She was around two years old, that age where children thought, if they covered their eyes and couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see them. It was a strange age for a vampire.
Her minder, a tall, slender woman—her mother before, perhaps—seemed barely able to rein in the tike, who tried to bite anyone who passed: a dog, the man holding the leash, women in skirts, their exposed ankles enticing. She caught me watching her and gave me a faint smile, a bit of fang showing.
Kids these days, she seemed to say. What can you do?