There are four of them. Ain't speechified much 'bout them in a while, but they still there. Special things... magical things they are. Been livin' here just as long as Tomas... Maybe a little bit longer. Folks say they ran 'round with them Indians before Philadelphia got itself built. Talked to trees. Flew off the top a hills. Swum with beavers. Could a even rode a big deer once or twice. I'm talkin' 'bout them elferinos... elferinas too. They sure are fine little things. And not so little, really, when you think about it.
Yeah, they are vampires, or night-folk, or life-eaters, or whatever else you want to call it. But they different. Magic settle real nice on them young ones... gentle like. Fly like the wind, they do. Sing like angels, if you can hear 'em. Sometimes they ride out the day in dark mossy tombs deep within the winding lanes of old Laurel Hill Cemetery. Play with the bones, they do. Femurs is clubs, or scepters. Skulls is cannon balls. Caretaker's wife makes 'em outfits. She a knittin' lady... sewin' lady too an' she love them young ones, 'cause they so cute. Preach to them out a her holy books. They go 'uh huh' and 'yes ma'am.' Caretaker's wife like that. And she know all their names, 'cause they trust her. She know Roland and Marianne and Albion and Celeste.... Mostly Frenchies they are... or were when they were mortal. If not real French, then from places what talk French. Now they talk Franglais, a big, old stew with French and English in it. Caretaker's wife give 'em hot tea on cold nights. They like watery drinks, just like them older vampires. An' actually, night-folk can tolerate light food. They have been known to nibble through social occasions like weddings and wakes an' all. Throw it up after, they do, but that their business.
Christmas time real big with elfie-folk. An' you know, we calls 'em 'elfie-folk' 'cause a the way they grows. You see, most vampire locked in place when they cross over. Body parts all stay the same, like a statue. Don't do no switcheroo. But elfie-folk different. Guess it on account a all them hormones they got dancin' through they bodies at that age. Ears and fingers keep growin' after 'death.' Not a lot, but a little. Ears get neat tiny points. Fingers get a mite long and artistic-like. Eyes real big, Jaws finely drawn. Pretty hair too, all fluffy and soft-like. Wears knit caps, they does, pulled down Frenchie style. Funny, after three hundred years, more actually, they still 'are' that way. Christmas come, they like music and sparkle and sweet smellin' stuff. Hide in store windows they do. Mostly big, fancy, department store windows. Put on top hats. You know, them big, fat at the top numbers like old time coachmen used to wear? Dribble-dabble theyself with perfume. Wind long cashmere scarves 'round they necks. Act like them wind-up dolls they used to have back in the day. What poo-bahs and nay-wobs used a have in they collections. Nighttime come. Windows light up. Folks walk by an' never know that cunning, little juggler, or the sweet, Gypsy dancer not no mechanical thing. 'Cept sometime when it get real late an' street mostly quiet, elfie-folk sneak out. Sublimate right through the glass they do. Go caperin' off down that sidewalk to nighttime adventures mortal folk don't know.
Never drain nobody to death. Least hardly never. Dance around, 'kiss' folks and fly off. Them what 'been' say it tickles.
You gone be seein' little more a them elfie-folk..... 'cause they got things to do...
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