodded.
“And the eggs?” I asked.
“Oh, they pop up every six months or so. They can only grow up in humans, so I'm just careful about what I eat around that time.”
She laughed again. It made me uncomfortable; I'd never known her to laugh unless she was about to pull the proverbial rug from beneath someone's feet.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh nothing. It's just that...instincts are a funny thing, you know?”
“Oh nothing. It's just that...instincts are a funny thing, you know?”
She walked back over to the stuffed leopard, staring intently at its spots.
“They're just very hard to control, especially when you're feeding an immortal two.”
“They're just very hard to control, especially when you're feeding an immortal two.”
I backed away slowly.
“Ha, what do you mean?”
“I mean I'm not going to pretend that my spots aren't cast.”
Four two inch fangs. These ones were live.
