Fledgling

five

I spent most of the day at the computer making no real progress. There were diseases that people might once have mistaken for vampirism. One of them was called porphyria. It was probably what Wright thought of as a sun-allergy disease. In fact, it was a group of diseases caused by pigments that settled in peoples’ teeth, bones, and skin. The worst of the porphyriac diseases made people so vulnerable to light that they developed huge sores as parts of their flesh eroded away. They might lose their noses or their lips or patches of their cheeks. They would look grotesque.

That was interesting, but it awakened no memories in me. After all, I had already proved that if I were badly burned or wounded, I would heal.

There were river-borne microorganisms that caused people to develop problems with their memories just as there were microorganisms that could cause people to look hideous and, in the past perhaps, be mistaken for vampires. But that had nothing to do with me either. Whoever and whatever I was, no one seemed to be writing about my kind. Perhaps my kind did not want to be written about.

I wandered from site to site, picking up more bits of interesting, but useless, information. Finally, I switched to hunting through information about recent fires. I found a couple of articles that probably referred to what I was coming to think of as “my fire.”

They said the houses had been abandoned. The fire had happened three weeks ago and had definitely been arson. Gasoline had been splashed about liberally, then set alight. Fortunately, the fire had not spread to the surrounding forest—as it probably would have if the houses had truly been abandoned. There would have been plenty of bushes, vines, grasses, and young trees to carry the fire straight into the woods.

Instead, there had been a broad clearing around the houses, and there had been farm fields, stubbly and bare.

The houses had not been abandoned. I was not wrong about the scents of burned flesh that I had found here and there in them. Those houses were close to the cave where I had awakened. I had gone straight to them from the cave as though my body knew where it was going even though my memory was gone. I must have either been living in one of those houses or visiting one. And there had definitely been other people around at the time of the fire. Why would the articles deny this?

Wright had said we could go back to the ruin on the weekend. According to the computer, today was

Thursday. The weekend was only a day away.

I wanted to go back now, on foot, and comb through the ruin again. I was more alert and aware now. My body had finished healing. Maybe I could find something.

But it was daytime, almost noon. I felt tired from all my running around the night before and stiff from sitting for hours at the computer. I turned it off, got up, and decided to soak for a while in the tub before I went to bed. That may have been a mistake. Someone knocked on the door while I was filling the tub. I turned the water off, afraid they’d already heard it, afraid they would know someone was in the cabin when it was supposed to be empty.

The knock came again, and a woman’s voice called out, “Wright? Are you home?”

I kept quiet. After a while, I heard her go away. I soaked nervously in the water I had already drawn and went to bed.

When Wright got home—long after sunset—he brought groceries, an “everything” pizza, a library book about vampires written by an anthropologist, and some clothing for me. There were two pairs of jeans, four T-shirts, socks, underwear, a pair of Reebok athletic shoes, and a jacket with a hood. Everything except the shoes were a little big. Somehow he’d gotten shoes that were just the right size. He’d held each of my feet in his hands, and that must have helped. And he’d bought a belt. That would keep the jeans up. The rest of it worked fine even though it was a little large.

“You’re even smaller than I thought,” he said. “I’m usually pretty good at estimating the size of things I’ve seen and handled.”

“I’m lean,” I said. “I feed on blood most of the time. I don’t think I could get fat.”

“Probably not.” He stowed the groceries in his refrigerator, then turned and looked at me. “My neck is completely healed.”

“I thought it would be.”

“I mean, no scar. Nothing. No scar on my hand, either.”

I went to him and looked for myself. “Good,” I said when I had seen. “I don’t want to leave you all scarred. How do you feel?”

“Fine. I thought I might feel a little weak, like I did when I donated blood, but I’m fine. I don’t think you took very much.”

“I think I probably took more than I should have from you yesterday. Who did you donate blood to?” “Friend of mine was in a car wreck. They saved him, but he lost a lot of blood.”

“He took blood from you?”

“No, nothing like that. He . . . do you know what a transfusion is?”

I thought about it and then realized that I did know. “In the hospital, blood was sent from a container directly into your friend’s veins.”

“That’s right, but it wasn’t my blood. He and I aren’t even the same blood type. I just gave to offset a little of what he had used.” He bent, picked me up, and kissed me. “It isn’t nearly as much fun as what you do.”

I had already found that I enjoyed any skin-to-skin contact with him. For a few moments, I gave myself up to that enjoyment. Then, reluctantly, I drew back. “Someone was here today,” I said. “A woman came to the door while I was filling the tub for a bath. I think she heard the water running. She knocked and called your name.”

“Older woman?” he asked. “I couldn’t see her.”

“My aunt, maybe. My aunt and uncle live it the big house out front.” He gestured toward the front of the

cabin with the arm that wasn’t holding me. Then he put me down. “You probably saw it last night. They had company so it was all lit up.”

“Can she get in here? Does she have a key?”

“Yeah. My uncle does anyway. But they don’t snoop. I think you’ll be okay in here.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I let it go. If the woman ever came into the cabin while Wright was at work, I would bite her. Then she would accept my being here, keep it secret, feed me, and then maybe help me find some of the answers I was looking for.

“I’m glad we’re going back to the site of the fire this weekend,” I said. “I found articles that said the place was abandoned and that vandals set it afire.”

“Good work,” he said. “I thought you’d find something online.”

“But why would it say that?” I demanded. “I’m sure it wasn’t abandoned. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was there. It was close to the cave where I woke up and not really close to anything else.”

He thought about that, then shook his head. “I found articles at the library that said the same thing,” he said. “They were from two small newspapers in the area. The reporters wouldn’t have any reason to lie.”

I shook my head. “If I can find them, I can get them to tell me why they lied. But first I want to go to the ruin. I’m connected with that place somehow. I’m sure I am. And Wright, the clothing I was wearing when you found me, I got it at one of the burned houses. It had been folded and put away . . . maybe in a drawer or on a shelf. When I found it, it was at the bottom of a big pile of half-charred clothing, and it

had only been burned a little. Why should an abandoned house have piles of clean, folded clothing in it?” Wright nodded. “I’ll take you back there then,” he said. “Saturday?”

“Friday night.” I stood on tiptoe and still could not reach him. I was annoyed for once that he was so tall, but he picked me up again and held me against him. I bit him a little at the base of his throat, drew a few drops of blood. It wasn’t necessary, but we both enjoyed it. He stood still, holding me, letting me lick at the wound.

After a while, he sighed. “Okay, Friday. Are you going to let me eat my pizza while it’s hot?”

I licked once more, then pulled away from him reluctantly and slid down his body. “Eat,” I said, and picked up the vampire book. “I’ll read and wait for you.”

The book was interesting but not that helpful. Many cultures seemed to have folklore about vampires of one kind or another. Some could hypnotize people by staring at them. Some read and controlled

people’s thoughts. It would be handy to be able to do things like that. Easier than biting them and waiting for the chemicals in my saliva to do their work.

Not all vampires drank blood according to the book. Some ate flesh either from the living or from the dead. Some took in a kind of spiritual essence or energy—whatever that meant. All took something from their subjects, usually not caring how they injured the subject. Many killed their subjects. Many were

dead themselves, but magically reanimated by the blood, flesh, or energy they took. One feeding usually meant the taking of one life. And that made no sense, at least for those who took blood. Who could need that much blood? Why kill a person who would willingly feed you again and again if you handled them carefully? No wonder vampires in folklore were feared, hated, and hunted.

Then my thoughts drifted back to the man I had killed at the cave. I killed and fed as viciously as any

fictional vampire. I ate a man without ever recognizing him as a man. I’d not yet read of a vampire doing that, but I had done it.

Did others of my kind do such things? Had I done such a thing before? Had someone found out about us and tried to kill us back at the ruin? That would seem almost ... just. But what about the other people

who had been at the ruin? Had they been like Wright or like me? Had the ruin been a nest of vampires? I could still remember the scents I had found here and there around the ruin where flesh had been burned. Now I tried to sort through them, understand who was who.

After a while, I understood that some of them had been like me and some like Wright—vampires and other people living and dying together. What did that mean?

Wright got up, came to stand beside me, and took the book out of my hands. He laid it open, its pages facedown on the table. “I think I’m strong enough to take you on now,” he said.

Perhaps he was, but I took only a few drops more of his blood while I enjoyed sex with him. It seemed necessary to take small amounts of his blood often. I felt a need for it that was something beyond hunger. It was a need for his blood specifically. No one else’s. I took it slowly and gave him as much pleasure as I could. In fact, I took delight in leaving him pleasurably exhausted.

I went out later when Wright was asleep and took a full meal from Theodora. She was smaller and older than Wright, and she would probably feel a little weak tomorrow, tired perhaps.

“What work do you do?” I asked her when she looked ready to drift off to sleep.

“I work for the county library,” she said. Then she laughed. “It doesn’t pay very well, but I enjoy it.” And then, as though my question had opened the door for her to talk to me, she said, “I didn’t think you were real. I thought I’d dreamed you.”

“I could be just a dream,” I said. I stroked her shoulder and licked the bite. I wondered what work was done in libraries, then knew. I had been in libraries. I had memories of rooms filled with books. Theodora worked with books and with people who used books.

“You’re a vampire,” she said, breaking into my thoughts. “Am I?” I went on licking her bite.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked as though she didn’t care what the answer might be. And there was no tension in her.

“Of course not. But you shouldn’t go to work tomorrow. You might be a little weak.” “I’ll be all right. I don’t like to take time off.”

“Yes, you will be all right. Stay home tomorrow.”

She said nothing for a moment. She moved restlessly against me, moved away, then came back, accepting again, at ease. “All right. Will you come back to me again? Please come back.”

“In a week, maybe.” “That long?”

“I want you healthy.”

She kissed me. After a moment of surprise, I kissed her back. I held her, and she seemed very comfortable in my arms.

“Be real,” she said. “Please be real.”

“I’m real,” I told her. “Sleep now. I’m real, and I’ll come to you again. Sleep.”

She went to sleep, happily fitted against me, one arm over and around me. I lay with her a few moments, then slipped free and went home to Wright’s cabin.

On Friday evening after dark, Wright drove me back along the road where he had found me. The road was almost as empty on Friday as it had been when I walked it, barefoot and soaking wet. One or two cars every now and then. At least it wasn’t raining tonight.

“I picked you up near here,” Wright said.

I looked around and couldn’t make out much beyond his headlights. “Pull off the road when you can and turn your lights off,” I said.

“You can see in the dark like a cat, can’t you?” he asked.

“I can see in the dark,” I said. “I don’t know anything about cats so I can’t compare myself to them.”

He found a spot where there was room to pull completely off the road and park. There, he stopped and turned off his headlights. Across the road from us there was a hillside and, on our side of the road, a steep slope downward toward a little creek. This was a heavily wooded area, although there was a

clear-cut area not far behind us.

“We’re not far from the national forest,” he said. “We’re running parallel to it. Does anything look familiar?”

“Nothing yet,” I said. I got out of the car and looked down into the trees, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I had walked this road. I began to walk it now, backtracking. After a while, Wright began to follow me in the car. He didn’t turn his lights on but seemed to have no trouble seeing me. I began to jog, always looking around, knowing that at some point it would be time for me to turn off onto a side road and go down into the woods.

I jogged for several minutes, then, on impulse, began to run. Wright followed until finally I spotted the side road that led to the ruin. I turned but he didn’t.

When he didn’t follow, I stopped and waited for him to realize he’d lost me. It seemed to take a surprisingly long time. Finally, the car came back, lights on now, driving slowly. Then he spotted me, and I beckoned to him to turn. Once he had turned, I went to the car and got in.

“I didn’t even see this road,” he said. “I had no idea where you’d gone. Do you know you were running about fifteen miles an hour?”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said.

“I suspect it means you should try out for the Olympic Games. Are you tired?” “I’m not. It was a good run, though. What are the Olympic Games?”

“Never mind. Probably too public for you. For someone your size, though, that was a fantastic run.” “It was easier than running down a deer.”

“Where are we going? Don’t let me pass the place.”

“I won’t.” I not only watched, I opened my window and smelled the air. “Here,” I said. “This little road coming up.”

“Private road,” Wright said. “Open the gate for me, would you?”

I did, but the gate made me think for a moment. I had not opened a gate going out. I had climbed over it. It wasn’t a real barrier. Anyone could climb it or walk around it or open it and drive through.

Wright drove through, and I closed the gate and got back into the car. Just a few moments later, we were as close to the ruin as it was safe to drive. There were places where rubble from the houses lay in the road, and Wright said he wanted to be careful with his tires.

“This was a whole community,” he said. “Plus a lot of land.”

I led him around, showing him the place, choosing the easiest paths I could find, but I discovered that he couldn’t see very well. The moon wasn’t up yet, and it was too dark for him. He kept stumbling over the rubble, over stones, over the unevenness of the ground. He would have fallen several times had I not steadied him. He wasn’t happy with my doing that.

“You’re a hell of a lot stronger than you have any right to be,” he said.

“I couldn’t carry you,” I said. “You’re too big. So I need to keep you from getting hurt.”

He looked down at me and smiled. “Somehow, I suspect you would find a way to carry me if you had to.”

I laughed in spite of myself.

“You’re pretty sure this was your home, then?”

I looked around. “I’m not sure, but I think it was. I don’t remember. It’s just a feeling.” Then I stopped. I’d caught a scent that I hadn’t noticed before, one that I didn’t understand.

“Someone’s been here,” I said. “Someone ...” I took a deep breath, then several small, sampling breaths. Then I looked up at Wright. “I don’t know for sure, but I think it may have been someone like me.”

“How can you tell?”

“I smell him. It’s a different scent—more like me than like you even though he’s male.” “You know he’s male? You can tell that from a smell?”

“Yes. Males smell male. It isn’t something I could miss. You smell male.” He looked uncomfortable. “Is that good or bad?”

I smiled. “I enjoy your scent. It reminds me of all sorts of good feelings.”

He gave me a long, hungry look. “Go have the rest of your look-around on your own. You’ll finish faster without me. Suddenly I want to get out of here. I’m eager to get back home.”

“All right,” I said. “We can go as soon as I find out about our visitor.” “This other guy, yeah.” Suddenly, he sounded less happy.

“He may be able to tell me about myself, Wright. He may be my relative.” He nodded slowly. “Okay. When was he here?”

“Not that long ago. Last night I think. I need to know where he came from and where he went. Stay here. I won’t go far, but I need to follow the scent.”

“I think I’ll come with you after all.”

I put my hand on his arm. “You said you’d wait. Stay here, Wright.”

He stared at me, clearly unhappy, but after a moment he nodded. “Watch yourself,” he said.

I turned away from him and began to zigzag through the rubble until I felt I had the direction of the scent—the direction from which the man had come and in which he had gone. It was like a thread that drew me.

I followed it as quickly as I could to the opposite end of the ruin and beyond, through a stand of trees and on to a broad, open meadow. It ended there. I walked through the trees and into the meadow, confused, no longer understanding what I was looking for. I found marks on the ground, marks that were wrong for a car or a truck. There were two of them—long, narrow indentations too narrow and far apart to be tire marks. The word helicopter occurred to me suddenly, and I found that I knew what a helicopter was. I had a picture of one in my mind—clear bubble, rotor blades on top, metal structure sweeping back to the tail rotor, and two long runners instead of wheels. When had I ever seen such a thing?

Had a helicopter landed here, then? Had a man of my people gotten out and looked around the ruin, then gotten back into the copter and flown away?

That had probably happened. I couldn’t think of any reason why it would be impossible.

Would he come back, then? Was he my relative? Had he been looking for me? Or had he had something to do with setting the fire?

If I had stayed in the area instead of wandering out to the highway and getting into Wright’s car, I might have already been in contact with people who knew who I was, knew much more about me than I did. Or I might have been hurt again or killed.

I walked around where the copter had landed, looking to see whether anything had been dropped or thrown away. But there was nothing except that faint ghostly scent.

Then I caught another scent, fresh this time. Two scents. Another person—a male like Wright, but not Wright. And there was a gun of some kind. Where had the man come from? The wind—what there was of it—came to me from beyond where the helicopter had landed. That was how I had come to notice the scent of the first stranger. This new man must have passed me on his way to the ruin. If he had passed far enough away, I wouldn’t have noticed, focused as I was on the helicopter and its occupant. But now I thought he must be somewhere near Wright. He and his gun must be somewhere near Wright.

I turned, ran back through the trees towardWright. I spotted the man with the gun before I got near him. He was moving closer to Wright, not making himself known, watching Wright from hiding.

I meant to confront the man with the gun and perhaps take his gun away. I was intensely uncomfortable with his having it and being able to see Wright while Wright could not see him. I saw him as I emerged from the trees. I saw him raise the gun—a rifle, long and deadly looking. He pointed it at Wright, and I was too far away to stop him. I ran flat out, as fast as I could.

I headed towardWright and tried to put myself between him and the gun. I expected to be shot at any moment, but I had time to hit Wright in his midsection and knock him down, knock the air out of him just as the rifle went off. Then, with Wright safely on the ground, I went after the shooter.

He fired once more before I reached him, and this time, in spite of my speed, he hit me. An instant later, I hit him with my whole body. And while I could still think, while I was aware enough to be careful, I sank my teeth into his throat and took his blood—only his blood.

six

I didn’t care whether I hurt or killed the gunman. I had knocked him unconscious when I hit him. Now I took his blood because he’d spilled mine, and because suddenly, I was in pain. Suddenly, I needed to heal. He was lucky I was aware enough not to take his flesh.

Moments later, I heard Wright’s uneven steps coming toward me, and I was afraid. I went on taking the gunman’s blood because it seemed to be the least harmful thing I could do at the moment.

I let the man go when Wright stood over us. I looked up at him then and, to my relief, did not in the slightest want to eat him. He stared at me, eyes wide.

“Are you shot?” he asked. “My right leg,” I said.

He was on his knees, lifting me, pulling my jeans down to examine my bloody leg. It hurt almost too much. I screamed, but I didn’t harm him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I thought you might be bleeding—losing too much blood.” He hesitated. “Why aren’t you bleeding more?”

“I don’t ever bleed much.”

“Oh.” He stared at the wound. “That makes sense, I guess. Your body would know how to conserve blood if anyone’s did. The bullet went all the way through. You have to go to a doctor now.”

I shook my head. “I’ll heal. I just need meat. Fresh meat.” He looked at the gunman. “It’s a shame you can’t eat him.”

I stared down at him. “I can,” I said. The gunman didn’t wash himself often enough, but he was young and strong. His bite wound was already beginning to close. He wasn’t going to die, even though I’d taken quite a bit more blood from him than I would from Wright or Theodora. If he had managed to shoot Wright, I would have made sure he died. “I can,” I repeated. “But I really don’t want to.”

Wright smiled a little as though he thought I was joking. Then, still looking at the wound, he said, “Renee, you’ll get an infection. There are probably all kinds of germs already crawling around in that wound and maybe pieces of your jeans, too. Look, I’ll get you fresh meat if you’ll just see a doctor.”

“No doctor. I’ve been shot before. Some of the wounds I woke up with in the cave were bullet wounds. I need fresh meat and sleep, that’s all. My body will heal itself.”

There was a long silence. I lay where I was, feeling leaden, wanting to sleep. I had taken perhaps twice as much blood from the gunman as I would have dared to take from Wright or Theodora, and I still wasn’t satisfied. I needed to sleep for a while, though, and let my body heal a little before I ate flesh.

The gunman would awaken thirsty and weak, maybe feeling sick. And how did I know that?

It was one more sliver of memory, incomplete, but at least, this time, not useless.

“Shall I take you home?” Wright asked finally. “I can stop at the store for a couple of steaks.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be with you when I wake up. I’ll be too hungry. I might hurt you.” “I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” he said with just a hint of a smile.

He didn’t understand. “I’m serious, Wright, I could hurt you. I ... I might not be thinking clearly when I

wake up.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Look around for a sheltered place here in the ruins. I’ll need to be out of the sun when it comes up. You might have to heap some of the rubble up around me to make enough shade.”

“You want me to leave you here? You want to spend ... what, tonight and tomorrow out here?”

“I will spend tonight and tomorrow out here. Come back for me Sunday morning before sunrise.” “But there’s no need—”

“Don’t buy steaks unless you want them for yourself. I’ll hunt. There are plenty of deer in the woods.” “Renee—!”

“Build a shelter,” I said. “Put me in it. Then go home. Come back Sunday morning before sunrise.”

There were several seconds of silence. Finally, he said, “What about this guy?” He nudged the gunman with his foot. “What do we do with him? Why did he want to shoot you anyway? Was it just because you scared him?”

“Me?” I said surprised. “He was aiming at you when I hit you. I couldn’t reach him in time to stop him from shooting you. That’s why I knocked you down—so he’d miss. Then I went after him.”

He took a moment to absorb this. “God, I didn’t know what the hell happened. What if he’d killed you?” “He could have, I guess, but I didn’t think he’d be fast enough. And he wasn’t.”

“He shot you!”

“Annoying,” I said. “It really hurts. You’d better take his gun and keep it.” “Good idea.” He picked it up.

“Find me a place that will be out of the sun. Otherwise, I’ll have to heal a burn as well as a bullet wound.”

He nodded. “Okay, but you haven’t answered. What about him?” He nodded toward the gunman. “I’ll talk to him. I want to know why he tried to shoot you.”

“You aren’t afraid to have him here?”

“I don’t want him here, but he’s here. I’ll try not to hurt him, but if I do, I do.” “When you’re asleep, he might decide to finish what he started.”

“He won’t. As long as you’ve got his rifle, he can’t.”

“You bit him. That’s why you aren’t afraid of him, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid I might not be able to stop myself from killing him.” “You know what I mean.”

I did know what he meant. He was beginning to understand his relationship with me—as I had already begun to understand it.

“Because I bit him, he’ll obey me,” I said. “He won’t hurt me if I tell him not to.” He fingered the place where I’d last bitten him and stared down at me.

I took a deep breath. “I think you can still walk away from me, Wright, if you want to,” I said. I wet my lips. “If you do it now, you can still go.”

“Be free of you?” he asked.

“If you want to be free of me, yes. I’ll even help you.” “Why? You want to get rid of me?”

“You know I don’t.”

“But you want to help me leave you?” He made it a flat statement, not a question. “If that’s what you want.”

“Why?”

I took a deep breath, trying to stay alert. “Because I think ... I think it would be wrong for me to keep you with me against your will.”

“You think that, do you?” Again, it wasn’t a real question. So I didn’t bother to answer it.

“How?” he asked. “What?”

“How can you help me leave you?”

“I can tell you to go. I think I can make it . . . maybe not comfortable, but at least possible for you to go and have your life back and just . . . forget about me.”

“I didn’t know what it would be like with you. I didn’t know I would feel . . . almost as though I can’t make it without you.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes in pain. “I didn’t know what I was starting when I bit you the first couple of times. I didn’t remember. I still don’t remember much, but I know the bites tie you to me. That comforted me—that you were with me. But now, maybe you don’t want to be with me. If that’s what you’ve decided, tell me. Tell me now, and I’ll try to help you go.”

There was nothing from him for a long time. I felt as though I were drifting. My body wanted to go to sleep, demanded sleep, and somehow, I did doze a little. When he put his palm against my face, I jerked awake.

“I’m going to take you to one of the chimneys,” he said. “I’ll make a shelter for you there.”

“If you want to go,” I said, “you should tell me now.” I paused. “I won’t be able to stay awake long. And

... Wright, if you don’t take this chance, I don’t think you’ll be able to leave me. Ever. I won’t be able to let you, and you couldn’t stand separation from me. I know that much. Even now, it’s probably hard for you to make the decision, but you should go if you want to go. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” he said. “Wright, it is. You should—”

“No!” He shook his head. “Don’t tell me that. Do not tell me that!” He grasped my face between his hands, made me look at him.

“What shall I do?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose you.” “Freedom, Wright. Now or never.”

“I don’t want to lose you. I truly don’t. I’ve only known you for a few days, but I know I want you with me.”

I kissed his hand, glad of his decision. It would have been hard to let him go—perhaps the hardest thing I could recall doing. I would have done it, but it would have been terrible. All I could do now was make things as safe as possible for both of us.

“Okay, then. Choose a good spot and build a shelter around me—something that won’t let the sun in.” He walked around the ruin, stumbling and cursing now and then, but not falling. Eventually he found a

reasonably intact little corner with two wall fragments still standing. That was better than a chimney

because it was less of a potential trap. There was no part of it that I couldn’t break through if I had to. It might once have been part of a closet. I drifted off to sleep while he was cleaning the debris out of it. I awoke again when he lifted me and put me in the corner.

Once I had found a comfortable position, he walled me in with stones, pieces of charred wood, tree branches, and pipe. After a while the little shelter he was building was perfect for keeping the sun out. When he finished, he reached in through the small opening he’d left and woke me up again.

“Go home,” I told him, and before he could protest, I added, “Come back Sunday morning. I’ll have found something to eat by then. Deer, rabbits, something.”

“Just in case, I’ll bring you a steak or two.”

“All right.” I wouldn’t be wanting the steaks, but it had finally occurred to me that getting them and bringing them would make him feel better.

“What can we do to make you safer from this idiot?” he asked about the still-unconscious shooter. “Take the gun. That will be enough.”

“He could knock this shelter down at high noon while you’re asleep.”

“If he does that, I’ll kill him. I’ll have no choice. I’ll get a nasty sun-burn, and it will take me a little longer to heal, but that’s the worst. Let me sleep, Wright.”

I listened and heard him leave. He didn’t want to, but he left.

Two or three hours later, the man who’d shot me finally woke up. He coughed several times and cursed. That’s what woke me—the noise he made. Because I didn’t dare confront him yet, I kept quiet. He got up, stumbled fell, then staggered away, his uneven steps fading as he moved away from me. He didn’t seem to notice that his rifle was gone. And he didn’t come near my little enclosure at all.

I slept through the rest of the night and the day. By the time the sun went down, I was starving—literally. My body had been hard at work repairing itself, and now it had to have food. I pushed away the wall of rubble that Wright had built and stood up. I was trembling with hunger as I fastened the jeans that Wright had pulled up after he examined my leg but had left loose for comfort. I took a few deep breaths, then first limped, then walked, then jogged off in the one direction I didn’t smell human beings.

Hunting steadied me, focused me. And hunting was good because it meant I would eat soon.

I wound up eating most of someone’s little nanny goat. I didn’t mean to take a domestic animal, but it was all I found after hours of searching. It must have escaped from some farm. Better the goat than its owner.

Relieved and sated, I began hiking back toward the ruin to wait for Wright. Then I caught the scent of other people nearby. Farms. I had avoided them while I was hunting, but now I let myself take in the scents and sort them out, see whether I recognized any of them.

And I found the gunman.

It wasn’t midnight yet—too early for Wright to have arrived. I had time to talk to the man who had caused me so much pain and nearly cost Wright his life. I turned toward the farm and began to jog.

I came out of the woods and ran through the farm fields toward the scent. It came from a one-story, gray farmhouse with a red roof. That meant I might be able to go straight into the room where the gunman was snoring. There were three other people in the house, so I would have to be careful. At least everyone

was asleep.

I found a window to the gunman’s bedroom, but it was closed and locked. I could think of no way to open it quietly. The doors were also locked. I went around the house and found no open door or window. I could get into the house easily, but not quietly.

I went back to the gunman’s bedroom window—a big window. I pulled my jacket sleeve down over my hand and closed my hand around the sleeve opening so that my fist was completely covered. This was made easier by the fact that the jacket, like the rest of my clothing, was a little too big. With one quick blow, I broke the window near where I saw the latch. Then I ducked below the windowsill and froze, listening. If people were alerted by the noise, I wanted to know at once.

There was no change in anyone’s breathing except the gunman’s. His snoring stopped, then began again. I waited, not wanting there to be too many alien sounds too close together. Then I reached in, turned the window latch, and raised the window. The window opened easily, silently. I stepped in and closed it after me.

At that point, the man in the bed stopped snoring again. The colder air from outside had probably roused him.

As quickly as I could, I crossed the room to the bed, turned his face to the pillow, grabbed his hands, dropped my weight onto him, and bit him.

He bucked and struggled, and I worried that if he kept it up, he would either buck me off or force me to break his bones. But I had already bitten him once. He should be ready to listen to me.

“Be still,” I whispered, “and be quiet.”

And he obeyed. He lay still and silent while I took a little more of his blood. Then I sat up and looked around. His door was closed, but there were people in the room next to his. I had heard their breathing when I was outside—two people. On the other hand, because his closet and theirs separated the two rooms, I could barely hear them now. Maybe they wouldn’t hear us.

“Sit up and keep your voice low,” I said to the gunman. “What’s your name?” He put his hand to his neck. “What did you do?” he whispered.

What’s your name?” I repeated. “Raleigh Curtis.”

“Who else is in this house?”

“My brother. My sister-in-law. Their kid.” “So is this their house?”

“Yeah. I got laid off my job, so they let me stay here.” “All right. Why did you shoot me, Raleigh?”

He squinted, trying to see me in the dark, then reached for his bed-side lamp. “No,” I said. “No light. Just talk to me.”

“I didn’t know what you were,” he said. “You just shot out of nowhere. I thought you were some kind of wild cat.” He paused. “Hey, do that thing again on my neck.”

I shrugged. Why not? He would definitely be sick the next day, but I didn’t care. I took a little more of his blood while he lay back trembling and writhing and whispering over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

When I stopped, he begged, “Do it some more. Jesus, that’s the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.” “No more now,” I said. “Talk to me. You said you shot me because I scared you.”

“Yeah. Where’d you come from like that?”

“Why were you aiming your rifle at the man? He didn’t scare you.” “Had to.”

“Why?”

He frowned and rubbed his head. “Had to.” “Tell me why.”

He hesitated, still frowning. “He was there. He shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t his property.” “It wasn’t yours either.” This was only a guess, but it seemed reasonable.

“He shouldn’t have been there.”

“Why was it your job to drive him off or kill him?” Silence.

“Tell me why.” After three bites, he should have been eager to tell me. Instead, he almost seemed to be in pain.

He held his head between his hands and whimpered. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “I want to, but I can’t. My head hurts.”

Something occurred to me suddenly. “Did you see the man in the helicopter?”

He put his face into the pillow, whimpering. “I saw him,” he said, his voice muffled, barely understandable.

“When did he come? Thursday night?”

He looked up at me, gray-faced, and rubbed his neck, not where I had bitten him, but on the opposite side. “Yeah. Thursday.”

“Did he see you, talk to you?”

He moaned, face twisted in pain. He seemed to be about to cry. “Please don’t ask me. I can’t say. I

can’t say.”

The man, the male of my kind, had found him, bitten him, and ordered him to guard the ruin and not tell anyone why he was doing it. But what was there to guard? What was there to shoot a person over?

In spite of myself, I began to feel sorry for Raleigh. His head probably did hurt. He was torn between obeying me and obeying the man from the helicopter. That kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. Just thinking about it made me intensely uncomfortable, and, of course, I didn’t know why. I waited, hoping

to remember more. But there was no more, except that I began to feel ashamed of myself, began to feel as though I owed Raleigh an apology.

“Raleigh.” “Yeah?”

“It’s all right. I won’t ask you about the man in the helicopter any more. It’s all right.”

“Okay.” He looked as though he hadn’t taken a breath for too long, and now, suddenly, he could breathe again. He also looked like he was no longer in pain.

“I want to meet the man in the helicopter,” I said. “If he comes to you again, I want you to tell him about me.”

“Tell him what?”

“Tell him I bit you. Tell him I want to meet him. Tell him I’ll come back to the burned houses next Friday night. And tell him I didn’t know that you . . . that you knew him. If he asks you any questions about me, it’s okay to answer. All right?”

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

Good question. “Don’t bother about a name. Describe me to him. I think he’ll know. And don’t tell anyone else about either of us. Make up lies if you have to.”

“Okay.”

I started to get up, but he caught my hand. Then he let it go. “That thing you did,” he said, touching the spot I’d bitten. “That was really good.”

“It will probably make you feel weak and sick for a while,” I said. “I’m sorry for that. You’ll be all right in a couple of days.”

“Worth it,” he said.

And I left feeling better, feeling as though he’d forgiven me. Whoever I was before, it seemed I had had strong beliefs about what was right and what wasn’t. It wasn’t right to bite someone who had already been claimed by another of my kind. Certainly it hadn’t been all right to drain Raleigh to the point of sickness when he wasn’t truly responsible for shooting me. Why on earth would one of my own people take the chance of being responsible for a pointless shooting, perhaps even a death?

I jogged back toward the ruin. Eight chimneys, much burned rubble, a few standing timbers and remnant walls. That’s what was left. Why did it need guarding? The guarding should have come before the fire when it might have done some good.

Finally, I jogged over to the unblocked part of the private road, coming out where Wright and I had parked the night before. I heard him coming—heard him stop down at the gate, then start again. I waited, making sure it was his car and not some stranger’s. The moment I recognized the car and caught his

scent, I could hardly wait to see him. The instant he stopped the car, I pulled the passenger door open and slid inside.

He was there, smelling worried and nervous. And somehow he didn’t see me until I was sitting next to him, closing the door.

He jumped, then grabbed me and yanked me into a huge hug.

I found myself laughing as he examined me, checked my leg, then the rest of me. “I’m fine,” I said, and

kissed him and felt alarmingly glad to see him. “Let’s go home,” I said at last. “I want a hot bath, and then

I want you.”

He held me in his lap, and I was surprised that he had managed to move me there without my realizing it. “Anytime,” he said. “Now, if you like.”

I kissed his throat. “Not now. Let’s go home.”

seven

A week later, we went back to the ruin.

I wanted Wright to park the car beside the gate to the private road. I thought it would be safest for him

to stay with the car while I went in alone. But I had told him the little that Raleigh Curtis had told me, and

Wright was adamant. He was going with me.

“You don’t know what this guy will do,” he said. “What if he just grabs you and takes you away with him? Hell, what if he’s the one who torched those houses to begin with?”

“He’s of my kind,” I said. “Even if he doesn’t know anything about me, he’ll probably know someone who does. Or at least he can tell me about my people. I have to know who I am, Wright, and what I am.”

“Then I have to go with you,” he said. “And I think I’d better take my nice new rifle along.”

I had not made any effort to get Raleigh Curtis’s rifle back to him. If he didn’t have it, he couldn’t shoot some exploring stranger with it. Wright had kept the gun and had gone out and bought bullets for it.

“This guy is a man of your kind,” he told me. “An adult male who is probably a lot bigger and stronger than you. I’m telling you, Renee, he might just decide to do what he wants with you no matter what you want.”

He was afraid of losing me, afraid this other man would take me from him. He might be right. And he was probably right in thinking that the man would be bigger and stronger than I was.

That last possibility was enough to make me want Wright to stay with me and keep the gun handy. We left his cabin well before sunset because he wanted to get a look at the ruin in something more than starlight. To be sure he would be able to see well, he took along a flashlight zipped in his jacket pocket—the pocket that wasn’t full of bullets.

With my jeans, my shirt, and my hooded jacket, I was reasonably well covered up so I didn’t mind the daylight. It was a gray day anyway, with rain threatening but not yet falling. That kind of light was much easier on my eyes than direct sunlight.

“He won’t be there yet,” I told Wright as he drove. “If he’s coming, he’ll show up after sundown.” “If?” Wright asked.

“Maybe Raleigh didn’t see him and couldn’t pass along my message. Maybe he’s not interested in meeting me. Maybe he had something else to do.”

“Maybe you’re getting nervous about meeting him,” Wright said.

I was, so I didn’t answer.

“You should have gotten Raleigh’s phone number. Then you could have called and asked him if he’d passed on your message.”

“He might not tell me,” I said. “I’m not sure I’d trust him to tell me the truth on the phone.” I stopped suddenly and turned to face him. “Wright . . . listen, if this guy bites you, you tell him whatever he wants to know. Do that, okay?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be letting him bite me.” “But if he does. If he does.”

“Okay.” And after a moment, “You don’t want me to suffer like Raleigh did, is that it?” “I don’t want you to suffer.”

He gave me a strange little smile. “That’s good to know.”

We went on for a few minutes, then turned down the side road. By the time we reached the gate, we should have been close enough to the ruin for me to get a good scent picture of it, if only the wind had been blowing toward us.

“Wait here,” I said when we reached the gate. “I’m going to make sure Raleigh or someone else isn’t waiting for us with another gun.”

He grabbed me around the waist. “Whoa,” he said. “You don’t need to be shot again.”

I was half out of the car, but I stopped and turned back toward him into his arms. “I’ll circle around and get whatever scents there are,” I said.

“Stay here. Don’t make noise unless you need help.” And I slipped away from him.

I ran around the area, stopping now and then, trying to hear, see, and scent everything. As I expected, there was no helicopter yet. Raleigh had not been near the place recently. Someone else had, but I didn’t recognize his scent. It was a young man, not of my kind, not carrying a gun. But he wasn’t there now. No one was there now.

I went back to the gate where I’d left Wright and managed to surprise him again. He’d gotten out of the car and was leaning against the gate.

“Good God, woman!” he said when I caught his arm. “Make some noise when you walk.”

I laughed. “No one’s there. This whole night might turn out to be a waste of time, but let’s go in anyway.” We got back into the car and drove in. At the ruin, we spent our time looking though the rubble and

finding a few unburned or partially burned things:a pen, forks and spoons, a pair of scissors, a small jar of buttons ... I recognized everything I found until I discovered a small silver-colored thing on the ground near where Wright had piled burned wood to wall me into my shelter. It must have been under the wood that I had pushed aside when I broke out.

“It’s a crucifix,” Wright told me when I showed it to him. “It must have been worn by one of the people who lived here. Or maybe the arsonist lost it.” He gave a humorless smile. “You never know who’s liable to turn out to be religious.”

“But what is it?” I asked. “What’s a crucifix? I kept running across that word when I was reading about vampires, but none of the writers ever explained what it was except to say that it scared off vampires.”

He put it back into my hand. “This one’s real silver, I think. Does it bother you to hold it?”

“It doesn’t. It’s a tiny man stuck to a tiny “†”-shaped thing. And there’s a loop at the top. I think it used to be attached to something.”

“Probably a chain,” he said. “Another perfectly good vampire superstition down the drain.” “What?”

“This is a religious symbol, Renee—an important one. It’s supposed to hurt vampires because vampires are supposed to be evil. According to every vampire movie I’ve ever seen, you should not only be afraid of it but it should burn your skin if it touches you.”

“It isn’t hot.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry about it. It’s just movie bullshit.” He went to look around the chimneys and examine broken, discolored remains of water heaters, sinks, bathtubs, and refrigerators. As I looked around, I realized that some of the houses were missing sinks and tubs, and I wondered. Perhaps people had come here when Raleigh wasn’t on guard and taken them away. Or perhaps Raleigh and his relatives had taken them. But why? Who would want such things?

Then Wright found something outside the houses more than half buried in the ground near one of the chimneys: a gleaming gold chain with a little gold bird attached to it—a crested bird with wings spread as though it were flying.

“I’m surprised something like this is still here,” he said. “I’ll bet plenty of people have been through here, picking up souvenirs.” He wiped the thing on his shirt, then let it side like liquid into my hand.

“Pretty,” I said, examining it. “Let me put it on you.”

I thought about whether I wanted the property of a person who was probably dead around my neck, but then shrugged, handed it back to him, and let him put it on me. He wanted to. And he seemed to like the effect once it was on.

“Your hair is growing out,” he said. “This is just what you need to decorate yourself a little.”

My hair was growing out, crinkly and black and about an inch long, and my head was no longer disfigured by broken places. I’d had Wright trim the one patch of hair that hadn’t been burned off so that now it was all growing out fairly evenly. I thought I almost looked female again.

“Did you ever think I was a boy?” I asked him. “I mean when you stopped for me on the road that first time?”

“No, I never did,” he said. “I should have, I guess. You were almost bald and wearing filthy, ill-fitting clothes that could have been a man’s. But when I first saw you in the headlights, I thought,‘What a lovely, elfin little girl. What in hell is she doing out here by herself?’”

“Elfin?”

“Like an elf. According to some stories, an elf is a short, slender, magical being—another mythical

creature. Maybe I’ll run into one of them on a dark road someday.”

I laughed. Then I heard the helicopter. “He’s coming,” I said. “It’s early for him to be awake and out. He must be eager to meet me.”

“I don’t hear a thing,” Wright said, “but I’ll take your word for it. Shall I get out of sight?”

“No. You couldn’t hide your scent from him. Let’s wait over by that largest chimney.” It was a big brick chimney that rose from a massive double fireplace. It might shelter us if our visitor decided to try to shoot us.

The copter didn’t bother about landing in the meadow this time. I wondered why he had landed there before. Habit? Or was this stranger someone who would have come to visit the eight houses when they were intact and occupied?

The copter, looking like a large, misshapen bug, landed in what Wright said must have once been a big vegetable garden. He had been able to identify several of the scorched, mostly dead plants. The copter crushed a number of the survivors—cabbages and potatoes mostly.

The pilot jumped out, ducked under the rotors, and looked around. Once he spotted us, he came straight toward us. Wright, who had been checking the rifle, now stood straight, watching the stranger intently. I watched him, too. He was a tall, spidery man, empty-handed, and visibly my kind except that he was blond and very pale-skinned—not just light-skinned like Wright, but as white as the pages of Wright’s books. Even so, apart from color, if I ever grew tall, I would look much like him—tall and lean, probably not elfin at all.

“Shori?” the man asked. I liked his voice at once, and he smelled . . . safe somehow. I mean his scent made me feel safe, although I couldn’t say why. Then I realized that he was looking at me, had spoken to me. And what had he meant by that one word?

I stood away from the chimney.

“How did you survive, Shori? Where have you been?”

He was calling me “Shori.” I let out a breath. “You know me, then,” I said. “Of course I do! What’s the matter with you?”

I breathed a little more, trying to decide what to say. The truth seemed humiliating, somehow, admitting such a significant weakness to this stranger, telling him that I knew nothing at all about myself. But what else could I do? I said, “I woke up weeks ago in a cave not far from here. I have no memory of anything that happened before then. And ... I don’t know you.”

He reached out to me, but I stepped back out of his reach. “I don’t know you,” I repeated.

Off to one side, I saw Wright come to attention. He didn’t point the rifle at the stranger, he pointed it downward. He held it across his body in both hands, his right forefinger near the trigger, so that aiming it at the man would only be a matter of moving it slightly.

The man dropped his hand to his side. He glanced at Wright, then seemed to dismiss him. “My name is

Iosif Petrescu,” he said. “I’m your father.”

I stood staring at him, feeling nothing for him. I didn’t know him. And yet he might be telling the truth. How could I know? Would he lie about such a thing? Why?

“And I’m . . . Shori?”

“The name your human mother gave you is Shori. Your surname is Matthews. Your Ina mothers were distant relatives of mine named Mateescu, but in the 1950s, when there was a great deal of suspicion about foreign-sounding names, they decided to Anglicize the name to Matthews.”

“My mothers . . . ?”

He looked around at the rubble. “Listen,” he said. “We don’t have to talk here in the midst of all this. Come to my home.”

“I lived . . . here?”

“You did, yes. You were born here. Doesn’t this setting stir any memories?”

“No memories. Only a feeling that I’m somehow connected to this place. I came here when I was able to leave the cave where I woke up, but I didn’t know why. It was as though my feet just brought me here.”

“Home,” he said. “For you, this was home.” I nodded. “But you don’t live here?”

He looked surprised. “No. We don’t live males and females together as humans do.” I swallowed, then asked the question I had to ask: “What are we?”

“Vampires, of course—not that we call ourselves by that name.” He smiled, showing his very human-looking teeth, except for the canines, which looked a little longer and sharper than the other people’s, as my own did. If his teeth were like mine, they were all sharper than other people’s. They had to be. He said, “We have very little in common with the vampire creatures Bram Stoker described in Dracula, but we are long-lived blood drinkers.” He looked at Wright. “You knew what she was, didn’t you?”

Wright nodded. “I knew she needed blood to live.”

Iosif sighed, then spoke wearily as though he were saying something he had to say too many times before. “We live alongside, yet apart from, human beings, except for those humans who become our symbionts. We have much longer lives than humans. Most of us must sleep during the day and, yes, we need blood to live. Human blood is most satisfying to us, and fortunately, we don’t have to injure the humans we take it from. But we are born as we are. We can’t magically convert humans into our kind. We do keep those who join with us healthier, stronger, and harder to kill than they would be without us. In that way, we lengthen their lives by several decades.”

That got Wright’s attention. “How long?” he asked. “How long will you live?”

“Yes.”

Iosif took a deep breath, then said, “Barring accident or homicide, chances are you’ll live to be between

170 and 200 years old.”

“Two hundred . . . I will? Healthy years?”

“Yes. Your immune system will be greatly strengthened by Shori’s venom, and it will be less likely to turn on you and give you one of humanity’s many autoimmune diseases. And her venom will help keep your heart and circulatory system healthy. Your health is important to her.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“It is mutualistic symbiosis. You know you’re joined with her.”

Wright nodded. “It scares me a little. I want it to be with her, need to be with her, even though I don’t really understand what I’m getting into.” After a moment, he asked, “How long do your kind live?”

“Long,” Iosif said. “Although we’re not immortal anymore than you are. How old do you think your

Shori is?”

“I’ve been calling her Renee,” he said. “I’m Wright Hamlin, by the way.” “How old is she?”

“I thought she was maybe ten or eleven when I met her. Later, I knew she had to be older, even though she didn’t look it. Maybe eighteen or nineteen?”

Iosif smiled without humor. “That would make things legal at least.” Wright’s face went red, and I looked from him to Iosif, not understanding.

“Don’t worry, Wright,” Iosif said after a moment. “In fact, Shori is a child. She has at least one more important growth stage to go through before she’s old enough to bear children. Her child-bearing years will begin when she’s about seventy. In all, she should live about five hundred years. Right now, she’s fifty-three.”

Wright opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He just stared, first at Iosif, then at me. I knew that Wright was twenty-three, sexually mature, and aware of much that went on in the world. If Iosif was telling the truth, I was almost twice Wright’s age, and yet I knew almost nothing. Someone had taken away most of my fifty-three years of life.

“Who did this?” I asked, gesturing at the ruin. “Who set the fire? Did anyone else survive?”

“I wasn’t here,” Iosif said. “I don’t know who did it. And I haven’t found ... any other survivors. I’ve arranged for the other people who live in this area to keep their eyes open.”

That got my attention. “You were careless. Raleigh Curtis wasn’t just keeping his eyes open. He was going to shoot Wright. He did shoot me.”

“Accident. He didn’t know you were one of us. If he’d seen you clearly, he wouldn’t have fired.” “Why would he want to shoot Wright?”

“He didn’t know Wright was with you.”

“Iosif, why shoot anyone over this rubble? Only the people who did this should be punished.”

He stared at me. “Someone burned your mothers and your sisters as well as all of the human members of your family to death here. They shot the ones who tried to get out, shot them and threw most of them

back into the fire. How you escaped, I have no idea, but we found the others, burned, broken . . . My people and I found them. We were coming for a visit, and we actually arrived before the firemen, which meant we were able to get control of them and see to it that they recalled this place as abandoned. When the fire was out, we cleaned up and covered up because we didn’t want the remains examined by the coroner. We searched the area for several nights, hunting for survivors and questioning the local humans, finding out what they knew and seeing to it that they only remembered things that wouldn’t expose or damage us. In fact, the neighbors didn’t know anything. So we didn’t catch the killers. We thought, though, that some of them might come back to enjoy remembering what they’d done. Criminals have

done that in the past.”

“To enjoy the memory of killing ... How many people?” I demanded. “Seventy-eight. Everyone except you.”

I wet my lips, looked away from him, remembering the cave. “Maybe only seventy-seven,” I said. I

wanted badly not to say it, but somehow, not saying it would have made me feel even worse.

Iosif touched me, put his hand on my chin and turned my head so that I faced him. He or someone else had done that before. It felt familiar and steadying. He had straight, collar-length white-blond hair framing his sharp, narrow face and large gray eyes with their huge dark-adapted pupils. He still didn’t look familiar. I didn’t know him. But his touch no longer alarmed me.

I said, “Someone found me as I was waking up in the cave. I don’t know how long I’d been there. Several days, at least. But finally, I was regaining consciousness, and someone found me. I didn’t know

at the time that it was ... a person, a man. I didn’t know anything except . . . I killed him.” I couldn’t bring myself to say the rest—that I’d not only killed the man, but eaten him. It shamed me so much that I moved my face away from his fingers, took a step back from him. “I still don’t know who he was, but I remember the sounds he made. I heard them clearly, although at the time I didn’t even recognize what he said as speech. Later, when I was safe with Wright, I was able to sort through the memories and understand what he said. I think he knew me. I think he’d been looking for me.”

“What did he say?” Wright asked. He had moved closer to me.

It was terrible that he was hearing this. I shut my eyes for a moment, then answered his question. “He said,‘Oh my God, it’s her. Please let her be alive.’”

There was silence.

Iosif sighed, then nodded. “He wasn’t from here, Shori, he was from my community.”

I looked at him and saw his sorrow. He knew who the man was, and he mourned him. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

To my surprise, Wright pulled me against him. I leaned on him gratefully.

“I sent my people out to hunt,” Iosif said. “We thought you would have survived, if anyone did. Only one of my men didn’t come back from the search. We never found him. Where is your cave?”

I turned to look around, then described as best I could where the cave was. “I can take you there,” I

said.

Iosif nodded. “If his remains are still there, I’ll have them collected and buried.” “I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice not much more than a whisper.

He stared at me, first with anger and grief, then, it seemed, only with sorrow. “You are, aren’t you? I’m glad of that. You’ve forgotten who and what you are, but you still have at least some of the morality you were taught.”

After a while, Wright asked, “Why did you think she had a better chance of surviving?”

“Her dark skin,” Iosif said. “The sun wouldn’t disable her at once. She’s a faster runner than most of us, in spite of her small size. And she would have come awake faster when everything started. She’s a light sleeper, compared to most of us, and she doesn’t absolutely have to sleep during the day.”

“She said she thought she was an experiment of some kind,” Wright said.

“Yes. Some of us have tried for centuries to find ways to be less vulnerable during the day. Shori is our latest and most successful effort in that direction. She’s also, through genetic engineering, part human. We were experimenting with genetic engineering well before humanity learned to do it—before they even learned that it was possible.”

“We, who?” I asked.

“Our kind. We are Ina. We are probably responsible for much of the world’s vampire mythology, but among ourselves, we are Ina.”

The name meant no more to me than his face did. It was so hard to know nothing—absolutely nothing all the time. “I hate this,” I said. “You tell me things, and I still don’t feel as though I know them. They aren’t real to me. What are we? Why are we different from human beings? Are we human beings? Are we just another race?”

“No. We’re not another race, we’re another species. We can’t interbreed with them. We’ve never been able to do that. Sex, but no children.”

“Are we related to them? Where do we come from?”

“I think we must be related to them,” he said. “We’re too genetically similar to them for any other explanation to be likely. Not all of us believe that, though. We have our own traditions—our own folklore, our own religions. You can read my books if you want to.”

I nodded. “I’ll read them. I wonder if they’ll mean anything to me.”

“You’ve probably suffered a severe head injury,” Iosif said. “I’ve heard of this happening to us before. Our tissue regenerates, even our brain tissue. But memories . . . well, sometimes they return.”

“And sometimes they don’t.” “Yes.”

“I know I had a head wound—more than one. The bones of my skull were broken, but they healed. How can we survive such things?”

He smiled. “There’s a recently developed belief among some of our younger people that the Ina landed here from another world thousands of years ago. I think it’s nonsense, but who knows. I suppose that idea’s no worse than one of our oldest legends. It says we were placed here by a great mother goddess who created us and gave us Earth to live on until we became wise enough to come home to live in paradise with her. Actually, I think we evolved right here on Earth alongside humanity as a cousin species like the chimpanzee. Perhaps we’re the more gifted cousin.”

I didn’t know what to think—or say—about any of that. “All right,” I said. “You said the Ina people live in single-sex groups—men with men and women with women.”

“Adults do, yes. Young males leave their mothers when they’re a little older than you are now. They live the last years of their childhood and all of their adult years with their fathers. I’m the only surviving son of my father’s family so my sons have only one father. Our human symbionts may be of either sex, but among us, sons live with brothers and fathers.

Daughters live with their mothers and sisters. In a case like this, though, since you’re not fully adult, you would be welcome to join my community for a while—until you get your memories back or relearn the things you need to know and until you come of age.”

“I live with Wright.”

“Bring him with you, of course, and any others you’ve come to need. I’ll have a house built for you and yours.”

I looked at Wright and was not surprised to see that he was shaking his head. “I have a job,” he said. “Hell, I have a life. Renee . . . Shori will be all right with me.”

Iosif stared at him with an expression I couldn’t read. “And you will teach her about her people and their ways?” he said. “You’ll teach her her history, and help her into the adulthood she is approaching? You’ll help her find mates and negotiate with their family when the time comes?” He stood straight and gazed down at Wright. He wasn’t that much taller than Wright, but he gave the impression of looking down from a great height. “Tell me how you will do these things.” he said.

Wright glared at him, his expression flickering between anger and uncertainty. Finally, he looked away. After a moment, he shook his head. “Where?” he asked.

“A few miles north of Darrington.” “I’d want to keep my job.”

“Of course. Why not?”

“It’s a long way. We’d . . . have a house?”

“You’d be guests in my house until your house is finished. We’re interested in keeping Shori safe and teaching her what she needs to know to get on with her life. You’re already a greater part of her life than you realize.”

“I want to be with her.”

“I want you with her. But tell me, what’s your life been like with her? What do your friends and neighbors think about your relationship with her?”

Wright opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stared an Iosif angrily.

Iosif nodded. “You’ve been hiding her. Of course you have—lest someone think you were having an improper relationship with a child. Once you’re living with us, there will be no need to hide. And to us, there is nothing improper about your relationship.”

eight