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DON’T HAVE ID,” said Jay, loudly. “’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN. WE DON’T USE ID…THERE. AND THAT’S WHY WE LOOK SO YOUNG. ’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN.”
    Doug stiffened. Jay sounded crazy. Doug tried to look extra sane to even things out. The woman raised an eyebrow.
    â€œAnd you’re not maybe just trying to donate to get the free bag of comics?”
    â€œOh, no, of course not,” said Doug. “Free comics? No, youdon’t even have to give us those. We just want to help out.”
    The woman’s face softened. “Well, all right, I guess. Who’s first?”
    â€œHe is,” said Doug.
    â€œYou can have a seat by the donor beds while I ask your friend some questions and check his vitals,” she said to Doug, then led Jay toward a private room the size of a closet.
    â€œWhat part of Canada you from, honey?”
    â€œTHE LEFT PART,” said Jay.
    Doug sat down in a plastic chair. There were two thin beds in the bloodmobile, and one of them was occupied. The boy had a needle and blood-filled tube snaking out of his arm and into a plastic bag attached to the bed. He was attended by another woman in scrubs and gloves.
    â€œWhoop, you done already,” she told him. “You fast.”
    â€œI’ve been drinking a lot of water,” the boy said.
    Inside the private room, Doug could hear Jay having his blood pressure checked and his temperature taken. Then the woman in Muppet scrubs launched into a questionnaire. “How do you feel today?”
    â€œâ€¦Okay.”
    â€œHave you had a tattoo in the last twelve months?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHave you spent a total of three months or more in the United Kingdom since 1985?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHave you ever had sexual contact with another man, even once?”
    â€œW-what? No.”
    â€œHave you ever paid for sex or accepted money or drugs for sex, even once?”
    â€œNo. What is that?”
    â€œJust a little rubbing alcohol, honey. I have to prick your finger to test your blood. Do you now use or have you ever used intravenous drugs?”
    The other woman by the beds pinched off the boy’s tube, removed the needle, then pressed cotton to the wound and told him to hold it there with his arm straight up.
    A voice called out from the private room where Jay had gone.
    â€œKendra? Can you…Kendra, can you come here?”
    â€œJust a sec,” said Kendra as she removed the full blood bag from the bed and placed it on a nearby counter, right next to another bag.
    â€œKendra!”
    Here we go , thought Doug.
    â€œAll right, all right,” Kendra answered, and turned to the boy. “You just lie there a minute till I get back.”
    She passed Doug and joined Jay and Muppet scrubs in the little room. “He’s a fainter, help me lift him,” said Muppet scrubs, and Doug had to admire Jay’s dedication to the role. If he’d only thrown himself into last spring’s My Fair Lady auditions like that, he could have played Henry Higgins for sure.
    The door closed and Doug was alone with the blood and the boy with his arm in the air. He leaped from the chair to the counter, paused for a reverent moment over the plump red bags, considered biting into one right then and there. Instead, he tucked a bag under each arm and turned.
    The boy on the bed studied him. “Hey…that’s my blood,” he said.
    Doug hadn’t intended to hiss just then, couldn’t remember thinking it was a good idea, but then suddenly he was hissing, with an itch in his gum line that told him his fangs were bared.
    â€œ Shit ,” said the boy.
    Doug bolted for the door of the bloodmobile but found his way blocked by the two women and a drowsy-looking Jay. Again he showed his teeth.
    â€œDon’t you hiss at me,” said Kendra. “What you doin’ with blood that don’t belong to you?”
    Doug froze, then closed