The Thief of Always

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Falling From Grace

The wind wasn't there to bear him up. He plummeted like a slate tossed from the gables, a cry of sheer terror escaping his throat. He saw Wendell turn; saw a look of mortal fear come onto his face; then the wind came out of nowhere, cold and strong, and just as his legs brushed the bushes he felt himself lifted up and up, toward the sky.

His cry became a whoop; his terror, joy. The moon was larger than he'd ever seen it, and its vast white face filled his sight, like the face of his mother, bending to kiss him goodnight.

Except that he needed no sleep tonight, no, nor a mother to wish him sweet dreams. This was better than any dream, flying with the wind in his wings, and the world shuddering below in fear of his shadow.

He looked for Wendell again, and saw him fleeing for the safety of the House.

No you don't, he thought, and fuming his wings like leathery sails he swooped down on his prey. A bloodcurdling shriek filled his ears, and for a moment he thought it was the wind. Then he realized it was his own throat that was uttering this inhuman din, and the shriek became laughter; wild, lunatic laughter.

"Don't...please...don't!" Wendell was sobbing as he ran, "Somebody help me! Somebody help me!"

Harvey knew he'd already had his revenge: Wendell was frightened out of his wits. But it was too much fun to stop now. He liked the feel. of the wind beneath him, and the cold moon on his back. He liked the sharpness of his eyes, and the strength of his claws. But mast of all he liked the fear he was causing; liked the look on Wendell's upturned face, and the sound of panic in his chest.

The wind was carrying him down into the thicket, and as he landed Wendell dropped to his knees, begging for merry.

"Don't kill me! Please, please, I beg you-don't kill me!"

Harvey had seen and heard enough. He'd had his revenge. It was time to put an end to the game, before the fun soured.

He opened his mouth to announce himself, but Wendell-seeing the red throat and the wolfish fangs, and thinking this meant certain death-began a new round of supplications. This time, however, he wasn't simply begging.

"I'm too fat to eat," he said. "But there's another kid around here somewhere-"

Harvey growled at this.

"There is!" Wendell said. "I swear. And there's more meat on him than on me!"

"Listen to the child," said a voice in the bushes at Harvey's side. He glanced around. There was Jive, his wiry form barely visible among the barbs. "He'd see you dead, young Harvey."

Wendell heard none of this. He was still advertising the edibility of his friend, hoisting up his shirt and shaking his blubbery belly to prove how unpalatable he was.

"You don't want me..." he sobbed. "Take Harvey! Take Harvey!"

"Bite him," said Jive. "Go on. Drink a little of his blood. Why not? The fat's no good, but the blood's hot, the blood's tasty." He was doing a little dance as he spoke, stamping his feet to the rhythm of his chant. "Don't waste the taste! Go eat the meat!"

And still Wendell whined, all snot and tears. "You don't want me. Find Harvey! Find Harvey!"

And the more he sobbed, the more Jive's chant made sense to Harvey. Who was this ridiculous boy Wendell anyway? He was too eager to serve Harvey up as dinner to be called a friend. He was just a tasty morsel. Any vampire worth his wings would chew off his head as soon as look at him. And yet...

"What are you waiting for?" Jive wanted to know. "We've gone to all this trouble to make a monster of you-"

"Yes, but it's a game," Harvey said.

"A game?" said Jive. "No, no, boy. It's more than that. It's an education."

Harvey didn't know what he meant by this, and he wasn't altogether certain he wanted to know.

"If you don't pounce soon," Jive hissed, "you're going to lose him."

It was true. Wendell's tears were clearing, and he was staring at his attacker with a puzzled look.

"Are you...going to let me...go?" he murmured.

Harvey felt Jive's hand on his back.

"Do it!" Jive said.

Harvey looked at Wendell's tear-stained face and trembling hands. If the situation had been reversed, he thought to himself, would I have been much braver? The answer, he knew, was no.

"It's now or never," said Jive.

"Then it's never," Harvey said. "Never!"

The word came out as a guttural roar, and Wendell fled before it, yelling at the top of his voice. Harvey didn't give chase.

"You disappoint me, boy," Jive said. "I thought you had the killer instinct."

"Well, I don't," said Harvey, a little ashamed of himself. He felt like a coward, even though he knew he'd done the right thing.

"That was a waste of magic," said another voice, and Marr appeared from out of the bushes, her arms filled with enormous fungi.

"Where'd you find those?" Jive said.

"Usual place," Marr replied. She gave Harvey a contemptuous look. "I suppose you want your old body back," she said.

"Yes, please."

"We should leave him like this," said Jive. "He'd get around to sucking blood sooner or later."

"Nah," said Marr. "There's only so much magic to go around, you know that. Why waste it on a miserable little punk like this?"

She waved her hand casually in Harvey's direction, and he felt the power that had filled his limbs and transformed his face drain out of him. It was a relief, of course, to feel the magic unmade, but a little part of him mourned the loss. In a matter of moments he was once again an earthbound boy, wingless and weak.

With the spell removed, Marr turned her back on him and waddled off into the darkness. Jive, however, lingered long enough to have one last dig at Harvey.

"You missed your chance there, kiddo," he said. "You could have been one of the greats."

"It was a trick, that's all," Harvey said, concealing the strange unhappiness he felt. "A Halloween trick. It meant nothing."

"There are those who'd disagree," Jive said darkly. "Those who'd say that all the great powers in the world are bloodsuckers and soul-stealers at heart. And we must serve them. All of us. Serve them to our dying day"

He stared hard at Harvey all the way through this peculiar little speech, and then, with a nimble step, retreated into the shadows and was gone.

Harvey found Wendell in the kitchen, a hot dog in one hand and a cookie in the other, telling Mrs. Griffin about what he'd seen. He dropped his food when Harvey came in, and yelped with relief: "You're alive! You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," said Harvey. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"There was something out there. A terrible beast. It almost ate me. I thought maybe it had eaten you."

Harvey looked down at his hands and legs.

"Nope," he said. "Not a nibble."

"I'm glad!" Wendell said. "I'm so, so glad. You're my best friend, for always."

I was vampire food five minutes ago, Harvey thought; but he said nothing. Maybe there'd come a time when he could tell Wendell about his transformation and temptation, but this wasn't it. He simply said:

"I'm hungry," and sat down at the table beside his fair-weather friend, to put something sweeter than blood in his belly.