A COLD DRAFT
copyright 1996 by Anne Fraser
_________

She woke up with a pain in her neck and a ferocious, urgent need.  The 
pain went away.  The need did not.   One could almost call it a hunger.

She got up <what had she been doing on the floor, anyway?> and looked 
out the nearest window.  Night met her gaze unflinchingly. <Falling 
asleep on the floor?>  The _need_ wouldn't let her think of anything 
else.

Her eyes fell on her "studio", a corner of this basement apartment <yes, 
that was what was needed.  The very thing.>.  She moved suddenly, not 
fully understanding why, and threw a year's accumulation of books, 
papers and crap off of her drafting table.  Paper, mechanical pencils, 
her t-square, her slide rule... all the tools were there, slightly stiff 
and rusty with disuse. 

<Time to use them again.  The _need_ told her that.>

She began to draw furiously.  Just a small sketch at first.  Thumbnail.  
Her fingers and pencil flew across blue paper as she expanded on her 
idea, examining it from all possible angles and viewpoints.

<Yes, workable. But _why_?>

At last, fingers trembling, she set down her tools and went out into the 
night's embrace.

<What had happened to her?  She had never been a night person.>

She grabbed a bite to eat and headed home again, wiping her lips 
reflexively.

<She had never eaten like _that_ before.  But it had seemed right.>

Her drawing was sitting on her drafting table and she eyed it 
speculatively.  Yes, it was perfect, although she didn't understand why.

She was tired now and crawled into bed.  When she woke, it was the next 
evening.  Disoriented for a moment, she looked around in some confusion.

<Sleeping during the day?  Was she ill?  No, she felt fine.>

The _need_ gripped her again, wouldn't release her.  Obeying its call, 
she moved again to her drafting table and began to draw.

This repeated itself night after night and she began to grow used to it, 
to cease questioning.

Her old friends came around.  "We never see you anymore.  You never come 
for lunch.  What are you working on?  That's weird, though it's good to 
see you working again.  Come for lunch."

<The thought of lunch made her ill.>

Some new friends gradually replaced the old ones.  They never questioned 
her, but approved of her plans.  They did not tell her she was pale.  So 
were they.  Eventually, one of them explained to her.  <She was a ...?  
Ah.>

She was not surprised.  She had figured it out for herself some time 
ago.  It did not quite explain the fever that had taken her, the _need_ 
to see her idea created, given life and viability.  But that these new 
friends approved and were willing to help meant much.

When it came time that her work on paper was finished, that it needed 
three dimensions, it was to her new friends that she turned.

<At night.  Always at night.>

Yes, they could help her.  Would.  Willingly.  What she had designed was 
something they could use.

<It fills a need.>

They found her the ones who would make it happen.  The materials, the 
location... all were found.  It began to take shape.  First a hole, then 
bricks and mortar...

<They can move quickly when it suits them.>

And, at last, the urge, the _need_ was quiet.  Peaceful.  All was ready.

They stood, in a ragged line of shadow and pale faces, admiring.  It was 
a mid-sized building, with deep underground vaults, cunningly-designed 
false windows, studio space with artificial lighting... for no sunlight 
would ever penetrate this place.  It was day-proofed, the first-ever 
building designed by one of her kind _for_ her kind.

it was why she had been chosen.  They had known she could make it.  
Before she had even known what she was, she had felt the _need_ to do 
this.

<So, there you have it.  The vampire as an architect.>