《Waiting For Sunrise》


 Chapter 1 - Good Samaritan

    A lone teenager jogged along a dark, wooded trail, her tawny ponytail bobbing with the motion. Cool air clung to the warmth of her cheeks as she eased to a stop, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. That''s far enough for today, she thought to herself. Birdsong delighted her ears instead of the roar of traffic; the jogger basked in the predawn tranquility. The moon had already descended and the sun had not yet awoken, enshrouding this patch of the world in darkness. Irene Locklyn knew the shadows only heralded the dawning of a new day, but she seldom waited around for sunrise to get moving.


    Irene carefully stepped over a large root in the path; she didn''t need to see it, she knew it was there. She''d wandered this small patch of wilderness many times, and witnessed it shrink yearly. One day these trees would all be uprooted to expand the rapidly growing town of Centreville. Now morose, she wove her way through the shadows.


    Crack!


    Tendrils of panic wiggled along Irene''s nerves as the serenity of the morning was shattered by mad laughter. What was that? What''s happening? She slipped between two closely entwined trees, unsure where the sound had come from. Running madly could lead her into trouble, thus she decided to sit tight and assess. Closer and closer came the sound of rushing footsteps and disturbed foliage.


    A grunt!


    A groan!


    Excited shouts added to the confusion, for she could not understand them. Was that French?


    Out of the nearby brambles stumbled a limping shadow, a masculine voice swearing viciously. Several more silhouettes spilled out into the nearby clearing; her sanctuary had been invaded. Someone approached her hiding place. The hidden adolescent held her breath as a tingle of fear swept through her.


    Did they see me? What do they want?


    Irene was not the encroacher''s target, but a large branch near her feet was. Partial relief took the edge off of her fear. At least she could breathe again, although albeit rapid and shallow.


    Darkness was a blessing, for it concealed Irene from the men, and the men''s actions from Irene. But vision wasn''t the only sense illustrating a gruesome picture. Each sound of impact, each meat-tenderizing squelch, each grunt of pain, sent shivers down her spine. These impulses tingled down to her feet, where they rooted her to the spot despite her desire to run.


    "He has learned his lesson, non?" remarked a smug, nasal voice. "Come, the sun soon will rise." The men vanished as suddenly as they had arrived.


    Squinting in the darkness, Irene spotted a lone figure which lay on the ground. Cautiously, she approached and knelt down. Frightening possibilities raced through the girl''s mind. Is he dead? Is he dying? Is there anything I can do? Is there anything I should do?


    "You¡­ you just going¡­ to stare?"


    Irene nearly screamed, her tense nerves snapping. "Don''t move!" Once she had a wit to spare she added, "I''ll help you."


    Astonishment overrode her wariness upon hearing an abruptly aborted chuckle. Down went her hand to the leaf-littered ground beside the man, whereupon she felt a sticky, lukewarm liquid. Dark smudges streaked her finger tips. Disgustedly, she wiped her hand off on her sweatpants. There were first aid supplies at her house, but it would take too long to retrieve and return. "May I check for breaks or fractures?"


    Despite the strain in the man''s voice, there was a tinge of amusement as he whispered, "Be my guest¡­"


    Gently, Irene''s fingers investigated the back of the man''s head and neck, slipping through blood matted hair to feel the skin underneath. It wasn''t noticeably swollen or lumpy, albeit she could feel the firm tension of his neck muscles. Nothing seemed to be broken. But she''d never actually felt a broken neck before, and thus wasn''t entirely confident. She decided his ability to speak was a good enough sign.


    "Are you breathing okay? Do you feel nauseated or dizzy?" She needed to keep the man responsive, while she tried to remember more from her First Aid course.


    "Breathing hurts. Not dizzy... no nausea."


    Irene continued a quick examination, having to rely on touch more than sight. She palpated his legs through his torn slacks, and to her surprise she found a frayed rope tied to one of his ankles. Immediately she checked his wrists. They were bound together. Having nothing sharp on hand, she searched her pockets for another solution. Keys jangled and she seized the opportunity, wedging her house key into the knot to loosen it. "Why didn''t you say you''d been tied up?"


    "Wasn''t it obvious?" he murmured.


    "There." Irene tossed the ropes aside. "Think you could walk if I helped you?"


    "Mhm..."


    Grunting, she helped him to his feet. To her surprise, the stranger was about her height, and she herself was just over a metre and half, although she''d grown since her last precise measurement.


    "Do you live nearby?" inquired Irene.


    In a barely audible whisper he replied, "No¡­ you?"


    "About ten minutes'' jog away¡­ but¡­"


    "I need shelter, quickly¡­ quickly," he uttered urgently.


    Concerned for the victim''s well being, Irene could not bring herself to refuse. Leaning on her for support, the man was able to limp along, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace.


    Mixed feelings stirred deep in Irene''s mind. This is the right thing to do, isn''t it? She had a strong aversion to being involved in whatever trouble this man was embroiled in. Clenching and churning, her stomach had other ideas about letting a stranger into her home. She fixed in her mind the intention to set him on the porch and go phone an ambulance.


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    The first rays of light were breaking over the surrounding mountains when they arrived at her house. The stranger inhaled sharply as she guided him to a rickety old deck chair. A rapid thumping caused Irene to glance at him - his one leg was shaking as he gazed to the east.


    Muttering under her breath, Irene struggled with the old lock, the man''s agitation visibly growing. Finally, there was a satisfying click and the door swung open. Seeming to forget himself, the stranger tried to jump to his feet, only to have his knees buckle beneath him. She caught him before he fell onto his face, thankful that he was not a person of great stature. "Easy there¡­ no rush¡­"


    A sharp hiss forced its way past his clenched teeth as he winced. Redoubling her efforts to get the languishing stranger back into the chair, she was unprepared for the man to throw his weight towards the front door. Fearful of hurting him further, she let him stagger inside. He leaned heavily against the wall by her coat rack, leaving dark smears on the faded wallpaper.


    As soon as the lights went on, the languishing stranger exhibited animal-like distress. "The light¡­ no¡­ need... dark¡­"


    "Is your head hurting that badly?"


    He barely nodded.


    Irene hesitated. All of her windows had warped blinds that were better for collecting dust rather than repelling sunlight. Her bedroom had curtains, but she wasn''t going to let him in there. "Think you could handle stairs?" The urgency and fretfulness of the man was worrying her, and she felt it better to pacify him. In his condition he probably wasn''t a threat. Probably.


    With proper lighting, she could finally see his face clearly. His coal-black eyes were bloodshot and one of them had significant swelling around it; it may have just been the injuries which gave them their squinty, shifty appearance. His messy black mop of hair was badly in need of a trim, unkempt bangs sticking to his high forehead. The angular structure of his jaw was further punctuated with a black soul patch on his pointed chin. A slightly hooked nose perched above a set of lips, which were split and puffy, obscuring their natural shape. Marred as his face was, Irene guessed he was in his thirties. She considered him rakish, especially due to the small gold earring in his left ear. This did not inspire her with confidence in her decision to let him inside.


    Keeping strong eye contact, the stranger gave a slight nod. Immediately she returned the nod and helped him down to the basement, going first and leaving him to lean on the sturdy bannister.


    "The basement has no windows¡­" she explained as they stepped into darkness, the air having a heavier quality and a whiff of lint and laundry detergent . With a flick, a bare, yellow light bulb lit up the room. She gestured with a free arm towards a roll-away bed shoved between some shelves.


    "This''ll do¡­" the man croaked. Feet shuffling asynchronously across the scratchy Berber carpet, Irene helped him to the bed. Before letting him lie down, she whipped off the handmade quilt. She was not about to let the man bleed on a memento from her late grandmother. The man sluggishly laid himself down and put his hands over his chest, staring up at the ceiling.


    "Wait here; I''ll call an ambulance." For the first time, Irene wished she could afford a cell phone. She could have limited her involvement to calling 9-1-1 from her hiding place. Before she turned away, the man''s alarmed expression caught her attention.


    "No hospital!" blurted the man, expectorating blood in the process. Irene quickly stepped back to be out of the line of spray. "Just bandages..."


    She rolled her eyes and left to go find some gauze and other supplies. What a mess. I should have kept running. She paused, a feeling of shame tightening her chest. "Stop it. This is serious." she reproached herself, as if spoken words would drown out her internal doubts.


    Irene returned holding a plastic case in one hand, and a bag of ice in the other. Her guest took the offered ice, stared at it a moment as if trying to decide where to deploy it, then put it against his lip.


    She knelt beside the bed and opened the case. "Let''s see here¡­"


    First, Irene gingerly cleaned the cuts on the man''s face, being particularly gentle around swollen areas. He closed his eyes, barely wincing as she wiped away the blood. More gauze was unrolled and dabbed with disinfectant as she eyed him for any more obvious abrasions. "Unbutton your shirt¡­" Wordlessly, the man complied. "By the way, my name is Irene."


    "Cyrus."


    "This might sting¡­. Cyrus? It''s not a very common name ¡­" Irene remarked as she did her best to clean several cuts along his ribs. She kept expecting the man to flinch at her touch, but he remained eerily still as she worked. He either had nerves of steel or was too tired to react. As more silence followed, she continued, "Then again¡­ Irene isn''t Jennifer or Amanda or Jessica¡­"


    "My father thought he was being clever..." her patient remarked, his nose wrinkling slightly.


    Irene cleared her throat and decided to say nothing more about names. "Well, that''s all I can do for you. You really should go to the hospital."


    Cyrus''s eyes shot open and he curled his lips menacingly, like a dog about to bare its fangs. Immediately he pressed his raw lips back together. Before he could utter a word in protest a loud meow resounded. Irene jumped and whipped her head around, laughing when she realised it was just her cat. Promptly, the small grey tabby wandered over to investigate. After getting a good sniff, the feline arched her back and hissed furiously. She stooped down and picked up her pet, trying to calm her down as she smoothed out a puffed-up tail.


    "Shhhhh¡­. it''s okay¡­ it''s alright¡­" Irene cooed soothingly, but the furious feline continued to growl and struggle. She brought her cat over to the doorway and placed her on the stairs, quickly closing the door. There was a loud scream of protest followed by the sound of tiny feet thumping up the stairs. "Silver is usually very friendly."


    "The cat has spoken - I must be a blackguard," Cyrus scoffed, although the humorous effect was marred by another grunt of pain.


    "Not at all," came a flat response. Even if you look like one.


    Cyrus lifted his head slightly, slowly bringing his bandaged hand up to wipe away dark strands from his eyes. "Right¡­"


    Regardless of what she said, Silver''s reaction to the man had her on guard. "I''m going to call that ambulance now."


    "NO!" Cyrus almost shouted. Moments ago he was struggling to talk, but he was speaking loud and clear. "I can''t afford it."


    Can''t afford it? This isn''t the States. Unless... "Are you here illegally?" His accent sounded local, which made her wonder if he was from just across the border.


    "...I don''t have papers..." he admitted after a pause.


    Oh for heaven''s sake. Irene put her hands on her hips, eyeing Cyrus critically. She then remembered he didn''t outright ask for her help; she offered it. Despite feeling foolish and naive, she dared not reveal her mounting doubts. "It''s better to get tended by professionals and end up deported, than to stay here and risk getting an infection."


    "Well isn''t that adorable. Young and na?ve."


    Irene squinted with irritation.


    Cyrus snorted and reiterated, "NO hospital!" His glare returned with greater intensity.


    "Don''t give me that look. You can''t stay here." She examined Cyrus again, noting how pale he was. Initially she assumed he was pale from shock, but he seemed lucid. She hesitantly walked back over to him, putting her hand on his forehead just to be sure. His flesh was not clammy, but it definitely was cool. "You look terrible."


    "I''m in pain!" he snapped, then amended a smile. "But... I''ve been through worse. Let''s not make a production out of this, shall we?"


    "I''m not making a production. But, know what? Fine. I get it. You want to avoid the hospital. I used to avoid them myself, since my sister-" Irene aborted the sentence. That was too personal to tell a stranger. She quickly tried to cover up that slip with more talking. "Whatever. You can stay until I get back. But if you get worse, I''m sending you to the hospital - no arguments."


    Pacified, Cyrus''s mouth split into a grin, causing a new bead of blood trickled to the surface. "Trust me, I''ll be fine." With an understanding reached, Irene instructed him to rest before she left. She just wanted to get to school and as far away from him as possible.

 Chapter 2 - But Vampires Dont Exist

    Irene barely made it to the bus stop in time. With her thoughts full of the unusual morning she had, the ride to school seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Irene heaved her bag over her shoulder and headed across the school yard. At the entrance to the school grounds, she heard her name being called. Irene twirled around, until she saw an awkward teen with a shock of thick curls growing in just about every direction but down. Pale golden streaks ran amidst the auburn hair, creating eye-popping contrast. Irene met her blue-grey eyes with a reluctant, mild smile.


    "Irene, I didn''t see you at the tennis court! What''s up, girl?" the redhead asked, her rosy cheeks lighting up, almost hiding the freckles that dappled her face. The way she raised her eyebrows suggested to Irene that she already had her answer.


    "Something came up..." Irene muttered, looking towards the school doors. Students lined the paved walkway up to them, while more congregated on the lawn. The familiarity of it gave Irene the space to process and unwind.


    "Oh, right, something came up." There was a superfluity of sarcasm in Merle''s voice that put Irene on edge. "Would that something involve a certain injured fella?"


    Irene froze at the mention of an injured man. How did she...? Oh wait.


    A waggle of unkempt eyebrows brought Irene back to reality. Merle couldn''t possibly know about the morning. "Of course not. Would you stop looking at me like that?" The eyebrow wags became even more pronounced. Irene sighed and shook her head, familiar with Merle''s exaggerated theatrics. Irene often blamed it on Merle''s obsession with cartoons, but she suspected it was more than that.


    "Oh come on, Irene, I saw that deer-in-headlights look! You totally ditched practice to go see Jordan. Not that I blame you," Merle chirped playfully. Irene relaxed a little and gave a small amused snort. "The fair maiden tending to her injured knight!" Merle butchered a British accent. Which British accent was anyone''s guess. Some of the students passing by rolled their eyes at Merle then giggled to each other, but Merle seemed unaware.


    "Shouldn''t the bell be ringing soon?" Irene looked down at her wristwatch. She suddenly jolted and quickly yanked her sleeves over the band before looking away, hoping that Merle didn¡¯t notice. ¡±A-Anyways! I just got off to a bad start. My morning jog took a lot out of me.¡± Irene discreetly tried to scratch the residual dried blood off her watch with her fingernails.


    "Heh heh, Irene! Maybe your body is finally catching up with your brain, and you''re turning into a granny to match your dear old soul," Merle teased gleefully, mimicking a weathered old lady voice.


    "Well they say mind and body are one. You are evidence of that," Irene countered, still distracted by her watch.


    "Wha- hey! What''s that supposed to mean?" Merle sputtered, her hands going to her waist akimbo.


    "Childish body; childish mind."


    Merle''s face flushed and she crossed her arms over her chest, exhibiting every token of embarrassment and insecurity. "That was real low, Irene!"


    Irene cringed at her own cattiness. "Sorry. I... I''m sorry." Irene stammered.


    "You better be!" Merle groused, arms still held tightly over herself as she turned away.


    Irene looked pleadingly towards the school for the bell to ring. Intense palpitations hammered the shame she was feeling for her blunder. Merle was severely delayed in physical development. As a friend, Irene knew better than to poke fun about it.


    As if in answer from a kind entity, the school bell rang. Merle jumped to attention and loped off towards the portables. Irene exhaled out the tension and gratefully hurried into the school lobby.


    Irene struggled to push the early morning events out of her mind and concentrate. Although retrieving the three points of intersection on the parabola was usually an easy task, she stared at the graph blankly.


    What will happen when I go home? Irene stared blankly at her graphing calculator. I can''t do anything about it now. Worrying solves nothing. Right now I need to solve this math problem. Focus! Instead of focusing, Irene doodled spirals along the margin of her notepaper as a reflection of her whirling thoughts.


    "Did you forget which class you are in, Irene? Because this isn''t art."


    Irene sat bolt upright, startled by the voice that crashed through her thoughts. She didn''t need to look up to see her math teacher looming. Irene set her pencil down and shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered, not looking up to shield her embarrassment.


    "Don''t say sorry - show me by getting back to work."


    Embarrassment turned to vexation as Irene heard a snicker from behind her. She was certain her classmate was laughing at her, but she was too proud to look over her shoulder and show that she was affected at all. Irene quickly began plunking numbers into her graphic calculator, trying to at least appear busy. This seemed to mollify her teacher who continued his patrol of the classroom. Irene sighed as she tried to redouble her efforts to concentrate.


    "Aw, did the teacher''s pet get a scolding?" goaded another one of her peers. Irene was not going to engage. After a few more remarks behind her back, her peers grew bored, as they always did, and found something else to whisper about as soon as the teacher wasn''t in ear shot.


    Lunch time rolled around.


    Irene forgot to pack a lunch that morning in all the commotion, which made the break seem to stretch on. She passed the time reading in the library, although with some difficulty. She occasionally glanced out the window into the school yard, where some students were in the middle of a pickup game of kickball. She wanted to be out there, running and using her body instead of her brain, but her stomach chastised her with a stern reminder that she had not eaten all day.


    By the time lunch had ended Irene''s mind had gradually drifted away from Cyrus and flowed into classic literature. Focusing on the fictional woes of Shakespeare''s tragic heroes, if one could call any of them heroes, helped her to temporarily misplace her own worries. However, the last bell of the day echoed a stern reminder that life had yet another complication to offer her.


    "Irene! Hey!" came Merle''s bubbly voice from behind. Irene reluctantly turned around, daunted by the thought of dealing with her friend''s temper. Merle marched over and slung her mottled arm around Irene''s shoulders.


    "Merle," Irene stiffened up, anticipating an ambush.


    A trickle of laughter cascaded from her fellow teen. "Irene, you''re always so serious! Come on, let''s go!"


    Irene did not budge, flabbergasted. "Go... where?" Despite the relief that rolled in like a wave on the beach, it receded just as quickly. What did I forget?


    "Movie night! Movie night! Remember?" Merle bounced around excitedly, clearly having been expecting it for a while.


    Irene''s insides flopped like a beached fish. Dismally, the recollection that she had promised Merle a movie night materialised. But she couldn''t stop herself from worrying about the man in her house.


    What if he dies and I get blamed? I need to know he''s alright. Was it really okay to leave him?


    Irene eyed Merle. If she told her friend the truth, Merle would invite herself over to see for herself, which opened up a whole other host of problems. Merle was excitable and impulsive, and this was a situation that required calm and careful consideration. This meant she''d have to go back on her word, and Irene took her word very seriously.


    "Sorry Merle, but I have to go straight home."


    Merle''s happy face transformed into a pout. Irene braced herself for Merle going off like a firecracker. "But you promised!"


    "Movie night can wait," Irene replied assertively. Any gentleness Irene may have once used in disappointing Merle had long been strangled out by desensitization to Merle''s extreme moods.


    "Oh, don''t tell me you are going to go ditch me for your boyfriend again!" Merle squawked, tightening her lips.


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    "I won''t be seeing Jordan today. I really need to get home."


    "What can you possibly need to do that will take up your whole evening? Your father isn''t going to be home for another week!" Merle exclaimed, her bright eyes smoking with disappointment.


    "I don''t have time for this Merle! We''ll have to do it another day," Irene turned back to the direction of the buses. She knew it would take some sweets and a double feature to smooth over Merle''s ruffled feathers. Merle was home alone as much as her, but unlike Irene, she hated it. "I''m going to miss my bus."


    "Okay, fine," Merle relented petulantly. "You go do whatever is so important. But remember, all work and no play makes Irene a dull girl," Merle prophesied before stomping off, shoulders up like an ornery gorilla.


    With a mighty yawn, Irene finally made it back to her porch, struggling with the lock like she did every day. Her thoughts drifted to Jordan. How Irene wished he was there. His presence would have been a stalwart ally to her composure, and she''d feel a lot safer having him near until her unexpected guest had left. But he''d be in recovery for some time. Shame bloomed as Irene derided herself for not visiting more, but being in the hospital was too difficult for her. Why did Jordan have to show off by not wearing his helmet!?


    Irene alone had to face the consequences of that morning''s heroics. A transformation overcame her as her heart raced as the doubts formed. Why did I let Cyrus talk me out of calling an ambulance? Once he''s better he''ll probably trash the place and rob me blind. Not that there''s much worth taking. But I still can''t just ignore someone who needs help.


    Irene rolled back her shoulders, took a few deep breaths, and prepared herself to show only confidence. Irene grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water, then ventured downstairs. I can still call the authorities if things get out of hand. Everything is fine. When this is all over, it will make a good story. I''m doing the right thing.


    The bed in the basement was still occupied. Cyrus didn''t stir at all. He was as still as a corpse, as still as her sister was as she was laid in her coffin. Irene could clearly remember the gleam of the white satin reflecting the pink hues of the makeup, which wrongfully set the illusion of life. She could see the strands of the golden wig now, spread out on the pillow. People remarked that it looked like she was asleep, but Irene knew better. Her sister smiled in her sleep, but there was no smile on that mask. Her sister was lively, what laid there couldn''t be her. That was just a shell that looked like her; a mere doll dressed and propped.


    Awareness of something cold and wet dripping down Irene''s arm snapped her out of her memory. She turned the cup upright, muttering under her breath. A slight movement crept into her peripheral vision. Her eyes darted to Cyrus, who had turned to face her. His dark eyes followed her every movement as she walked towards him. A sick feeling lurched in Irene''s stomach. Irene dismissed it as mere nerves, leftover from her memory.


    "Here, I brought you some water. I can get you some toast if you are hungry." Irene passed over the glass, trying to maintain her composure.


    "I''m not hungry, only thirsty," he responded, taking a sip.


    Cyrus''s lips were a shade pinker than the rest of his face. Weren''t they split? Now they were hardly swollen. In the back of Irene''s mind a siren was blaring, but her reactions were sluggish, awaiting a more rational explanation for the change. Maybe her memory exaggerated the extent of his injuries. It was dark; she must not have seen clearly. There were plenty of other explanations. Resolved to continue on the course of compassion, Irene knelt down beside the bed, grabbing the first aid supplies she''d stashed just underneath.


    "Drink as much as you would like..." Irene opened up the plastic case, looking for the scissors.


    "You don''t look very old. Do you live alone?" Cyrus asked abruptly. Irene lifted her light brown eyes, fixing him with a stern stare to cover the wave of anxiety the question stirred.


    "I live with my father." Irene said firmly. She suddenly wanted to get her hand on those scissors as soon as possible.


    "Really? I haven''t seen him¡­ he doesn''t mind me being here?" Cyrus pried.


    "He''s working." Irene didn''t need to tell him he wouldn''t be home for a few days. Irene swept under the bed to see if the scissors had fallen out underneath.


    "Where''s your mother?" Cyrus asked. The bed creak as he shifted, a shadow falling over Irene.


    This line of questioning was making Irene very uncomfortable. "Dead," Irene snapped, anxiety disguising itself as irritation. She quickly backed away. Irene eyed the man, feeling increasingly more vulnerable. What did I get myself into?


    "Oh. And your sister? You mentioned¡­"


    "Also dead," Irene didn''t want to talk about it, but she also didn''t have the presence of mind to come up with a suitable lie. She hoped her clipped responses would send a signal to the man to back off.


    Apparently, that signal was not received as the man continued his line of inquiry. "So your family''s all dead or absent? That sucks," the man responded with a blaise attempt at sympathy. Irene eyed him for a solid minute. Getting no further response, Cyrus added, "I bet you''re lonely, or at the very least, miserable."


    "No," Irene responded curtly, her impatience growing. "I''d rather not dwell on it." Finally, she noticed the sought-after scissors sitting atop the drying machine. She clicked her tongue at her forgetfulness and retrieved them. She was feeling just a bit more reassured now. Maybe she should leave and go find a neighbour. But that neighbour might call the cops. And they might ask where her father was. Irene was terrified that the system, purported to safeguard minors such as herself, would rake her father over the coals. Warming at her touch, she gripped the plastic handled scissors even tighter.


    "Really? I thought that''s what all teens did, dwell on everything." Cyrus sounded inappropriately amused.


    "I''ve got better things to do than throw a pity party. I have no use for that attitude." Irene returned to Cyrus'' side, kneeling beside him with scissors in hand. If he tries anything, I''ll be ready. But maybe I''m worrying over nothing, he might just be socially awkward, like Merle.


    "And what, pray tell, do you find useful?" Cyrus asked quietly. An icy gaze was Irene''s first response. A protracted silence was the second. Finally, came the third - which was to move things along. She kept her hand steady; if she showed fear then he might guess how alone she really was.


    "I''m going to change your bandages now... and then I want you to leave."


    Cyrus laughed in response. Unnerved, Irene cut the medical tape and unravelled the bandages. Her furrowed eyebrows rose in disbelief. All the bruising and swelling was gone, and the cuts were closed and scabbed over as if they''d been healing for days. This was impossible, and yet, she was touching him. He was real. In fact, his very real hand seized her wrist and squeezed. Irene gasped and tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.


    A futile struggle ensued, and Irene gazed frightfully into his dark eyes as she tried to pull away in vain. Stupid, stupid! I should have left the moment he asked if I was alone. His grin widened, and with little effort he threw her back. She tumbled and fell to the ground, quickly crawling away from the man, but still clutching the scissors tight. Every panicked attempt to get to her feet resulted in her losing balance and falling down again.


    Cyrus swung his legs to the side of the bed and rose to his feet with ease and grace impossible for an injured man. Irene took in a deep breath to scream, but instead held it in her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. She looked at the exit. Get up and move! Why can''t I move?


    "Thanks for helping me, but you probably should have looked the other way. Now that you''ve seen too much... yaddi yadda..." Cyrus shrugged, not bothering to finish the clich¨¦.


    Irene grasped the scissors behind her back. She gulped, and rose to dash for the exit. With uncanny celerity, Cyrus crossed the room and pushed her up against the cold wall. She yelped in dismay more than pain. Irene held the scissors firm and slashed at her attacker''s exposed chest. Her hand shook as she made contact. Red liquid gushed out, spattering across her nose like tiny garnet freckles. Irene recoiled in horror.


    Cyrus hissed and he grabbed her throat and lifted. The weight of her body strained her neck and her legs swung fruitlessly. He held her aloft with one hand with seemingly no effort, while his other hand grabbed the wrist holding the bloody scissors. His thumb dug into her wrist, burrowing between tendons. Irene squeaked out a partial yelp; the bloody scissors fell to the floor.


    No!


    Irene thought he was going to toss her aside, but instead he set her down again. With force that belied his small frame he slammed her into the wall. Irene felt the air flee her lungs with the shock of the impact.


    While she struggled to reinflate her lungs, she could feel a hand on her neck. Cyrus''s savage gaze dropped from Irene''s teary, unyielding eyes to her slender neck. The danger was real, and yet her heart began to slow down. She was still afraid, but the panic had burnt out, leaving confusion in its wake.


    How could this happen? I was only trying to help!


    Reality struck her with reinforcement. Irene could only muster an airy gasp as a piercing pain penetrated the skin on her neck.


    He was biting her. She could not believe it. He was biting her!


    Light-headed and fuzzy, all Irene stared in horror at her own blood being licked from the man''s lips. Again sensations dulled, and she was barely aware of the pain or blood trickling down the side of her neck.


    A chuckle erupted from her assailant. Cyrus placed both of his hands on her cheeks, squishing them together, forcing her lips to pucker. Irene broke out of her daze and glared at him. Anger bloomed in her chest, and steadily rose like liquid fire in her veins. Cyrus moved his face closer to hers, and her lips unwillingly connected with his, the taste of salt and iron invading. Then Cyrus threw back his head and laughed.


    Instantly Irene''s hand flew to the puncture on the side of her neck, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding. However, she was too angry and afraid to speak, and too confused and sore to try and run.


    "Speechless? Oh¡­ I have that effect on people." Cyrus grabbed her once more, his palm pressing into the nape of her neck.


    Please stop! She could not make the words, and she doubted they would dissuade this monster even if she could. His other hand pulled at her wrist, breaking the cover over her neck wound. Irene cringed. He brought his face close to hers and Irene turned her head, causing the pain in her neck to sting even worse. She needed to search for a way out of this. Anything!


    Shivers slid up and down her body as she could feel his slimy tongue sliding along the open wound. The pain gave way to numbness, and the only sensation on her neck was a moist chill and a dull pulsating. Cyrus ceased licking her and took a step back again. His lips parted into a broad grin, showing off his long, inhuman fangs. Irene stared in shocked silence. She wanted to rationalize, but all of her attempts ended in defeat. She was left with only one absurd conclusion. "But vampires don''t exist."

 Chapter 3 - Basement Vampire

    Ludicrous! Yet, here in front of her was the very image of what she imagined a vampire would look like, albeit, shorter.


    Everything in Irene''s body felt flipped around; weightlessness defied the opposing sensation of feet firmly planted on the ground. But how? And why? Feeling unstable, Irene reached out for something to steady herself, but even that small movement provoked a prickling sensation in her gut.


    "Ah yes, child of darkness, creature of the night, and blood sucking fiend, at your service," Cyrus''s voice pulled her back into the perturbing reality. The self-proclaimed vampire extended out his arms and bowed.


    This sudden transformation from savage to feigned elegance thawed the panic-induced freeze, allowing Irene''s anger to finally form words. Irene almost did not recognize her own voice as it rumbled out of her throat. "Go to hell."


    Cyrus slithered up to her and slung his arm about Irene''s shoulders. "But my vacation isn''t over yet." Goosebumps puckered her skin as she recoiled from his touch.


    "I don''t care. Get away from me." Irene''s voice was low and hardly audible over her thumping heart. She wanted to shriek to release the tension built up in her chest, but she felt almost as if a loud sound might set this chuckling hyena off.


    "Don''t worry, I''m not going to kill you after all. I have bigger ambitions for you," Cyrus announced, tapping her nose lightly. Her face scrunched.


    "I''m warning you¡­" Irene growled between clenched teeth.


    "What are you going to do? Stab me with scissors again?" Cyrus guffawed. He smiled, his hands gripping her goosebump-riddled arms. "I am, indeed, a vampire. However, I''m not an ungracious monster¡­ except when I''m hungry. Now then, let''s review."


    Irene had no choice but to listen; as long as he was talking, he wasn''t hurting her.  But what happens when he''s done talking? What do I do then? Think.


    "You saved my life, out of civic duty no doubt. Which means that out of civic duty you will not call the cops or tell anyone about what I am, because then they''d have to die. You wouldn''t want that to happen, right?"


    Irene dropped her gaze. "No."


    "Good girl," Cyrus released her upper arms, then Irene immediately folded them over her chest protectively. "Now that you are calm I can explain a few things. Firstly, if you are religious, don''t think a priest or shaman can save you. Pray, if you like, but it won''t do you any good."


    Prayer never did... Irene thought bitterly. An itching sensation surfaced, disrupting Irene''s focus while Cyrus monologued. However, she maintained eye contact with him, trying not to get distracted.


    "Second, take a good look, mortals can''t hurt me." Cyrus gestured to the fresh laceration which was closing up before her eyes. The other wounds were healing as well. This confirmed that she was dealing with something more than a delusional madman.


    The irritation on her cheek flared up again, and she couldn''t stop herself from scratching. She dropped her gaze to inspect her nails; cinnabar flakes clumped at the tips. That was his blood beneath her fingernails, not hers. He was not impervious; she could hurt him. Irene clung on to this fact to keep herself from tumbling into another panic. Even with his ability to heal quickly, a critical wound ought to stop him. "And for that matter... Are you paying attention?" Irene looked up from her hands


    Irene looked up from her hands. "Yes." She eyed the pink streak along Cyrus''s collarbone. He wore what remained of the cut like a stray thread hanging off old knitwear. Her attention wandered to her own wound. There was no pain in her neck; there was barely any sensation at all.


    "Well then! I''m claiming your basement as my new lair," Cyrus stated, crossing his arms over his chest.


    "No! Get out!" Irene blurted in a panic. The idea of this monster staying in her basement escalated her heart to a new level of dread.


    "I thought you said you were paying attention. Did I not make myself clear?"


    He''s dangerous, but he sounds more boastful than hostile. Maybe he can be reasoned with. Irene was willing to try anything, short of begging. Irene took several breaths to recollect her composure, trying to stop herself from more hazardous outbursts. "Yes, but let me be equally clear. I helped you. If you truly are grateful, you should leave."


    "Oh ho ho! Quite the little diplomat. Too bad, we''re already squared on that count. I mean, I DID spare your life despite you being a liability AND being really tasty." The sound of lips smacking repulsed Irene; her stomach clenched. "But you seem like a smart girl and I am confident that you won''t do anything stupid." Cyrus thoroughly leered at her body. It clear to Irene she was being appraised like livestock. "Anyway, I strongly suggest you get out of those bloody clothes and go shower. That can''t be hygienic."


    Cyrus stepped away from her, no longer barring her retreat. Irene wanted to scramble out of there, but she could only manage a dejected, shaky stumble towards the stairs. Chuckles taunted her as she ascended the stairs, clinging to the bannister. His laughter only served to make her more furious at her current situation.


    <hr>


    Cacophony. What was it? Images quickly fled, as sound became flashes of red light against delicate veins. Pain throbbed through Irene''s addled head. A groan escaped, sheets whispered as she shifted. The sensation a tear-crusted pillow against her cheek did little to reassure Irene that she had been dreaming. Irene dug her face into the pillow. Why wouldn¡¯t that ringing stop?


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    A period of silence lulled Irene back to sleep, only for the return of a ringtone to jar her awake. The shrillness of the sound provoked her headache further. Irritated, Irene thrust herself up from her bed. Who would be calling at this hour? She cleared her eyes, looked over at her alarm clock, and gasped. Wait! Is it five in the morning or evening? Bewildered, Irene looked towards the window and another pang shot through her skull. Through the trees the amber glow of sunset peeped at her. Irene shut her eyes and fumbled to close her curtains. Just as she quelled one attack on her raw senses, the phone launched a reprisal. Irene shambled towards the kitchen.


    "Hello?"


    ¡°Irene! You finally picked up! I''m so glad to hear your voice!¡±


    Irene held the receiver away from her ear, wincing at Merle''s shouting.


    ¡°What is it, Merle?¡± Irene asked, the croak of deep slumber lingering.


    ¡°Where have you been? You NEVER miss school without telling me!"


    Irene pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°I¡­ uh...¡± Instantly Irene¡¯s hand flew to her neck. All her fingertips experienced was smooth, unmarred skin. There should be a bump, a scab, anything.


    "You don''t sound good. Are you sick? I''ll ask if I can come stay with you. It sucks being sick and alone.¡± Merle peppered her with questions and solutions before Irene could formulate a coherent response.


    ¡°N-No Merle! I will be fine! I just need a bit more rest. You¡¯ll see me at school tomorrow, I promise!¡±


    There was silence, followed by a hesitant giggle.


    ¡°Tomorrow is Saturday. Really, Irene. For once I think you should take this more seriously.¡± Merle peeped incredulously.


    Irene sighed, shook her head, then winced from the resulting nausea.


    "I can take care of myself!" Irene snapped, then put her hand over her mouth, feeling a warning lurch in her stomach.


    "Don''t bite my head off, Irene!" Irene placed her hand on her stomach and tried to stay calm as Merle stormed at her. "I have been calling and calling and you weren''t picking up and I was almost getting ready to hop a ride over there and check on you! I''m just really concerned and you snap at me!" Merle sputtered. Before Irene could protest, Merle''s voice continued. "Sorry, sorry. I know you like to show off how tough you are. But call me if you do need me."


    Click.


    Irene sighed and hung up. She bit her lip and tried to overcome her nausea with sheer will. Irene slowly slid down to the ground. Should I have told Merle about Cyrus? No... that''d only get Merle into trouble. One worry opened the door, inviting its kin inside. What about when Dad returns? Will he be in danger? What would Cyrus do to him? Irene slowly lowered her eyes, a seething glare directed towards the stairs that led to the basement.


    Irene rose to her feet. Trembling, she stared down at dark stairways. Perhaps while he was resting during the day, she could drive a wooden stake through his heart. A wooden stake is how they do it in the legends and stories, right? But I don''t have a wooden stake. Maybe I can make one, or a cross instead. Irene closed her burning eyes and quietly walked away from the narrow stairs. But what if it doesn''t work? I can''t take that risk. Even with a weapon, she''d be no match for him while her stomach was on edge. She needed to settle her gut.


    Irene paced as she waited for her toast to pop. Once she felt steady enough, she knew where she needed to go. Irene nibbled on the toast, and the food did her some good. With her stomach finally settled, Irene struggled her feet into her runners and tied up the laces. She stared at the front door and drew in a breath. Wiping her eyes one last time she opened the door, stepping out into the golden hue of sunset.


    <hr>


    The cold light, subdued colours and smell of sterile equipment made the atmosphere depressingly hollow. Shivers ran down Irene''s spine as she stared at all the tubes and equipment hooked up to a waning body. Irene sighed and walked over to the bed, covered in white sheets. Memory of a shroud filled Irene''s heart with ice. No. Jordan will get better. She stroked the back of his hand, fingertips tracing his pronounced knuckles. Hazel eyes partially opened, appearing sickly green in the current setting.


    ¡°Hey there...¡± Irene said softly. A slight smile formed on his blanched face. Irene could barely see any of his golden hair beneath all the bandages.


    ¡°Hey¡­ how are you?¡± Jordan asked in a quiet voice.


    Irene shook her head and smiled, but her heart wasn¡¯t in it. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine¡­ how are you?¡± Irene responded, stroking his cheek gently, trying not to bump the air tubes leading from his nostrils.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel pain¡­ I don¡¯t really feel anything right now¡­ but Merle was here. She was really concerned. What''s going on?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you¡­¡± Irene responded, looking down. Jordan¡¯s eyes closed and he leaned into his pillow. He remained silent for a moment. Irene noticed his stockinged foot poking out from beneath the covers, and pulled it down so he didn''t get cold.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that,¡± Jordan finally determined. Irene sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.


    ¡°I have an unexpected guest at my house. Do not say anything to Merle, please¡­¡± Irene pleaded softly. Jordan opened his eyes halfway, sliding them gently to look over at her. "I''ll tell you more when I have more time."


    ¡°Okay... Just promise me you¡¯ll visit me again soon¡­ and tell me the rest¡­¡± Jordan requested. Jordan weakly tried to squeeze Irene¡¯s hand. She smiled a little and stroked his arm, bruised from multiple needle pokes.


    ¡°I will, but for now, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be fine ¨C you know I will,¡± Irene said, glancing at the clock. Time was running out.


    ¡°I know. You''ve always been strong." Jordan whispered.


    Irene shuddered. She didn''t feel strong. Irene felt helpless, and she hated it.


    "Do you think¡­ that once we''ve graduated¡­ that we could get married?¡± Jordan asked. Irene glanced down at him sadly. Jordan''s prognosis was vague at best. Meningitis, as a complication of a craniotomy, left Jordan with a high likelihood of permanent damage. She hoped for the best, but had already prepared herself for the worst. Irene forced a smile. It reassured her that he was so hopeful.


    ¡°A lot could happen by then. But¡­ I think it¡¯s very likely; I can¡¯t see myself with anyone else,¡± Irene admitted. The faint smile that materialized on his face made Irene shudder inside. It wasn¡¯t a shudder of pain or sorrow, but a bittersweet resonance deep within. They stared at each other in silence. Neither of them had ever told the other in words how much they cared for each other; they always said it with actions or peaceful silence. It was the way Irene preferred it. The last person she said she loved was her sister, and she was gone.


    The door to Jordan''s private hospital room swung open and a nurse stepped in. She stared at Irene for a moment before announcing, ¡°Time to go."


    Irene nodded and gave Jordan¡¯s hand one more affectionate squeeze before she left.

 Chapter 4 - Symbiotic Relationship

    Irene stood on her shoddy, wooden porch in the evening shadows. Cyrus was either in there, or out hunting. Upon entering, her eyes instantly went to the basement stairs. Her laundry needed to get done, but she did not want to go down there.


    A long sigh escaped Irene''s lips and squared her shoulders. Balancing a basket on her hip, she entered the basement. He could probably hear her, and waited with that horrible smug smile of his. But all she found at the bottom of the stairs was darkness. The rough texture of the stucco wall met her finger tips as she felt around for the light switch.


    Click.


    The bed was empty. Her eyes darted to all the dark, shadowy corners of the room. None of them offered a shape or form that could possibly be his. She sighed again, this time in relief. Where could he be?  Never mind, I don''t want to think about it.


    Irene set down the basket by the washing machine and began to sort out the whites from the coloured clothes as quickly as she could. Irene tossed a bra into the white pile, her skin crawling at the idea of him coming back and seeing her underwear.


    On her second load, Irene heard the door open and shut upstairs. She leaned forward in her seat and put down her book, watching the door intensely. Rattling of the washing machine, thump of her heart, and the creak and hollow knock of footsteps drawing closer all paraded around her ears.


    Into the room Cyrus strode, dressed in clean, untattered clothes. His eyes were aflame not with rage, but rather the dying licks of adrenaline. His face had faint hues of colour, and his very presence was lively and vivid. Although she still thought of him as rodent-like, she could not deny that he cleaned up well.


    Cyrus''s eyes lit up when they connected with her own.  ¡°There you are.¡± His face was plastered with a detestable smirk. ¡°I was beginning to worry that you had run off somewhere.¡± His eyes shifted to the bras that were hanging to dry. Immediately, Irene strode right up to Cyrus and sharply struck him across the face. Cyrus instantly grabbed her wrist with one hand, putting the other to his cheek.


    ¡°You should take more care not to slap me. It doesn''t hurt, but it is demeaning,¡± Cyrus pulled Irene closer, removing his other hand from his cheek to place it on hers.


    Irene wanted to pull away, but there was something drawing her in, paralyzing her. She wanted to feel angry and afraid, but something was interfering, stirring up a foreign sense of excitement. It was only a brief moment, before the flames of her anger engulfed it. She still didn''t have the strength to try and escape him, but her face finally managed a glare.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± Irene demanded. Although her better senses told her to rein in her anger, Cyrus brought out such primal rage she had no defenses against.


    ¡°Ever heard that saying, ''if you can''t beat them, join them''? I think it''d apply beautifully here. You could become my companion. My comrade. My partner in crime.¡± Cyrus stroked her cheek and Irene turned her face away.


    ¡°I will NOT be your anything, you filthy beast!¡± Irene declared.


    A rupture of his smooth, masculine voice tumbled out of his mouth in a chuckle. Again, she tried to pull away, but it was no use as her stockinged feet just slipped along the floor. "Am not! I showered quite recently, I''ll have you know."


    ¡°Let go of me, Cyrus!¡± Irene demanded.


    The amusement in Cyrus¡¯s voice intensified. ¡°Ah, so you finally called me by name. I¡¯m flattered,¡± he cooed and patted Irene upon her head. Finally, he let go of her wrist. She scrambled away from the vampire, lest he¡¯d try to grab her again.


    ¡°You¡¯d be flattered if I spat on you, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Irene sputtered, continuing to back away. Bump. Irene gasped, keyed up to run, but then sighed  when she felt and heard the rhythmic thumping of the washing machine behind her.


    Cyrus placed his hand on his hip. ¡°No, no, not really. Just confused," he responded after a moment''s reflection. His smirk lessened, but a whisper of amusement lingered on his lips. ¡°Okay you don''t want to be my equal, I guess you''ll be a pet. You''re more like a puppy anyway. A very up-tight, cranky, independent¡­ second thought, you''re more like a pussycat.¡±


    Irene gawked. Before she could find coherent words to object, Cyrus continued.  "I''m looking for a, oh what''s that fancy term, ah yes, symbiotic relationship. You give me shelter and a little amusement on the side, and I can offer protection and a wide variety of interesting services. Don''t suppose you have any stalker ex-boyfriends you want dealt with?"


    Irene shook her head.


    "Teachers you want leaned on?"


    Mortified, she shook her head with greater vehemence.


    "Bullies exterminated? Gossips silenced?"


    "No." She crossed her arms.


    "Rich uncles expired?"


    "NO!" she answered with increased exasperation, throwing her arms in the air.


    "Oh well. Lastly, to level with you on YOUR terminology, I guess in a way I am a beast. I''m no threat to you unless YOU provoke me first. Or if I''m starving. I don''t plan on starving, so you should be fine," Cyrus''s words lapped over each other. Irene studied him warily from a distance.


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    Irene took a moment to digest his proposal before responding. "I won''t accept anything you would offer, especially amusement on the side. You''re probably after the same thing most other men are!" Irene accused bitterly. Quickly she chastised herself. She had tried very hard not to make such general statements.


    "Most other men? Are you telling me you''ve met a man whose mind isn''t always preoccupied with copulating?" the dramatic vampire asked, feigning an expression of shock and awe.


    "Cop¡­copulating?"


    "It means to have sex."


    "I know what it means!" Irene snapped. "I just didn''t expect such a big word from someone as vulgar as you."


    "I can''t be vulgar and know big words? Tsk," Cyrus responded with a fake hint of hurt in his voice. "Besides, I find your statements very sexist."


    "What?" Irene cleared her throat noisily. "I don''t think all men are that way. I have a boyfriend and he''s very respectful!"


    "Ooooh, a respectful boyfriend. How cute. I had a woman who respected me too! The way she used to call me master¡­ ah yes just the sort of respect that lacks in this day and age." Wistful and prolonged, a sigh escaped the him as he slipped into reverie.


    ¡°Had a woman? How much did she cost?¡± Irene was grasping at anything to throw back at her verbal spar partner. She was emboldened by this strange high she was getting from letting her anger loose. The fact that it would take little effort on his part to kill her seemed to have faded from her mind. But regret was already mounting, reminding her of the danger of her situation. She watched him guardedly, bracing herself.


    ¡°About eighty guineas, but that isn''t the point,¡± Cyrus responded, brushing his hand in the air with a wave of dismissal. No physical reprisal came. Irene wondered just how far she could push her boundaries. She wanted to discover a button she could press to make him feel threatened or disconcerted, and take back control.


    "You don''t feel any shame, do you? Or is that just how you cover up the loneliness? It must be hard, living so long among people who live such short lives," she stated, looking for a new angle to work.


    ¡°Oh come now! I''m a heartless bastard; who cares if I''m lonely and embittered by the death of every morsel of meat I toy with?¡±


    Irene did not let her intense stare fall. ¡°You are evading."


    Cyrus shook his head and wandered on over to the bed. The mattress springs protested as he fell onto it. ¡°What is this, an interview?" He fluffed his pillow. "I''ll answer your personal questions only if you answer mine.¡± He donned a broad grin, complete with waggling eyebrows. "I know I am dying to learn about this supposedly respectful boy-toy."


    ¡°Forget it." Irene scratched the back of her neck, trying not to let his smug countenance get to her. ¡°You have already prodded into my life far enough, so it would only be fair that you be prepared to take a little prodding yourself.¡±


    ¡°Quaint. I, of course, decide what is fair and what is not. I''ll share whenever I feel like it,¡± Cyrus said coolly, stretching out on the bed. He let one leg hang over the edge and rested his hands languidly on his stomach. "So. Boyfriend. Broody poet, excitable geek, or strapping jock? Hmm probably not that latter since you mentioned respect."


    "Now who is making assumptions?" Irene countered.


    "Touch¨¦."


    "Besides, what interest would a vampire have in my personal life?¡±


    Cyrus shrugged, but for a change, didn''t respond. Instead, he stretched out and made himself comfortable. Is he bored already?  Whatever.  So long as he keeps his hands to himself I don''t care. Irene glanced over at her laundry. She either needed to finish it now, or put the rest of it away and do it later. She walked over to the baskets, feeling his dark eyes trace her every movement. Irene self-consciously pulled down her shirt that was starting to ride up. She glared over her shoulder at Cyrus. Look at him, lying there like he belongs.  Such a man child... it''s hard to believe he''s dangerous.  She was uncertain how to handle his mercurial and contrary mannerisms, much less how to reconcile the reality of a vampire into her view of the world.


    ¡°You know, Irene, being a vampire isn¡¯t so bad¡­¡± Cyrus mused out loud in a casual tone as though he were discussing the weather.


    ¡°And where exactly do you intend go with this conversation?¡± Irene asked, her voice going a little higher than she would have liked.


    The man-child vampire tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, and then proceeded to shrug his shoulders. ¡°You seem to have so many distorted ideas about vampires despite my efforts to properly educate you."


    Irene sighed and turned back to her laundry, transferring what was left in the washer into the dryer, and gathering the rest up to take upstairs. ¡°Right. An education on vampires is really going to rocket my future career."


    Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested his chin upon the nest of woven flesh. ¡°Maybe not your future career, but it will definitely help in your chances of living to see the future,¡± he muttered.


    She paused right before the door, the laundry basket held in one hand and balanced on her hip. ¡°NOW what are you implying?¡±


    ¡°Just by knowing we exist, you''ll attract the attention of other vampires. Well, most. Some vampires really are just goof-offs.¡±


    ¡°Goof-offs? Such as yourself?¡±


    ¡°Come now, you have only met me. You have no frame of reference, darling." He gesticulated with flamboyant flair. "I am serious, however. It¡¯s just a sense one gets. Most mortals that knowingly encounter a vampire have physiological reactions, and well, being drinkers of blood, we thrive on feeling these sorts of reactions."


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Irene asked warily.


    ¡°For your own safety. It took me great pains not to finish you off, and I would hate it if you ended up as another vampire''s meal after I made such a dire sacrifice." Cyrus smirked, but then his tone took on uncharacteristic seriousness. "Most vampires detest mortals seeing through their fa?ade, and they will bring you harm. I just thought you should know.¡±


    Irene drew in a large breath, almost choking on the tense air. Finally she opened the door with her free hand. She had nothing more to say, but a lot to consider.

 Chapter 5 - Keep Away

    ¡°Top o'' the morning to you, luv,¡± Cyrus greeted in a phony accent, tacking on an equally phony smile. Irene was dumbfounded to find Cyrus seated at her kitchen table. This was supposed to be a creature of the night. Then it dawned on her that it was morning when she found him. If only she had been too slow to help him, he might have burnt away. Pity.


    ¡°What are you doing in my kitchen?¡±


    Irene watched the movement of his hand, as it waved nonchalantly in the air. ¡°Change of scenery,¡± Cyrus casually responded. Irene crossed her arms and fixed Cyrus with a baleful look. In response, the vampire''s bottom lip pushed out and curled down. Dark eyebrows, barely visible beneath his messy black bangs, drew so close together it looked as though some invisible hand were reaching out and pinching the upper bridge of his nose. He displayed the most pathetic, yet the most frightening pout Irene had ever witnessed. She looked away sharply.


    After a pause, Irene grumbled, ¡°go crawl back into your hole.¡± She snatched the keys from a peg in the wall and shoved them into her pocket.


    ¡°Ah so you finally admit that it¡¯s MY hole!"


    Irene drew in a sharp breath, trying not to begin her day with screaming. ¡°Better get going before the sun rises,¡± she warned, fighting the urge to raise her voice. As she faced the front door she heard the obnoxious drumming of fingers on the kitchen table.


    ¡°I have time,¡± came Cyrus voice, which was followed by the creak of wood. At least the drumming had stopped. She put on her jacket, but listened closely to the sound of his footsteps, and then the whine of the fridge door opening. "By the way, is this your only pitcher?"


    Irene turned to look. Strange. She didn¡¯t recall making any juice recently. Her eyes squinted. That was not juice. Cyrus grabbed a cup down from the cupboard as though he had lived in the house his entire life. Sensations pricked along Irene¡¯s spine as she watched him put the lid on the pitcher, turn it to block the spout, and shake the contents vigorously.


    "If you think I''ll just go ''poof'' the moment the sun is up, you''re wrong. Sure I''ll burn worse than a red-head, but I like to leave it to the last minute before I hiss and scramble down into my hole," Cyrus explained as he poured out the red liquid then lifted the cup to his lips. "Got to get my thrills in."


    Irene drew in another deep breath to keep her nerves calm. Foul was the monster that would keep blood in her refrigerator. Whose blood is it? Will my food be safe? What diseases are now cultivating in my kitchen? Her lips thinned and she turned around again. She was not going to say another word to him. There were more important things to do. With her mind once again focused, she quickly made her escape from the madness.


    Running usually helped clear Irene''s mind and relieve stress. But this was the sort of problem that exercise could not solve. Action was what was needed, not running away. However, she was still wary of involving the authorities. Insisting a vampire was in her basement would either be seen as a prank, or a need for psychiatric evaluation. If she reported a home invasion, they might come with weapons ready, but it was unlikely tasers and guns would be adequate against a supernatural being. Furthermore, Cyrus had warned that he''d kill any cops that showed up. She didn''t want that on her conscience.


    Still ruminating on what limited information she had, Irene set out to do some errands, seeking any excuse to stay out of the house. While shopping in the produce aisle, she looked at the fresh garlic. She treated most things in fiction as just that: fiction. But if vampires were real, then maybe some of their weaknesses were too. She tossed a few bulbs into her basket as she scoured her memory for other methods used to combat children of the night.


    When Irene finally made it back home, she closed the door as softly as she could. The gloomy afternoon light that pushed in through the west-facing windows was already fading. Irene set down her shopping bags and took off her damp sneakers, holding her breath. She grabbed her bag and tip-toed to the kitchen. As she was unloading the groceries, she gasped and nearly dropped the eggs as she felt a tickle along her calves.


    "Mew."


    Irene set the eggs down gently, her other hand placed on her chest. Rubbing between her legs was Silver. "Sorry, no treats today old girl." She smiled at her own raw nerves. "How about you go stand guard at the basement stairs and scream if the nasty man comes up?" She whispered as she bent down and scratched Silver''s ears.


    Irene finished putting everything away. She transferred a few items to a cloth tote bag, not wanting the crinkling of plastic to alert Cyrus. Making sure she knew where Silver was this time, Irene tip-toed down the basement, testing each step for creakiness before putting down her full weight.


    Beyond what leaked through the basement door, there was no light. Unsure how to utilize the garlic, Irene pulled apart a few cloves, scattered them at the threshold of the basement, and put what remained in her pockets. Next, she retrieved a wooden crucifix from her bag. It wasn''t as large or as ornate as ones she saw in movies, but it was all she could find at the thrift store. Irene still didn''t believe in God, but hopefully that wouldn''t matter.


    Once Irene''s eyes adjusted, she shuffled as quietly as she could towards the bed. She could not make out details, but Cyrus appeared to be asleep. Creak went the mattressl Irene held her breath and stepped aside to obscure her silhouette. Her racing heart made it difficult to keep her breath in, but still she fought the panic brewing in her chest. She waited, looking for signs of movement and listening to any further noises.


    Silence.


    False alarm. Shakily, Irene exhaled. Once her frayed nerves would allow it, she continued her approach. Soon, she stood over the cot. In the darkness she could not make out where his chest was. The ties of her bag were looped over her elbow, keeping it pulled closed and awkward to reach in and find the stake she''d borrowed from a construction site. She justified her act of petty theft as a means of survival. The long shaft of wood got caught on the folds of the bag. She grew more frantic at each successive failure to untangle and retrieve her weapon.  Two hands would have made it easier, but she refused to let go of the crucifix.


    Another creak and movement caused Irene to stumble back. She barely avoided falling by overcompensating with a forward motion, ending up on her knees instead of on her butt. She expected to see his vague form rise and loom over her, but he remained dormant. Irene set the bag down, pulled the ties apart, and carefully removed the stake.


    Irene stared down at the vampire. Her hands shook. The stake didn''t seem all that sharp. It was only meant to drive through soil. Irene held the cross out, lowering it until she felt it rest against him, expecting a reaction. To her disappointment, he didn''t convulse or thrash. What am I even doing?


    Irene shook out her doubts and raised the stake. She was determined to end the menace. But he was asleep. I can''t kill a sleeping man in cold blood.  Maybe I should keep these things ready for the next time he tries to bite me?  It''d be self defense then.  But I can''t go around with these things on me all the time; they''re too bulky.  What am I doing?  What do I do? A lump formed in her throat. I can''t. She despised Cyrus, but she was too afraid to strike.


    From stillness to action, an explosion of movement elicited a yelp from Irene. Before she could dash away, a familiar grip caught the hand holding the stake.


    "Now that''s just cute, Irene," came Cyrus''s taunting voice. There was a clatter as the crucifix was knocked onto the floor. Irene held the stake tight while trying to pull her hand free. But it was to no avail; he was too strong.


    "Let me go." Irene knew she had no real leg to stand on. She was attempting to kill him; it''d be only natural for him to defend himself. Her heart raced as a million possible outcomes slammed into her mind at once, all of them gruesome.


    "Alright."


    What?


    The pressure on her wrist released. Irene pulled her hand back, taking several steps away. She didn''t have time to be confused. Irene scampered for the door, only to halt as Cyrus'' silhouette blocked the scant light from upstairs. The door shut them both into perfect darkness. Before she could fall back from the sudden halt, she felt a cold hand along her back supporting her.


    "What''s the hurry? Weren''t you down here to try and kill me? Go on, Irene, finish what you started." With his free hand he turned on the light. Irene shut her eyes reflexively.


    "...You left me no choice," she muttered, blinking while she waited for her eyes to adjust again.


    "You have choices, dearie. I will admit, though, they aren''t very good choices, but you have them. Remember, you have agency, but also responsibility for your actions." Cyrus placed his fingers under her chin and leaned closer, his cool cheek brushing against hers as he whispered into her ear. "Go on. Give me your best shot."


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Irene flared her nostrils as the anger returned. She was further incensed by his smug expression as he leaned back. He pulled down the collar of the shirt he wore to expose his chest. Irene gripped her meagre weapon but hesitated. Is this a trick? Or is it reverse psychology? What happens if I strike? What happens if I don''t?


    Cyrus chuckled. That was all it took.


    Buzzing sensations harassed the base of Irene''s skull; her eyelid twitched. All she could see was his heaving chest, her vision tunneling to her target. She slammed the stake as hard as she could into his inviting flesh. He didn''t even wince. His laughter grew louder. Irene screamed and pulled back, trying to stab him again. And again. And again. The rough wood was rubbing her hands raw. But she barely broke his skin, leaving only superficial abrasions. She finally threw the stake aside in frustration.


    Seeing this, Cyrus opened the door, keeping on the far side of it and gestured for her to leave. "Accept that you are powerless, Irene, and life will get much simpler for you.


    Powerless.


    Tears welled up in Irene''s eyes, but she would not let him see. She ran out of the basement as quickly as she could. No matter what I do, I''m always powerless. I couldn''t do anything for Monica. I can''t do anything for Jordan. I can''t even save myself. Irene stopped at her bedroom door. I won''t cry in my room and feel sorry for myself. Irene breathed deeply to steady herself. Jordan... I can''t do this alone.


    <hr>


    Irene quietly tip-toed over to Jordan''s bed at the hospital.  Raspy breathing greeted her ears; he was taken off of oxygen at last.  A comic book lay splayed on his stomach.  Likely he had drifted off while browsing.  She bit her lip. How will he react?


    ¡°Irene¡­¡± a sleepy voice greeted.


    Irene instantly put her hand on his and smiled reassuringly. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    Jordan''s eyes closed for a moment as a subtle crease formed between his eyebrows. ¡°Fine, all things considered,¡± he responded reluctantly.


    Irene shook her head, but did not surrender her smile to her skepticism. ¡°All things shouldn¡¯t be considered.  If you¡¯re in pain, it¡¯s alright.  Complain away." She picked up the comic book and set it on the tray beside his bed.


    ¡°It hurts a little worse today¡­ but I know it will get better,¡± Jordan admitted.


    Irene nodded and stroked his cheek gently.  Instantly, a dimple formed in that very cheek, as half of his face glided into a smile ¨C although it could not maintain itself very long.  ¡°Of course it will." She glanced back at the comic.  "A little light reading?" The gaudy colours and impossible proportions of leotard clad superheroes popped off the front page.


    "Keith lent it to me.  He comes by and lets me know how the team''s doing." Jordan glanced away as Irene lifted a page, staring at the grotesquely large-breasted heroine featured on a splash page. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Well..." Irene stalled, dropping the comic page as if a spider had crawled across her hand.  "Things could be better, but they could also be worse,¡± she muttered.  She slipped her hand back into Jordan''s. He responded with a weak squeeze.  Sadness awakened in Irene every time she felt how feeble his hands had become; they were once so strong.


    ¡°So... house guest.  Your Uncle Henry didn''t come back, did he?¡± Jordan asked, shifting a little in an attempt to sit up.  Irene flashed him a stern look, and he laid back down.


    ¡°No.  Last I heard he was somewhere in Columbia, and good riddance." Irene chuckled in spite of herself.  At the moment she would take her trouble-making Uncle over a vampire in the basement.  Better to deal with the devil she knew than the devil she did not.


    "Who else would drop in when your father is away?  You don''t really have any other family as far as I know." Jordan raised his eyebrow in perplexity. He winced and rubbed his temple gingerly, careful not to disrupt the bandages.


    "I wouldn''t believe it if I hadn''t experienced it myself¡­¡± Irene needed to prepare Jordan for the truth. However, she knew nothing could really prepare any normal person to accept the supernatural. Wait.  Am I no longer normal?  Just by being exposed to the supernatural?


    Jordan¡¯s eyes peered at her with intense curiosity and concern. ¡°Go on Irene, I won¡¯t laugh."


    She clenched her teeth. ¡°To be frank, there is a vampire living in my basement.¡± It sounded absolutely ridiculous to her, and she could feel her face growing hot with embarrassment. However, she could not tear her gaze away from her boyfriend''s face. His eyes stared into hers, vacantly.  His gaze drifted away a moment, and then cautiously returned.  A hint of a dimple appeared on his cheek as he tried not to smile, then he glanced down at his hands.  All the while Irene wanted to go hide.


    ¡°A vampire¡­ is that a metaphor?¡±


    Irene shook her head sadly, pursing her lips. His incredulous expression halted her and shook her resolve. I can''t do this to him. ¡°Yeah, a metaphor.  I found an injured guy in the woods, and tried my best to give first aid.  I was going to call the ambulance, but he admitted to being here without papers and begged me not to." She watched as Jordan furrowed his eyebrows, showing interest and concern.  "I guess because he was a victim I didn''t look beyond that."


    He glanced down, cringing. ¡°Irene¡­ you brought him home, didn''t you?¡±


    Irene nodded dismally and looked away. ¡°He was very persuasive.  I know it was foolish, but I couldn''t leave him like that." She looked back at him, worry lines etched on her forehead.  "What if he died?"


    Jordan stared at her with his mouth agape. ¡°Irene¡­¡± he sighed.  "I''d expect that from Merle, but you''re usually more savvy than that."


    She looked down. "I know."


    Jordan reached out and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes. "Has he caused you any trouble?"


    Remembering Cyrus''s touch, Irene looked away. "Some... and he''s still there.  And I don''t dare call the police now because..." Irene looked back at Jordan, seeing the hurt and confusion in his expression, "...what if they somehow blame Dad for not being home?  I just need to wait until Dad gets back."


    Jordan placed his hands on his lap, turning away from Irene for a moment.  He tapped his fingers, then looked back at her.  ¡°Am I going to have to rough this guy up when I''m better?¡± he asked, his eyes growing intense. She let out a monosyllabic laugh at the thought, although the idea frightened her. "Irene... are you sure he hasn''t hurt you?  That''s your ''being tough and hiding how upset you are'' laugh."


    Irene stared up at the ceiling, releasing a shaky breath. She did not wish to lie, but she didn''t want to tell him the truth.  Intense discomfort overcame her every time she tried to find the words to describe what had transpired; she worried over how to accurately reflect the reality without making it too light or too severe.  Furthermore, as disconcerting as it was to say what had happened, she could only imagine the distress it would cause for Jordan to hear it.


    ¡°He''s just been a nuisance.  You know how I feel about my personal space." Irene shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster.  Her throat was tightening, and she could feel that she was close to losing control of her voice as she tried to hide the fear, shame, and disgust.  However, she continued to strain to keep herself from crying. From the heat her face was giving off, she knew her nose and eyes were red. She inhaled sharply, and faked sneezing into her shoulder.


    "Bless you." Jordan sat up and held out a box of tissues. "I hope you aren''t coming down with something."


    "I should go; I''d hate to get you even sicker." Irene stood up, wiping her nose.


    The patient took in a few deep breaths. "You really should call the police.  Injured or not, I don''t like the idea of you being alone with a strange man in your house.  Don''t go back there until he''s been taken away.  Ask Mrs. Crowe if you can stay with her. I''m sure she''d understand."


    After a moment of silent contemplation, Irene gave one loud sniff and nodded her head. ¡°You''re right, I can''t go back there. I¡¯ll go ask Merle if I can stay with her.¡± To shield her ailing boyfriend from her intense emotions, she spoke in monotone as overcompensation.


    ¡°Or you could ask Mom if she¡¯ll let you stay there for a while.  You could stay in my room; I¡¯m not using it,¡± Jordan offered.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t!" Irene gawked at Jordan. Staying in his room would only make his absence more obvious. "Your mother is beside herself with stress; she doesn¡¯t need me around. Besides, your father doesn''t like me."


    ¡°Father¡­ well¡­ he just thinks a girl who is on her own so much is¡­" Jordan meandered through the words to justify his father''s behaviour, "...well, will be too needy and that you would not be good for me. He just needs to see he''s wrong.  This would be¡­ this¡­ the¡­¡± Jordan¡¯s words began to fade out.


    "I''ve worn you out, I''m sorry.  You get some rest, Jordan.  I''ll be fine," she reassured as best she could.


    "Irene... no... I..." his eyes bulged and he wheezed.


    "Jordan? Jordan what''s wrong?"


    Irene placed a hand on the guardrail of the hospital bed, clutching it tight. Tingling erupted into all of Irene¡¯s extremities as she watched as Jordan began to gasp for air.  Quickly she spun around, shouting, "Nurse!  NURSE!  Somebody, help!"


    Irene watched in horror as his back arched violently, throwing his chest up into the air before it came crashing down on the bed.  His face contorted with pain, his eyes flashing and wild, and yet vacant.


    Irene remembered the call button and dangling beside his bed and grabbed it, smashing the button. Again his whole body convulsed.  Irene¡¯s eyes were glued to him as he thrashed and gasped, like an epileptic fish out of water.  It wasn¡¯t until a large brown hand grabbed her and pushed her aside that she could tear her gaze away.


    Irene put her hands to her ears and continued to back away, keeping her eyes down.  The screaming of the machine, Jordan¡¯s plead for air, the nurses yelling orders at each other and scrambling for the right equipment, all of these things were too much.  She could not watch.


    This is all my fault.  I shouldn''t have burdened him.  What if he doesn''t recover?  What if this is it?  I can''t... I can''t...


    ¡°He¡¯s stable¡­ for now.¡±


    The words pulled Irene out from within herself.  She slowly let her hands drop from her ears and looked over.  Lying, exhausted and messy, was Jordan.  The collar of his gown was saturated in drool, and his face was wet with perspiration.  An oxygen mask covered his mouth.  She frowned as the nurses lingered a moment before going to report.  Irene slowly walked over to Jordan.  His eyes were closed.


    ¡°Miss,¡± she heard a voice behind her.  A warm hand was placed on her shoulder. ¡°Let him get some rest.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Irene whispered.  "Rest."  She looked down, then at the nurse, "Thank you."  The nurse nodded. Irene didn¡¯t want to ask what happened.  She could not bear the truth if it was connected to stress. Irene pulled away and hurried out of the room.

 Chapter 6 - A Fickle Friend

    Dappled along the green lawn were traces of golden sunbeams, yet none of them seemed to fall on her house, as if a permanent shade were cast upon it. Irene stood at the start of her driveway, her heart pounding.


    I shouldn''t have told him anything. What have I done?


    Irene sought respite, but it would not be found at home. She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the drowsy, warm atmosphere of cedar in the late afternoon. Despite the taint Cyrus had left on her home, this smell still filled her with comfort. After buoying herself with the calming aroma, she entered.


    Sunset approached; Cyrus would soon rise. He might already be awake. Irene balanced between stealth and haste as best she could. This meant sliding across the linoleum of her kitchen in her socks, and speed shuffling to her room.


    Irene scooted to her closet, careful not to disturb the jangly metal hangers as she searched for her old duffel bag. Once secured, she stuffed it with a few changes of clothes. She looked at the door, expecting Cyrus to burst through at any minute. Nothing there. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to jump, putting a hand to her chest. Something was emerging from under her bed.


    "Oh... Silver..." Irene whispered as her pet stretched and then proceeded to lick off the dust bunnies clinging to her fur. "Were you hiding from the bad man?"


    Silver stared at her with her limpid, emerald eyes. Guilt immediately sent Irene''s stomach into somersaults. She could not bring her cat with her; Merle''s family rented and weren''t allowed pets. It was disquieting to leave her furry companion behind with Cyrus. But there wasn''t time to think of another solution. She needed to put her well-being first. Irene gave her cat a few pets and whispered, "Goodbye. Stay safe."


    Steeling her nerves, Irene left her room. She tip-toed to the bathroom next, quickly gathering a few personal toiletries. She left the toilet lid up to provide Silver with a back-up source of water. Normally she discouraged her cat from drinking from the porcelain bowl, but desperate times called for desperate measures.


    Rap-tap-tap


    Irene froze, shut the bathroom door, and locked it. Waiting for her heart to settle, she eventually realised it was coming from outside. Listening intently, she heard the howling wind. Oh it''s just the old fir tree scratching against the window.


    Irene''s nerves were shot. There were a few other things she wanted to bring, but she didn''t dare spend another moment inside the house. She flew out of the bathroom, hastily put on her shoes, and left.


    Every step of Irene''s journey to her friend''s house was strenuous due to the burden of her worries. Everything that was certain and concrete was crumbling. Irene wondered what other myths and supernatural things were real.


    Were there vampires in the streets? Irene avoided looking at anyone who passed her by, keeping her gaze straight ahead like a horse with blinders. Ghosts in the old buildings? Werewolves in the forest? She spared a glance at a nearby copse of trees that separated two large properties. The wind was causing them to shake and sway with a liveliness that disconcerted her.


    How many deaths and animal attacks were the works of otherworldly beings? Irene tried to ignore the barking of a dog, glancing only briefly to make sure it was on a chain. Losing her cool, she ran the rest of the way to the bus stop, her duffel bag thumping against her hip awkwardly.


    When Irene stepped off the bus, she saw a patrol car parked down the street. She could not tell if anyone was inside through the tinted windows. Shivers shot through her spine. What if some of the members of law enforcement or government are vampires, keeping it out of public knowledge? How else could they stay under the radar in this day and age? Thoughts and possibilities swirled through her mind like the eddies of leaves that danced at her ankles. She switched shoulders and continued her trek to Merle''s house.


    ¡°Irene? What are you doing here this time of day?¡± Merle¡¯s voice broke through her mental overgrowth. Irene stopped in front of Merle¡¯s porch. The friend who puberty forgot was leaning slightly against an old wooden pillar.


    Irene glanced down, and then cautiously looked into her round eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about before, I know you were only trying to help.¡±


    Merle moved away from the pillar and sat down on the porch steps, a frown forming. ¡°You look really pale, Irene. Have¡­ have you been crying?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m just tired,¡± Irene lied reflexively and tried to look away. Merle sprang to her feet and closed the gap between them.


    ¡°You HAVE been crying! Irene, why won¡¯t you talk to me?¡± Irene was taken aback that Merle even noticed. Words clamoured to the bottleneck of her mind, but none managed to squeeze out her mouth. Even at Merle''s urging to come inside out of the chilling wind, she just stood there, dumb and lame. Her friend took her by the shoulders and guided her inside.


    <hr>


    The two girls sat across from each other at an old card table, bubbly glasses of ginger ale set before them. Irene stared down at her clasped hands.


    "I visited Jordan today..." Irene began.


    Merle nodded her head, an exaggerated look of sympathy on her round face. "How is he?" she asked after some hesitation, but Irene sensed she didn''t really want to know the answer.


    "Bad. He had a really scary fit. Before that he talked about getting married." Irene looked away when she saw Merle''s eyes go wide. "I don''t think he''s accepting how serious his condition is. The injury, the craniotomy, the meningitis he got after..." she shook her head. Tears threatened to return to her face. Quickly, she raised her glass to her mouth, feeling the fizz tickle her lip and nose.


    "Man... I''m so sorry Irene. I thought he was on the mend." Merle''s bony shoulders raised as she slumped like a reprimanded puppy.


    If Irene''s thoughts were not so troubled, she would have found her friend''s exaggerated expression comical. She reached across the table. Seeing this, Merle perked up and took hold of her hand, giving it an enthusiastic squeeze.


    "I don''t want to be alone right now, Merle. Can I stay here for a few nights?" Irene asked.


    Merle shook her head. "No problem!" Then she went from shaking to nodding. "Of course you can! Mom will be working late, but I don''t think she''ll mind! She likes you," the redhead chirped with dizzying alacrity. "Looks like you came prepared," she added, tilting her head to the duffel bag.


    "Ah, yeah. I didn''t mean to assume, but it was just simpler to have this all ready," Irene muttered, her hand hovering protectively over her overnight bag.


    "I''ll go get the hide-a-bed ready! Looks like we''ll have a movie night after all!"


    <hr>


    Although Merle could be volatile, she was exactly what Irene needed. Notwithstanding the importance of figuring out her next move, what helped maintain her was the constant distraction a vivacious and lively character could provide. Merle kept Irene busy with so much mundane nonsense that it was bliss. There were no vampires lurking in the shadows for just a couple nights.


    Monday came and went, and though Merle expressed surprise that Irene stayed over on a school night, she didn''t question it further. However, with the weekend over, the distractions ceased to be a balm, and Irene grew impatient. Merle''s mother was also asking questions and Irene was running out of evasive half-truths. This was not a long-term solution, and she needed to decide whether or not to alert the police. Despite Jordan''s suggestion, she could not bring herself to involve the authorities.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Irene, there''s something more than just Jordan bothering you, isn''t there?" The golden early sunset enhanced the vibrant colour of Merle''s hair as she sat on the porch, blowing bubbles.


    "Maybe." Irene wrapped her jacket more closely around her to fight off the chill in the air. Evenings came more and more rapidly as the season progressed. "We should go in."


    "But the sunsets are so pretty this time of year."


    Irene shuddered again. She feared the sunset, despite its beauty. All the same, she squinted at the mountains in the horizon, with peaks dusted white like delicate confections. She drew in the smoky, pine-filled scent.


    "So what''s bothering you, Irene? You didn''t fight with Jordan, did you? I mean you mentioned he talked about getting married, and well, that''s pretty big." Merle dipped her bubble wand back into the solution. "You''re only seventeen."


    "No, we didn''t fight. And marriage? Really, that''s just his fear talking," Irene sighed as the sun grew a deep amber colour, with pink hued clouds encircling it as a rosy vignette. How many more sunsets would Jordan make it through?


    "So you don''t think he really means it?" Irene heard the creak of wood as Merle leaned against the rickety bannister. Irene stared as the bubbles captured the dying brilliance of the setting sun. Their lazy drifting was interrupted by a gust of wind which obliterated their delicate membranes.


    "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn''t, but that''s not a decision anyone should make in a situation like this." Irene stepped down from the porch where there was more space. She turned to face Merle and began doing some stretches. Merle shook her head, smiling a little. For a while they were both silent, as the clouds rapidly encroached, blotting out the sun.


    Picking up the conversation from where it had dropped off, Merle airily remarked, "I wish there was a guy who wanted to marry me. Though I''d probably tell him no, because I don''t want to get tied down too young either. But it''d still be nice to be wanted."


    "Don''t be in a rush. Your time will come," Irene responded after a long exhale as she leaned to one side and then the other.


    "Easy for you to say! You''re at least half pretty," Merle pouted, rubbing her goosebump-riddled arms. She turned the porch light on and set her bottle and wand aside.


    "Gee, thanks," Irene responded with a laugh, spreading out her arms and performing some torso twists. "I always liked your red hair, Merle."


    Merle frowned, running her hand through the chaotic red curls. "Why? I look like a clown." Merle froze and squinted at something in the distance. Irene paused, staring up at her friend questioningly.


    ¡°Irene! So here you are!¡± a familiar voice called. Ice ensnared Irene as her back went rigid at the mere timber of his voice. She looked behind herself quickly, seeing a man in black strolling towards them, carrying an umbrella. Then she looked up at the moody clouds - not a drop was falling. Irene avoided looking back at the man.


    ¡°Irene, who is that?¡± Merle asked, straightening up but gripping the bannister tightly. Irene''s arms flew to her chest, folding amongst themselves and hugging herself. Could vampires come out on cloudy days? In the Fraser Valley, it was almost always overcast.


    Before Irene could respond, Cyrus was right behind her, peering over her shoulder.


    ¡°Ah, you must be Irene¡¯s friend, yes?¡±


    Merle''s eyebrows furrowed fiercely and she stood firm, glaring. ¡°And who are you? I know ALL of Irene''s friends, and you aren''t one of them,¡±


    Cyrus put out his hand to Merle, his wrist brushing against Irene¡¯s arm. Instantly she stepped aside to get away from him. ¡°Come come, no need for hostility. My name is Cyrus, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."


    Merle stared at him long and hard, but then reluctantly stepped down from the porch and took his hand. Instead of a handshake, as would have been expected, he placed a dainty kiss upon her outstretched hand.


    Merle stammered and blushed, then shot a questioning glance at Irene. She returned it with a tired and uncomfortable look. Merle licked her lips and withdrew her hand.


    Cyrus slung his other arm out to Irene, pulling her in close to him. ¡°Come, Irene, it''s about time you returned home. Silver misses you. And we should get going before it gets any later. The night brings out the worst sorts, wouldn''t you agree?¡± His voice injected synthetic charm into his words.


    Heart racing and nostrils flared, Irene pushed her fury down. How dare he act so familiar with me in front of my friend? Unsure how to respond without making a scene, she stared dumbly at the vampire.


    After a silent interval, Cyrus withdrew his arm from around Irene. ¡°Ah, for shame! I interrupted your girl-talk. I¡¯ll wait for you down the road and then escort you to the bus stop when you are done.¡±


    Cyrus then looked at Merle again. She stared at him intently, seeming similarly dumbstruck. "I''m not surprised Irene never mentioned me. She compartmentalises a bit too well, don''t you agree?" Cyrus winked and walked off with his smooth, animal grace, twirling his umbrella as he went.


    Merle¡¯s eyes were fixed on him intently. The pink hues remained on her freckled cheeks as she turned to Irene. ¡°What¡­ what was all that about? Why didn¡¯t you say anything about him before?¡±


    ¡°Merle¡­ I¡­ he¡­ Merle¡­ oh¡­¡± Irene stuttered. Merle continued to prod her with her large, explorative eyes. Irene hugged herself again and looked down. ¡°Merle,¡± she began to say more assertively, ¡°Don''t look at me like that! I couldn''t talk about Cyrus.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to explain. Look¡­ Merle¡­ you just wouldn''t understand.¡± Irene rubbed the back of her neck uneasily.


    Merle squinted at Irene for a moment or two. ¡°He said Silver missed you - how does he know your cat!? Has he been staying with you? With your father away?¡± Merle''s eyes bulged in exasperation and confusion. "Tell me he''s a cousin or something!"


    ¡°NO!" Irene blurted in dismay before she could think better of it. Letting Merle think he was a relative might not be a bad thing for the time being. But it was too late for that.


    "Then who is Cyrus?"


    A very dangerous man. Except Irene could not tell her this. Merle was as likely to charge him as she would be to phone the police without getting the particulars. She also knew Merle and Jordan talked to each other, so she had to keep her story straight. "I helped him out... and he''s got nowhere to go and is in the country illegally and it''s very complicated. I''ve got myself into a mess."


    "But why didn''t you tell me? My mother could probably help!" Merle held her arms open. "She should be home soon! We can tell her!"


    "I''m not sure involving your mother is a good idea. She''s already on thin ice with the Ministry." Irene folded her arms. "Come on, neither of us like getting the authorities involved."


    Merle immediately crossed her arms and turned away, a storm brewing on her face. This kept Merle quiet for a moment and then she shook her head. "It ain''t right to be alone with some guy." She then looked back at Cyrus who was twirling the umbrella, his whistling audible. "It''s more than that, isn''t it? He seemed really... hands on with you. And you don''t like being touched by anyone but Jordan."


    "Are you implying I am cheating?" Irene could not keep the indignation she felt out of her voice. "No way, he''s - he''s much too old!"


    "Oh come on, Irene! I could see you with an older guy. You always act like you are so grown up! Lately you seem like you''ve outgrown me, so why not Jordan too?"


    Irene was used to temper tantrums. She was not used to these sorts of accusations from Merle. Mortification silenced her greater faculties. "I came to you for help, didn''t I? My mistake!" Irene charged into the front door. She expected Merle to follow and peck away at her with justification for her insults, but none came. So she packed up her things. Irene sighed as she zipped up her bag, realising she was being rash. As hurt as she was, an accusation was a trifling affair when hung in the balance. With her duffel bag thrown over her shoulder, she skulked back out to apologise.


    Irene swung the front door open. "Sorry, Merle. I..." Irene stared as Cyrus greeted her instead. "Where''s Merle?"


    "I''m here, Irene. But you better go home," Merle said coldly.


    Cyrus stepped aside as Merle came up to the door. Watching her closely Irene stepped out and Merle caught the door and went inside. She paused, looking over her shoulder accusingly at Irene.


    "Merle... please..."


    "Go."


    SLAM.


    Irene swallowed hard and then glared at Cyrus, who just raised his eyebrows questioningly, as if to say ''what did I do?''.


    "Well Irene, we best be off."

 Chapter 7 - Vampire Fraternity

    ¡°You really are moody tonight, aren¡¯t you? I''d ask if it was that time of the month, but I''d know¡­¡± Cyrus said, tapping his nose. Irene responded with a scrunched up face and kept walking in silence. ¡°You''re friend sounds like a loose cannon, but I do commend you for not telling her our little secret, Irene dearest.¡±


    Irene shot him another sharp glare. Our little secret¡­ our little secret? There is nothing we share except maybe space and matter. However, Irene kept these thoughts to herself. Her heart was pounding and her ears felt hot. But she just tensed and kept walking.


    ¡°Goodness, you are just a seething furnace, aren''t you? Perfect. You can keep me warm and cozy,¡± Cyrus teased, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder. He was baiting her, and she was not going to snap. She was going to keep her lips sealed and continue walking home. Then the next day she would take stock of her resources and figure something out.


    Cyrus paused, as if alerted to something and he looked around. His eyes narrowed. Irene lifted her chin. No. She wasn''t going to ask. But now that she was drawn out of her own thoughts, she had the vague impression there may have been a sound. A sound like someone running off. But it was probably her imagination. Cyrus also shrugged and continued, seeming unconcerned.


    Once on the bus, Irene pointedly sat beside someone so Cyrus could not. Instead he took up a spot behind her. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time. When they got off the bus again, she gave him a glare, but continued on her way home. He trailed her closely, as the indecisive weather occasionally dusted them with sky spittle.


    The closer they got to home, the more Irene dreaded it. But she was also anxious to be home where she felt she could finally be alone to unleash all of her pent up frustration. If only Merle had seen how uncomfortable she was. Irene''s shoulder, aching from the tension, slumped as shame encroached. Irene often used Merle''s exaggerated mode of expression and shallow capacity for empathy as a blind to disguise her own feelings. But this time, Irene needed someone to read the signs and save her from having to put words to the danger. Irene shot another dark glare at Cyrus, who began whistling and twirling his umbrella.


    Then he stopped. Irene glanced at him, seeing his eyes widen momentarily.


    An imposing, dark clad individual stepped out in front of Irene and Cyrus and tilted back his umbrella. Orange light streamed down from the streetlamps, but it didn''t do the stranger''s pale complexion any favours. His broad face was framed by straight blonde hair and the high, upturned collar of a dark trench coat. Irene glanced back at Cyrus who had inclined his chin, his nasolabial crease momentarily deepened before he put on a passive, bored mask.


    With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, the blonde stepped forward. ¡°Cyrus¡­ how many times have we told you not to play with your food?¡± His voice was deep and rich.


    ¡°Hmmm never, actually,¡± Cyrus retorted, stepping forward as well. "But if we''re discussing common manners, Gabriel, you oughtn''t talk with your mouth full. And it''s lately it''s been full of sh..." Cyrus paused and glanced at Irene then back as he folded up his umbrella, "...excrement."


    A prickling sensation in Irene''s nose and a squirming in her gut made Irene want to get away. Is this the response Cyrus warned me about? Is this man a vampire? Irene drew in a breath and steadied her nerves. She dropped her duffel bag and prepared to run as soon as the opportunity presented itself.


    ¡°Still a wisecrack. Nonetheless, I''m relieved to see you. Last I heard you were a pile of ashes,¡± the man referred to as Gabriel said. Irene strained to listen. His tone and cadence sounded local, but the throaty, rubbery quality of his R''s betrayed the hint of another accent. Cyrus brushed his black bangs away from his eyes, lifting his chin a little as he did so.


    ¡°Relieved? Tch, relieved¡­ OH you mean disappointed, right? Because the rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,¡± Cyrus riposted. Irene glanced between the two of them, but stayed as still and as quiet as possible. She did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. Perhaps she could get away if the two of them were too focused on each other.


    ¡°Cyrus, you injure me." The blonde man placed a hand to his chest. "I was truly disturbed by the news. I don¡¯t know why anyone would spread such lies,¡± Gabriel said, speaking in satin tones. Cyrus tucked his umbrella under his armpit and crossed his arms.


    ¡°I can think of a few. Those two russet spuds and Louis are among my suspects. Where is Louis anyway? He wouldn¡¯t be hiding nearby, waiting to ambush me, would he?¡± Cyrus asked, a sharp edge slicing through his tones. Irene took a few steps away, trying to hedge her chances of retreat.


    ¡°Tut tut, Cyrus, you are being quite foolish. Why don¡¯t you drop your groundless suspicions and come back to us? You wouldn¡¯t want to end up like that traitor Layla, would you?¡± Something malicious and prowling slid into Gabriel''s sonorous voice. Irene noted Cyrus''s balled fists. Cyrus''s smile widened, but scorn flashed in his dark eyes.


    ¡°Sorry, but I must decline. I won¡¯t forget your ¡®kindness¡¯, Gabriel. Now please, step aside,¡± Cyrus said through clenched teeth, making a sweeping motion with his umbrella. The man didn''t move. Irene began tip-toeing away.


    ¡°The night has just begun, what is the hurry?¡± Gabriel looked over at Irene, who froze. In spite of her racing heart, Irene stood tall and lifted her chin. He gestured to her with a gloved hand. ¡°Why don¡¯t you bring her along and it can be like old times?¡±


    ¡°Old times are done, Gabriel. Now will you please move out of my way? I have an intimate, candlelit dinner planned, and I could scarcely forgive myself for ungentlemanly tardiness.¡± Cyrus bared his teeth through a large, nasty grin. Irene felt Gabriel''s eye on her again. She watched him unflinchingly as he sauntered towards her. Soft leather pressed firm against her skin as he placed his hand to her cheek. Irene glared into his pale irises and pulled away. Cyrus put his arm around Irene¡¯s shoulders and protectively pulled her close to him.


    ¡°She¡¯s young¡­ probably still in school,¡± Gabriel''s tone shifted to disapproval. Irene arched an eyebrow, mixed feelings of apprehension and hope. Apprehension because this man was imposing. Hope that this man may remove Cyrus from her life.


    ¡°She¡¯s a big girl." Cyrus held her tighter, making Irene''s escape now impossible.


    Gabriel chuckled and took a step back. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. She looks like a minor. A white, likely middle-class girl." Irene did not like the stress he put on the word girl, as if it were something distasteful to him. "The sort with parents that will harangue the authorities if anything should happen to her."


    Irene stared down at herself, then her eyes darted back up at Gabriel. Was Cyrus bluffing about not being afraid of the authorities?


    "Girl, how old are you?¡± Gabriel asked, for the first time addressing her directly. Irene stepped away from Cyrus¡¯s protective arm to stand on her own.


    ¡°That''s none of your business,¡± Irene firmly stated.


    ¡°She has quite an attitude, just like most of them¡­¡± Gabriel sighed. He stepped aside. ¡°Do whatever pleases you, Cyrus, I will not stop you this time. Although the younger ones are much sweeter, their parents create such a fuss¡­ farewell, my brother¡­ we will meet again.¡±


    Gabriel turned and strode away with an eerie grace, his departure marked with dribbles of rain. Once the man was out of sight, Irene pivoted to face Cyrus.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°The sort with parents that harangue the authorities? I thought you weren''t afraid of the cops." Irene crossed her arms, looking archly at Cyrus.


    Cyrus raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders coolly, releasing the umbrella''s hood. ¡°Not here, peaches.¡± Cyrus unfolded the umbrella and began walking.


    Irene furrowed her eyebrows, resentful of his nonchalance. Grumbling, she picked up her bag. "The moment I get home I am calling the cops. I suggest you find somewhere else to be."


    "The cops can''t protect you. Unlike me, Gabriel would be very motivated to kill you if he suspects you know what we are."


    "Why didn''t he, then?" Irene challenged.


    Cyrus shrugged, holding the umbrella out to make room for Irene. She refused to walk beside him, even for cover. "Out in the open isn''t his way. And he is mighty stuck in his ways."


    The rain started coming down heavier, making it harder to talk without shouting. This was not something she necessarily wanted every passer-by to overhear. Thus she decided to delay the rest of the conversation until she got home.


    <hr>


    Finally, the pair stood at the long gravel driveway before her house. Never had the sight of her home been both such a great relief and source of dread.


    ¡°Ladies first.¡±


    Irene sighed and went to unlock the front door, but it was already unlocked. She stared at it for a moment, hand shaking. Impatiently, Cyrus prompted her to go in while he shook excess moisture from the umbrella. Irene reluctantly stepped inside, looking around for signs of a break in.


    Click.


    The door closed behind Cyrus.


    ¡°Alright¡­ who is Gabriel?¡± Irene demanded. Determination had accumulated in her; she was NOT going to show her unease.


    ¡°A very dangerous man.¡± Cyrus glanced around, then focused past Irene at the window. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this conversation in the basement, shall we?¡±


    "No." Irene shook her head. She strode over to the phone, picking it up while fixing Cyrus with a dripping glare. Within the blink of an eye he rushed over and placed his hand over the cradle, holding down the disconnect button.


    "No time for this..." Cyrus quickly glanced out the kitchen window, and then down the narrow hall to the narrow window by the front door. "You think I''m worried about men with kevlar and tasers?"


    "And guns." Irene slapped Cyrus''s hand to try and move it away from the phone base. He ignored her, still keeping his eyes on the windows.


    "Do what you want, call who you want when the sun rises. But we need to get out of sight as soon as possible."


    Irene looked at Cyrus, noting his furrowed eyebrows and constantly darting eyes. He truly seemed apprehensive. ¡°¡­Fine,¡± Irene reluctantly consented.


    Cyrus darted past her and opened the door to the basement, disappearing into the darkness below. Irene placed the receiver back on the hook and followed. As soon as she stepped inside, Cyrus immediately slammed the door behind her. She jumped then glared at him.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of Gabriel, aren''t you?¡± Irene asked. Cyrus looked at her with brooding eyes, before going and sitting on the bed.


    ¡°Absolutely terrified," Cyrus said in a matter-of-fact tone, a slight accent creeping into his voice. Irene slowly walked a little closer, sitting down on the carpeted portion of the basement. She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees.


    ¡°Then why bring up my age? If he''s so dangerous, I doubt that he cares how young someone is if they get in his way.¡±


    "Oh, he doesn''t care about the age of his victims." Cyrus turned up his lips into a nasty smile. ¡°Gabriel runs this city''s vampire population with an iron fist. He stipulates who vampires prey on. You¡¯re young and would be missed too soon, and spring an investigation. If anyone gets too close to the truth, we kill everyone involved, and then start over fresh someplace else." Cyrus gestured towards Irene. "You''re involved. Ergo, if there''s an investigation, you will die."


    Irene snorted. "We?"


    "You heard Gabriel. I used to run with his pack." Cyrus took off his wet shoes and set them aside. "We usually try to hit vulnerable populations that the law ignores."


    "And that doesn''t include teenagers?" Irene removed her shoes as well, suddenly aware of how cold her feet were.


    "Only the indigenous kind." Cyrus peeled off his soggy socks and draped them over his shoes. "You are protected by your age, race and class."


    Irene''s eyebrows furrowed as she looked around her unfinished basement in wonder. Class? What class? While Irene had experienced grief and hardship, classism was not something she had struggled against.


    Cyrus''s voice interrupted her ponderings. "However, Gabriel doesn''t obey his own rules, nor does his posse." Cyrus rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them up. "Just imagine those really horrible college fraternities and replace the rambunctious young men with a bunch of blood-sucking fiends, and there you have it! Challenges and contests to test each other''s mettle and pride were frequent. And for entertainment, it wasn¡¯t uncommon that some of us would lure out some pretty young birds, and bring them back to our nest. We¡¯d have just about as much fun as we could get from them before we feasted." Cyrus''s gaze grew distant, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Irene was unsure if this was a repressed snarl or smile. His tone was too even and neutral to detect any evidence of remorse.


    Irene''s stomach lurched. ¡°Despicable¡­¡± Irene muttered, fear prickling along her spine. She looked at the door longingly. Cyrus shook his head, lying back on the bed.


    ¡°Anyway, that lifestyle no longer suits me. An intimate, cozier setting is much better for dining.¡± Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest.


    ¡°They mentioned a traitor. Who was that?¡± Irene asked, trying to change the topic. If there was a traitor, perhaps there were others who could stand up to these monsters. Irene was eager to know.


    Cyrus let out a sigh and went quiet. Irene cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced over at her, and then up at the ceiling. ¡°Layla. She can''t truly be called a traitor since she wasn''t a part of the brotherhood. But she got in Gabriel''s way, which is very foolish,¡± Cyrus said, his voice gradually draining of emotion.


    ¡°What did she do?¡±


    ¡°She tried to expose Gabriel''s hypocrisy. It wasn¡¯t long before she was ashes blowing in the wind¡­¡±


    ¡°You knew her well, didn¡¯t you?¡± Irene prodded. Cyrus turned on his side to stare at Irene.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pry, peaches. That¡¯s enough Q and A for today. There are better ways to get to know me,¡± Cyrus said as he sat up. Irene watched him warily. As he rose, she also quickly unfolded herself and stood up. However, before she could blink, there he was in her personal space again. It amazed her how quickly he could bring his hand to her cheek.


    ¡°Cyrus¡­ keep your distance,¡± Irene warned.


    Cyrus grinned defiantly. ¡°As much as you detest me, I am very fond of you. You are such a delight to tease,¡± Cyrus said softly, whispering into her ear. It tickled her senses, resulting in a tightening and tingling in her jaw and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. Irene tilted her head away in irritation. She tensed as she felt a tickle down her neck as his lips dusted along her skin like delicate butterfly wings.


    Irene glared at him and he paused, locking a gaze with her. "Come now, Irene. Relax. Gabriel and I are through, you needn''t fear me." She wanted to push him away, but paralyzing chills ran up her spine, and shot into her extremities. Why can''t I move? Like before, despite the fear she''d been feeling, a sort of drowsy haze came over her, causing her breathing and heart to slow down. She felt locked inside.


    He placed his hands on her back, one just between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back. She shuddered. Irene did not like being handled like this, and when he kissed her neck again, she experienced visceral repulsion. She tried several times to tell him to stop, but her mouth just couldn''t form words. Irene closed her eyes and concentrated until she was able to finally get her larynx back under control. ¡°Stop.¡± Irene felt his chuckle before it belted out into the air.


    ¡°I said I wouldn''t kill you... but I never said anything about having a harmless little taste...¡± Cyrus murmured amidst nuzzling her. Heavy as her hands felt, she used all of her strength to lift them. Her eyes burned and her head felt like it was full of cotton. Teeth prickled against her skin and she winced. Irene focused all of her willpower to finally place her hands on his chest, pushing with what little strength she had left. He was as immovable as a statue. She grunted and whimpered trying to shove him away. She felt him tense and he finally let her go, and stepped back, leaving her skin only lightly grazed.


    ¡°Don''t...¡± Irene said as firmly as she could, but it came out more sluggish and plaintively than she intended.


    Cyrus shook his head, and ruptured with another chuckle. Anger cut through the haze, bringing her compromised situation into sharp focus. Her faculties all returned and she scowled. "This isn''t funny! What''s wrong with you?"


    ¡°I¡¯m only human¡­ well¡­ sort of,¡± Cyrus responded as he leaned close again.


    Fully alert again, Irene turned and ran for the exit, only to stop short when he managed to dash in front of her. ¡°I think not¡­ you¡¯re staying down here tonight.¡±

 Chapter 8 - Pizza Night

    ¡°Move!¡± Suspicious that Cyrus had been boasting about his power, Irene shoved him as hard as she could.  Even with whatever had been draining her strength earlier removed, he was still as solid and immovable as a brick wall.  His only reaction was to crook an eyebrow at her.  Irene backed up and tried a running charge, but with little effort he threw her back. She slid along the ground, the sting of friction burns traveling up her arm with which she broke her fall.  Irene hissed and picked herself up, looking at the red and peeling skin on her forearm.


    ¡°Ooooh that looks like it smarts.  I could kiss it better, if you''d like," Cyrus teased.  Irene made some angry noise that didn''t qualify as a word, as she was busy blowing on the abrasion to soothe it.  "Come, come. I¡¯m only looking out for your best interest!¡± Cyrus insisted in aspartame tones.


    ¡°My best interest?  You''re only looking out for yourself!¡± Irene wielded ferocity to mask her underlying anxiety.


    Cyrus made a tutting sound and wagged his finger. ¡°Alright, I won''t argue that. But Gabriel and his lackeys will be peeping in windows looking for you or me.  So tonight, for your safety, you should stay down here with me. Understand, peaches?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just using them as an excuse." Irene curled and flexed her hand in exasperations.  "Out of my way!  I need something to clean this with.¡± Irene held up her arm, pointing to the raw skin.


    ¡°Psh.  Barely a flesh wound." Cyrus waved his hand dismissively.  "Anyway, I can stand here all night if necessary, but that might make me a little bit cranky, and you don¡¯t want to see a cranky vampire. Stay down here and get some shuteye.  I''ll keep watch.¡± Cyrus purred.


    Chills writhed along Irene''s spine as she looked around for another weapon, something stronger than scissors.  The only usable wood was part of the structure or shelving, and she had neither tools nor strength to remove and sharpen any of it. Furthermore, fighting him head on would be a futile waste of energy.  If he would just drop his guard, she might be able to get past him.


    "You think I''d be able to sleep with you looming?"


    "Hmmm... I could always bite you, that worked wonders last time." Cyrus licked his lips.  Irene immediately put her hand to her neck and took a step back, shaking her head. Cyrus shrugged. "That''d be a no, then."


    "At least let me get some medicine," Irene insisted.


    "Eh... I''m sure it stings but it''s not an immediate danger.  You can deal with it once the sun rises." Cyrus leaned against the basement door and stared at her neck. "You''ve survived worse."


    Irene aspirated sharply.  Her breathing was growing rapid, but she was trying to keep it shallow so it would not be noticeable.  Irene paced for a while, then looked at the bed.  There''s no way I''m sleeping in a bed he''s been in. She could see brown spots on the sheets left from when she first brought him in.  She never had a chance to clean them. Knowing she wouldn''t be able to sleep, Irene stripped the bed and threw the sheets in for a cold wash.


    Irene wished Monica had taught her how to remove blood from sheets.  With no mother around, they had to learn through trial and error what to do about their laundry; their father was no help.  Irene stared at the stains, old anger and resentment bubbling to the surface.  Monica didn''t have to die.  Her father insisted Monica''s lung cancer wasn''t their mother''s fault, but all Irene could remember about the woman was the smell of nicotine, and calloused fingers with pokey acrylic nails pressing too hard when trying to tickle her.  They were better off without her; her mother sucked the life out of everyone.


    Irene sighed and poured in an unmeasured amount of bleach; she didn''t know the ratios. All she could do was guess and hope for the best.  She''d occasionally glance over to see if Cyrus still guarded the door.  Other than changing from standing to sitting, he hadn''t moved.


    Without adequate air flow, Irene knew the sheets would not be dry in time, and the spare sheets were upstairs with the towels.  She could not spend the whole night pacing either.  Resigned, she rolled up an old packing cover to use as a pillow and grabbed the quilt she''d saved from Cyrus'' bleeding wounds.  With these meagre comforts, Irene laid down on the rug.


    "Ah.  Seeing reason at last.  Sweet dreams, Irene." Cyrus turned out the light.


    <hr>


    ¡°You still do that school thing, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The words jarred Irene from sleep. Her view was dominated by Cyrus'' grinning visage.  She yelped and thrashed, only to recoil from stiff limbs and an aching back. She looked up at Cyrus who was perched on the edge of the bare mattress, impish merriment in his eyes. ¡°Forgot where you were, did you?¡±


    Irene stared at the basement ceiling in bewilderment.  Audible cracks popped as she struggled to sit up. She was shivering; the rug did not insulate her against the cold cement floor.  Gradually, the previous night came back to her, as did the stinging on her arm. She marveled that she was able to fall asleep at all.  With a hand on her muddled head, she yawned. Then her mind latched onto the concept of morning.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± Irene sputtered as she scrambled stiffly to her feet.  Remembering her watch, she peered at it. 6:03 am.  Plenty of time to shower and stretch out the tension before catching the bus.


    Upon reaching the top of the stairs, a plaintive mew drew Irene''s attention to the empty food and water dish.  Irene picked up Silver and hugged her, pressing her face into the soft fur.  Silver was given to Monica to cheer her up when she first got her diagnosis.  Feeling the vibrations of her sister''s cat purring gave her a boost.  It was like Monica giving her the push she needed. Irene fed Silver and continued about her early morning routine.


    As Irene tied her shoes, she glanced up at a pair of black pants.  She brumbled as Cyrus once again loomed in her personal space. Glaring had proven ineffectual in the past, but Irene did it anyway. ¡°Don''t you ever pull something like that again."


    Cyrus clicked his tongue and then yet again that grin of his spread onto his face. ¡°You make it sound as if something happened, which nothing did, as disappointing as that is.¡±


    Irene stood up onto her tippy toes so as to loom over him for a change, her lips still pursed fiercely. Could he be any more of a creep?


    ¡°That something will never happen.  Remember that, Cyrus,¡± Irene hissed.  With that warning delivered she pivoted on her heel and went out the front door, slamming it behind her.


    <hr>


    It was unnervingly easy for Irene to get through school without rousing the suspicion of her teachers. Her concentration was shot, and some of her absences went unexplained.  But truancy was rampant enough among her generation that most of her teachers barely batted an eye.  Her biology teacher was the only one to ask her if everything was alright, to which Irene explained that she was recovering from a nasty bug.  She simply failed to mention the bug had a name: Cyrus.


    Irene stayed behind to finish up her missed assignments.  When Irene finally left the school it was unsurprisingly overcast.  Zipping up her jacket, Irene hurried to reach the next bus.  Everyone she passed on the street made her nervous.  Anyone who caught her eye caused her heart to leap until they smiled and passed by.  Although she did not prefer the evenings, she''d never feared them before. Upon reaching home, Irene sighed.  How much longer was this going to go on for?


    Several days, as it turned out.  Despite her mistrust of Cyrus, he made compelling arguments for her to continue to sleep in the basement.  To Irene''s relief, Cyrus was out patrolling all night and she was usually up before he returned.  She saw as little of him as possible which permitted her to reach some sort of equilibrium.


    Every day she reconsidered calling the police.  Her father was also frequently on her mind.  He''d be home soon, wouldn''t he?  Surely he could find a way to fix this.  He usually knew what to do...  when he was actually around.


    Irene spent her lunch breaks working on homework and her daylight hours in the library due to inclement weather.  As such, chores went unfinished.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Irene knew she could no longer neglect the necessities, such as laundry, cleaning, and shopping.  Thus she left school at the regular time one afternoon.  When Irene ambled out of the school doors, her path was blocked by Merle, who wore a discontent countenance.  Irene released a sigh as her shoulders sagged.


    ¡°Where are you headed?¡± Merle asked, stepping into Irene''s space as if there had not been a rift between them.  Irene continued to stare at her incredulously.


    ¡°I have a lot to catch up on¡­ why do you ask?¡± Irene asked, trying to push awkwardness out of her voice.


    ¡°Really?  Mind if I walk with you, then?¡± Merle''s body language evoked nonchalance, but her voice was drenched in suspicion.


    Irene sighed and slowly nodded her head. ¡°Sure. But I can''t dawdle; I have errands and homework."


    Merle looked irritated but nodded. ¡°Need any help?¡±


    Irene shook her head. ¡°No thanks."


    Merle shrugged. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go then."


    It was an awkward stroll with a few mangled attempts at small talk.  Upon reaching the bus stop, the girls turned to face each other.


    ¡°Look, Irene, I''m sorry for the way I acted.  But you haven''t been yourself.  Will you just talk to me, like you used to?  I promise not to get mad this time¡­ I was a bit harsh, but things just looked so¡­ well, you know."


    Irene let out a beleaguered sigh. Maybe Merle should learn the truth.  It was dubious that Merle would understand or believe her.  Even Jordan didn''t take her seriously.


    ¡°Merle¡­ I told you I can¡¯t begin to explain¡­¡± Irene reiterated.  Merle¡¯s cheeks turned pink, but she bit her tongue, and continued to stare hard at Irene, urging her.  Irene sighed and cast a glance downward, before staring Merle straight in the eyes again. ¡°Merle, if I told you vampires were real, how would you react?¡±


    Merle laughed, but Irene wasn''t smiling.  It took Merle a moment to catch up, and her merriment quickly turned to perplexity, then morphed to indignation.  "What, you really expect me to believe that?"


    Irene frowned, resignation weighing her head. "No."


    "It''s not like you to joke like that, Irene." Merle put her hands on her hips.  "But if you don''t want to tell me the truth, fine, whatever." Merle crossed her arms and shrugged, a sour expression pinching her face.


    "Trust me, Merle, you are better off not knowing," Irene assured with her own shrug in response.


    "Yeah, yeah, Irene, so serious and grown up, knows her little friend is too childish to understand anything," Merle spat.  "Look, I apologised.  I tried to be a good friend.  But I guess you''re not ready.  Talk to me when you are," Merle said, throwing her arms into the air and storming off.  Irene sighed and watched her childhood friend go.  Normally Irene didn''t mind being the calm anchor to Merle''s extreme and rote interactions, but at the moment it was just draining.


    <hr>


    Irene had planned on doing some shopping, but she lacked the time and energy after dealing with Merle.  Maybe groceries would be best left for a Saturday morning.  Instead she set to house chores.


    The dishes helped keep Irene''s hands busy, but she continued to ruminate on her predicament. Is Gabriel really as bad as Cyrus says?  Or is he just trying to scare me?  How can I find out without putting myself in danger?  As she finished drying some dishes, a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. She swiveled around to face Cyrus. His face was molded into that crooked grin of his. Irene¡¯s eyes instantly darted to the oven clock, staring in surprise at how much time had passed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve let time slip away from you; isn¡¯t it about time that you ate?¡± Cyrus tilted his head, squinting.


    Irene shook her head, but in defiance, her stomach gurgled. ¡°I guess I should eat¡­¡± she said as she began to scour through the cupboards and fridge.  After several glances through the pantry she turned and sighed. ¡°There isn¡¯t much here¡­¡±


    ¡°You could always order pizza.  That way both of us will get a meal,¡± Cyrus suggested casually.


    Irene nodded and reached for the phone book, and then stopped.  She pivoted on her heel and fixed Cyrus with a mighty glower.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t funny!¡±


    Cyrus let out a chuckle, obviously believing that it was. ¡°I was actually being serious.  I¡¯d rather not hunt tonight, but I am getting a little peckish. Come come, I¡¯ll pay,¡± Cyrus offered.


    ¡°I am not going to sentence some poor delivery boy to his death just for free pizza!¡±


    ¡°Oh, but you¡¯d let me starve?¡±


    ¡°Will it kill you to skip a meal?¡± Irene asked coldly.


    Cyrus sighed and feigned another one of his horrific pouts. ¡°Maybe not me, but it might kill you.  If I get too hungry, I become a real beast.  That is a side of me I hope for you to never see,¡± Cyrus illustrated his remarks by making a claw with his hand.  Irene rolled her eyes and disengaged, going straight to her room.


    Irene was putting clean laundry away in her dresser when she heard the doorbell ring. When she opened the door she was presented with a small pizza from an extremely skinny delivery woman, whose head looked too large for her small frame. Irene was both confused and annoyed.  In response, irritation flooded the delivery woman''s face as she chewed some potent mint gum.


    ¡°Did ya order a pizza or no?¡± she asked, her narrow eyes glaring at Irene.  Before Irene could say no and apologize for the inconvenience, Cyrus intervened.


    ¡°I ordered a pizza." The pizza woman looked Cyrus up and down, and her taught lips turned up in a smile. She held out the pizza box, which released tender streams of steam out the crevices. Cyrus handed her a green bill, and she seized it, shoving it into a blazing red fanny-pack. The lollipop-headed woman whisked some golden hair out of her face, light reflecting off of her bright pink acrylic nails.  Irene bet they hid nicotine stains. The pizza lady dug around in the pack for the correct change, and with a wider, painted smile, she dropped it into Cyrus¡¯s open hand.


    ¡°Here ya go,¡± she said, batting her fake lashes.  The spectacle made Irene sick, but not as sick as the thought of Cyrus sinking his foul teeth into her pencil neck. Cyrus shoved the pizza into Irene¡¯s arms without looking at her, keeping strong eye contact with the delivery-twig. Irene glared at him, holding the pizza grudgingly, ready to throw it down, grab him by the ear, and drag him back inside.  However, before she could take action, he slipped outside, closing the door behind him.


    Irene felt heat well up inside of her. He had the gall to order the pizza anyway? Irene calmed herself and carried the pizza into the kitchen, setting it on the table.  But she was tired of standing back and looking the other way.  Irene marched to the front door and swung it wide open. However, to her surprise, no one was there.


    Cautiously, Irene walked over to the car, a little afraid of what she may find inside. As she neared the slightly misty windows, she paused.  Perhaps she should just go back into the house. Irene shook her head and rubbed her hand along the windows, peering in.  Anticipation prickled along her skin as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.


    Nothing.


    The car was empty.  Irene swiveled around and put her back to the automobile.  Her eyes scanned the eerie dark for a sign of the woman or Cyrus.  Did he cover her mouth and drag her into the bushes? Is he killing her now? Irene thought of her own terror when she was bitten, and sympathy melted her unjustified ire towards the woman. Why doesn''t she scream for help?


    Irene tip-toed back to her front porch, her eyes darting around nervously. Someone was possibly being murdered on her property. Irene rubbed her temples with the palms of her hands, trying to calm herself. Normally, if someone were in danger, she would call the police. Maybe they would be able to subdue or at least chase Cyrus away. Irene started to think about all the possible victims that he had since he had invaded her basement. Irene wrung her hands anxiously as she stood on the porch.


    Enough is enough! Irene went inside, shut the door, and locked it.  Perhaps it was foolish of her to think a locked door would keep Cyrus out, but it would delay him.


    Irene went back to the kitchen, no appetite for the ill-gotten pizza despite its enticing aroma.  She picked up the phone, listening to the dial tone as her hands hovered over the ''9'' key.  Irene hesitated.  What should I say?  A man attacked a pizza girl?  But I didn''t actually see an attack.  Someone was peeping in my windows? Is that actually an emergency call or just a complaint?  Will I get in trouble if it''s not what they consider an emergency?


    Irene hung up and sighed. She grabbed the phone book to look up the RCMP to file a complaint.  Against who?  Cyrus may not have been lying about lacking papers.  Biting constituted assault; she could report that. The problem was, there was no evidence she had been bitten.  In her personal experience, police didn''t take teenagers seriously, and liked to shuffle everything off to other agencies. Irene huffed angrily and sat down at the table.


    Seeking distraction, Irene started working on her homework, determined to ignore any banging at the door.  She was resolute, and would not be shaken.  Irene slogged through some wordy math problems.  But slowly, the math problems began to revolve around Cyrus.  It started with an innocuous question about pizzas at a party.  The smell of the pizza beckoned her.  But then she remembered her anger at Cyrus.  Soon she began wondering what the formula was for determining how fast a rate a human body could be exsanguinated.  Stop it! Irene tried to focus.


    Why hasn''t he come back?


    The battle was lost.  She stared at the unopened box of pizza. It mocked her. She salivated as her stomach churned.  There was no pride in wasting food.  She reached over to lift the lid.


    SLAM!


    Irene gasped at the sound of a car door shutting.  She got up and rushed to the window, peering out at the driveway.  Headlights beamed through her window as the sound of tires on gravel clawed at her ears.  Did he steal the woman''s car?  Is he leaving?  She couldn''t make out who was driving.  Irene sat there, long after the car had disappeared, waiting.


    Nothing.


    Is he... gone?  Was it as simple as that?  Surely not!


    Once again her stomach complained.  Irene sat down and ate the pizza, but barely noticed the taste or textures. He''d ordered ham and pineapple, and Irene did not like pineapple on her pizza.  But her mind was too full to care.  Is it over?  Irene wanted to celebrate, but she felt it was too soon.

 Chapter 9 - Dinner With the Fishers

    "Honey, just calling to check in with you.  I called several times, but you didn''t answer.  I''m beginning to worry.  I''m sure you''re just busy being a teenager, living your life.  Ah, I am sorry I miss so much of it.  You''re a tough cookie, but I guess that isn''t'' really an excuse, is it? Well... Anyway.  I''m on the road so much these days it makes it hard to keep in touch. I will try phoning again around this time, so hopefully I''ll catch you.  I love you, sweetie. Goodbye."


    Beep.


    Irene sighed and replayed the message one more time.  Several days had passed, and Cyrus had not made a reappearance.  Finally, she could breathe again.  Occasionally Irene wondered what happened to Cyrus.  After so much persistence, Irene doubted he simply took the hint and left.  The other possibility was Gabriel was somehow involved.  Irene resolved not to worry too much about it and just be grateful he was gone.


    On the surface, things were getting back to normal.  She told Jordan the problem resolved itself.  He seemed in better spirits as a result.  Merle and her were still on the rocks, but efforts were being made to mend it.  Most importantly, Irene was able to return to her regular activities.  But she still was looking over her shoulder every night, and she still felt anxiety whenever she had to go into the basement.  A part of Irene felt as though she wouldn''t feel truly safe until her father was home.


    Thus, Irene waited by the phone for it to ring.  She skimmed the pages of an anthology she was studying for school, but her mind was raking over what to say to her father. Just when Irene had almost despaired of yet another broken promise, the jingle of the landline sprung to life.


    "Hello, Locklyn residence," Irene greeted, hiding the anticipation in her voice.  There was static on the end of the line.  Her heart sank in the dead air.


    "...Irene?"


    Irene stood up immediately knocking her book onto the floor. "Dad!  Hello!  How are you?"


    "I''m doing great!  Especially hearing your voice, kiddo."


    "I''ve told you before I''m a bit old for ''kiddo''," Irene sat back down as she talked, picking up the book and setting it on a nearby table.


    "You''ll always be my kiddo, even if you live to a hundred."  Irene smiled, hearing her father bark out in laughter.  "Anyway, how''re things?  You weren''t answering the phone.  Have you been off at wild parties?"


    "Of course not." Irene smiled despite her feigned indignation, wrapping the spiral phone cord about one of her fingers.


    "Really? Too bad. I kept bracing myself for a rebellious teen, and what do I get?  A dutiful old soul.  But I wouldn''t trade you for the world."  Irene didn''t know what to say.  She was just comforted at hearing her father''s voice.  Her father sighed, spawning immediate apprehension in Irene. "Honey, I might not make it back this Sunday."


    "Oh..."


    "There was a small miscommunication about my flight. So you just need to hold tight a little longer. I''ve wired more money into your account for groceries," her father reassured.


    Irene wondered if'' a little longer'' would go from a few days to a few weeks; it had before.


    "Alright, Dad, I''ll see you when you get back.  Then we can catch up." Irene didn''t know why she allowed herself to get her hopes up.  Breaking promises and avoiding home was her father''s forte.


    "I''ve got time now, Irene," her father insisted.  Although Irene had been looking forward to talking to him, now she just wanted to hang up and process yet another disappointment.  Not hearing a response from Irene, her father continued, "How''s, uh, how''s your friend, Merle, doing?  Got any classes with her this year?"


    "...No.  She''s a grade behind me, remember?"


    "Ah.  Right.  I keep forgetting.  Well then, how''s Jordan?" Her father pursued.  "He''s a fine young lad; I''d like to have a beer with him," her father said cheerfully, trying to keep the conversation positive.


    "Uh..."


    "Once he''s legal, of course," her father quickly amended.


    Irene sighed. "Remember the spill he took when he wasn''t wearing his hockey helmet?"


    "Oooooh, yeah," her father said after an inward hiss. "They said he might have a concussion?  But that was a while ago.  I had a concussion when I was a kid but I was right as rain after some rest."


    "Well Jordan wasn''t." Irene said bluntly, a dribble of irritation leaking into her voice. "The scans didn''t show he was bleeding into his brain, and it got worse.  He had surgery to relieve the pressure, but then he got meningitis from the surgery."


    "Oh."  For a while there was an awkward silence.  "I''m really sorry to hear that.  I hope he recovers.  I promise you, I will be back soon."


    "Thanks, Dad.  I''ll see you then.  But I''ve got to get to the store before it gets dark."


    "Oh, alright then.  It must be getting cold there now.  I sent you a little extra for cab fare.  Just remember to save..."


    "...save the receipts, I know.  Well.  Goodbye, Dad."


    "Take care, honey."


    Click.


    Irene rubbed her eyes, her fingers tips pressing into her skin as they trailed down her face.  That could have gone better.  But she''d endured this far already; she could handle a few more days.  The situation was not as dire as it had been when Cyrus was occupying her basement.  She just needed to purge every last trace of him from her home.  Maybe even burn some sage just to be sure.  Not that Irene was superstitious. But after what she''d experienced, she was second guessing her reliance on modern science for all explanations.  But that left her wondering what she could rely on.


    Irene went to her basement.  She''d been putting it off, but now she whipped the sheets off of the cot Cyrus had been sleeping in and tossed them into the washer, adding a little extra bleach and soap.  While that was washing, she went and got various cleaning supplies, as if she could wash away the memories and terror of the vampire.


    Irene was tired when she had finished, and despite wearing gloves, her hands felt raw.  But she was pleased with the result. All that remained was to do the shopping.


    <hr>


    "Irene?  Is that you?"  Irene turned quickly, startled at hearing her name.  She braced herself, as if expecting someone to strike, until she recognised the care-worn voice.


    "Oh, Mrs. Fisher.  Hello," Irene greeted awkwardly as she picked up a grapefruit to examine it.


    "Is your father still out of town?" Mrs. Fisher asked as she likewise began pinching lemons, selecting a few to add to the basket on her arm.


    "Yes," Irene responded distantly.  Irene picked up two grapefruits and put them in her cart.


    "Are you going to carry all those groceries home by yourself?" Mrs Fisher asked, eyeing Irene''s cart.


    "I was just going to call a cab." Irene shrugged.  "How is Jordan?"


    "He''s... he''s hanging in there."


    "Ah.  Well..."


    "Irene?"


    Irene was just about to say her goodbyes and head to the checkout, but something in Mrs. Fisher''s tone gave her pause.  She chewed on her lower lip and peered curiously at Jordan''s mother.  "Yes, Mrs. Fisher?"


    "Call me Mary, please."


    "I... okay, Mary.  What is it?" Irene tapped her fingers on the cart handle, apprehensive as to what Jordan''s mother was hesitating to say.


    "How would you like to come by for dinner tomorrow night?  We don''t see much of you anymore. I know you visit Jordan; It means a lot to him."  Irene''s gaze grew distant and she stared down at the colourful array of citrus fruits, unable to look at Mrs. Fisher for a moment.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "I... it wouldn''t be quite right without Jordan there," Irene hesitantly responded.


    "He''d be there in spirit," Mrs Fisher said with a wistful smile.


    Irene''s stomach lurched and fluttered.  Those words flew a red flag.  Irene looked back up at Mrs. Fisher, no longer shying from her gaze.  There were no misty eyes or apprehension she could detect in the woman. But still, Irene''s curiosity was now piqued.


    "Well... alright. Just tell me what to bring."


    Mary Fisher gave a dubious look at Irene''s cart. Irene also looked at her cart; stacked with frozen meals and macaroni.  The grapefruits were the only fresh produce, and she suddenly felt either judged or pitied, but Irene wasn''t sure which bothered her more.


    "Just you and your appetite will be plenty," Mrs Fisher assured Irene.  "We eat at 6:00.  If you want to come a little early, that''s welcome too."


    Six o'' clock.  Irene''s knee-jerk reaction was to invent an excuse not to go just to avoid being out past sundown.  But Cyrus was no longer keeping a target on her back; she needn''t fear the dark any longer. "Alright.  I''ll see you tomorrow.  Thank you, Mrs. Fisher.  It means a lot to me."


    <hr>


    Rain poured down as Irene stood at the Fisher residence. In one hand she clutched a dripping wet umbrella, which she shook out, collapsed, and hung on her arm.  In her other hand she brandished a bottle of sparkling juice. Taking in a deep breath, Irene rang the doorbell.


    Mrs. Fisher answered the door and immediately donned a large, pink smile.  Irene inspected her brow for worry lines, but she seemed genuinely delighted to see her.  Feeling a little more at ease, Irene held up the bottle.


    "Oh thank you, sweetie.  You didn''t have to."


    "It''s the least I could do.  Jordan and I would usually split a bottle of Crapple Scampagne on my birthday."


    "That was very thoughtful of you, Irene. Hang up your wet things and make yourself at home."


    Irene hung her jacket up on a nearby hookand slipped off her shoes; she was self conscious about tracking mud in on the Fishers'' pristine floors.  She ran a hand through her damp hair, shaking and smoothing it out as best she could.


    A warm, savoury aroma greeted Irene, tinged with woody smoke.  Irene followed Mrs. Fisher into the living room, where Mr. Fisher sat in his easy chair by the fireplace. He glanced up from his newspaper just long enough to nod, then he straightened the paper and brought it up higher to cover his face.


    "Dinner will be ready soon.  Warm yourself." Mary gave her husband a sharp look, but then disappeared into the kitchen.


    Irene sat on the floor, cross legged.  The air was filled with the crackling of the fire, and the crinkling of newsprint. Irene stirred the fire around with the poker to help reinvigorate it. Normally, the silence from Jordan''s father would make her anxious, but after what she went through with Cyrus, it failed to register.


    Cyrus.  Why did she have to think of him tonight of all nights?  Irene''s cheeks flushed and she stabbed at the log with a bit more force, causing a spray of sparks to flare out with an enthusiastic pop.  Mr. Fisher lowered his paper and fixed Irene with a stern gaze. Irene cleared her throat and put the poker back on its stand.  Ameliorated, Mr. Fisher raised his newspaper again.


    As Mr. Fisher was determined to be poor company, Irene opted to spend her time elsewhere.  Wonderful smells greeted Irene as she stepped into the kitchen.  "Mrs. Fish... Mary, is there something I can help with?"


    Onions and peppers lept in the pan Mary was handling, delightfully browned and caramelized. "No, that''s alright dear, it''s almost ready."


    Irene looked around, determined to occupy herself. "I''ll set the table, then."


    "Thank you, Irene."  Irene knew her way around the kitchen well enough to find most of the dishes and utensils. Irene was making an endeavour not to think; unfortunately the result was thoughtlessly setting four places at the table.  It wasn''t until Mrs. Fisher stopped and frowned at the extra plate that Irene realized her error.


    "Oh um... you said he''d be here in spirit, after all."


    Mary winced a little, but then she nodded and smiled, saying nothing about it.  Stupid... Irene took in a steadying breath and carried on.


    Mr. Fisher came in and sat down in his chair, the only dining chair with armrests.  He gawked at the additional plate in confusion, then his face turned grim.


    "What is this? Are we expecting someone else?"


    "Oh, silly me, habit," Mary twittered, quickly taking away the extra dish and utensils.  Irene caught Mary''s eye briefly and nodded to her in thanks, and Mrs. Fisher winked in response.


    Mrs. Fisher set down a glossy glazed ham in the middle of the table. It had been a long time since Irene had a home cooked meal.  Irene sat back and just enjoyed this snapshot of an idyllic family sitting down to sup together.  The cozy scene was foreign to her, but something she often longed for.


    Mary opened the bottle Irene had brought. "Would you like some, Jerry?  It''s apple cranberry."


    Mr. Fisher squinted at the label before he shook his head. "No.  Water''s good enough for me."


    Mary nodded and placed a pitcher of water by him.  She then poured some sparkling juice for Irene and then for herself. "So, Irene, how has school been going?"


    "Okay."


    "Any plans for going to college?" Mary buttered a roll.  Mr. Fisher looked up from slicing the ham with some interest.


    "I''ve been looking at scholarships and maybe getting into a co-op program at UVic.  I''m thinking of going into exercise and health sciences. If that doesn''t pan out, I might seek a teaching degree locally," Irene answered as she ladled vegetables onto her plate. Mary looked down, but Irene was certain she saw just the briefest little crook of a smile on Mr. Fisher''s ruddy face. But soon his mouth was occupied with a piece of meat.


    "Have some ham, Irene.  You are skin and bones," Mary passed the plate of ham over.  "Do you have any other plans after school?"


    Are they fishing?  Irene stared down at her plate, anxiety tickling her.  She rearranged the food on her plate as she thought long and hard about what to say.  Ideas percolated as she placed a small slice of ham on her plate.  There was an odd sense of relief of being able to think long and hard, rather than blurting out what leapt to her mind.


    "My plans are flexible.  A lot really depends on how this year goes," Irene finally answered.  She caught Mrs. Fisher staring at her before she began working on cutting her own ham into smaller pieces.  Her efforts were quite ineffectual, sawing lightly at the same spot.  Meanwhile, Mr. Fisher was ripping into the meat with his serrated knife, making short work of it.


    "I see.  That''s... prudent," Mary Fisher responded.  She was making slow headway on cutting her slice into small, neat squares.  Mr. Fisher was already reaching for second helpings.


    For a while they all ate in silence.  The food was delicious, but Irene felt her appetite dwindle.  She wondered if she''d said something wrong.  She caught several glances between Jordan''s parents.  If only Jordan was actually here. Jordan could usually give her signals on how to navigate his surly father''s antics.


    "Irene..." Mary set her utensils aside.


    "Yes?"


    "I... just want to say I am glad you have stuck with Jordan this far.  He''s told me that you don''t really like hospitals since your sister passed away.  I understand it must be hard for you to see him like that."


    Mr. Fisher frowned, scowling. "It''s hard for all of us."


    "Of course it is," Mary amended hastily.  "I am just trying to say that someone who didn''t really care about our Jordan might have already moved on."


    There was a startling clatter as Mr. Fisher slammed down his utensils.  "Oh, enough of this!"  Mr. Fisher looked straight at Irene, his thick brows furrowed.  "Irene.  Did Jordan ask you to marry him?" Mary looked mortified, but also had a look of hungry anticipation.  Irene looked back at Mr. Fisher, whose temple was pulsing as he ground his teeth.  "Well?"


    Irene''s stomach fluttered and her ears grew hot. "He mentioned it.  But we''re still in highschool."


    "He''s fixated on the idea.  What did you do?  Tell him you''re pregnant?" Mr. Fisher accused.


    "Jerry!" Mrs. Fisher scolded.  Mr. Fisher held up a hand as his interrogative gaze fell heavily upon Irene.


    Irene stared at him, jaw hanging open in astonishment. But we''ve never even had sex! Irene nearly blurted that statement out loud, but managed to refrain; what she and Jordan had done or hadn''t done was none  of Mr. Fisher''s business.  It did leave Irene wondering if Jordan had indicated otherwise.  If that were the case, Irene was unsure how to feel about it.  She did know, however, how to feel about being accused of entrapment.


    Irene firmly closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a taut line as she steeled her expression, locking her eyes with his. "No."


    Mr. Fisher waited, as if expecting her to elaborate.  But none came.  While still keeping eye contact, she ate another piece of ham to indicate to him he was not getting another word from her. "I don''t want my son throwing his life away."


    "Jerry!" Mary protested again in a higher pitch, this time being the one to slam her utensils down.


    Irene looked at what remained on her plate, then stood up. She had done her best to remain respectful.  But Irene felt raw, and these cutting words were carving away at parts of her that were still healing.  She would not take any more.  No one was forcing her to be there.  She wasn''t powerless.


    "I am sorry.  I came here because I thought I was welcome."


    "Irene, you are..." Mrs. Fisher insisted.


    "I don''t think I am." Irene held up her hand.  Mrs. Fisher looked hurt, but Mr. Fisher just looked affronted.  Irene looked between the two.  "This is hard on all of us, and me being here clearly isn''t helping."  Irene put on a haphazard smile and looked at Mrs. Fisher.  "But thank you for the lovely meal."


    "Now look what you''ve done," Mary berated as Irene took her plate over to the counter.  Mr. Fisher crossed his arms and snorted. Mary turned to Irene again.  "Irene... at least wait and I''ll drive you home."


    "Thank you, but no.  It sounds like the rain has let up, and I need some time to think," Irene responded.  Mary frowned and then gave her husband another sharp glance.  He calmly resumed eating the last of his dinner, eyebrows raised and gaze on hi plate. It was a scene Irene was eager to leave before it completely boiled over. Maybe one day they would be her in-laws, but until then, this was not her problem.


    <hr>


    It felt like it had been a long time since Irene had walked through her neighbourhood at night. She kept her head up, constantly scanning for threats. A sparsely lit road stretched ahead of her. There wasn''t much traffic in this area, and to Irene it seemed like an impassable desert. She regretted refusing Mrs. Fisher''s offer to drive her. Irene pulled her still damp jacket close about her and gripped her umbrella, ready to strike anything that accosted her.


    Irene saw the turn off to her driveway in the distance. She was almost home. As tired as she was, fear spurred her to break into a run. All she could think of was racing into her house, locking the doors, and jumping under her covers where it was warm and safe. The gravel on the narrow shoulder crunched under her feet. Almost there. ALMOST THERE.


    SLAM! One moment she had a clear view ahead of her, the next there was a void blocking her view. Her feet slipped on the gravel as she tried to stop and she ploughed face-first into something. Or rather, by the feeling of fabric against her cheek, someone. Her arm was wrenched painfully as her weight pulled against it. Irene tried to scream but her mouth was invaded by leather. She had been spun around, her back against her assailant. Gripping her umbrella, she thrust it backwards. It made no difference. It connected with something, but was quickly snatched out of her grasp. Irene bit down hard on the cold leather. In response she felt another leather clad hand clamping on the sides of her neck. Vice-like, the grip pressed harder and harder and she felt as though her head was going to explode. Although it was dark, she could see even darker spots forming in her vision, eclipsed in an odd sparkling glow. Moments later, consciousness ceased.

 Chapter 10 - Captivity

    Groggy, aching, and disoriented, Irene finally regained consciousness. A hard, cold surface registered before her headache. What pressed against her skin was smoother than wood, rougher than metal. Cement? Her shoulder ached, and the ground had wicked away all warmth from her body.


    These sensations reminded her of when she''d slept on the floor in her basement. Am I home? Irene sniffed the air hoping to smell laundry soap, but instead her olfactory senses were assaulted with metal, sweat, and something fruity but artificial. An involuntary groan escaped her lips.


    ¡°Oh¡­ she woke up," spoke a feminine voice. Reflexively, Irene turned towards the speaker and immediately winced as her neck burned. She corrected her movements to prioritise keeping her head still.


    In the sparsely lit room, Irene first saw a fellow teenager crouched beside her. Her eyes were struggling to adjust; the girl was too close. Irene''s eyes wandered beyond her in search of something easier to focus on. Several feet away two other girls sat together. One had her knees up, arms wrapped about them. The other had one leg straight out, which she was rocking side to side. Her other knee was bent, and she leaned back slightly with her hands on the ground as support.


    Irene rubbed her gloopy eyes. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I was grabbed on my way home,¡± the girl hugging her knees answered in a hushed voice. She looked vaguely familiar. Is she from school?


    ¡°¡­Irene right?¡± the individual closest to her asked.


    Irene strained her memory for where she knew this girl from, but her headache thwarted her attempts. ¡°Yes. Do I know you?¡±


    ¡°Not really¡­ but you''re dating Jordan, right?¡±


    A minimal tilt of her head was all the nod Irene dared to offer.


    ¡°I guess you don¡¯t remember me¡­ it¡¯s me, Tina.¡± Irene thought for a moment. Tina. The name seemed familiar.


    "I''m sorry, I''m not..." Irene''s head was pounding but she tried to remember. "Do you go to school with Jordan?"


    "I''m Keith''s step-sister. I''d seen you at a few of the hockey practices."


    It was difficult in the dim light but Irene looked over Tina intently. With the context of hockey, it all seemed to click. One of Jordan''s teammates, Keith, had a step-sister the same age that came to watch.


    ¡°God, I am so scared,¡± moaned the curled up inmate.


    Tina sighed and curled her knees up to her chest as well. ¡°Um, let''s just introduce ourselves. Maybe together we can find a way out,¡± she suggested. "As you already heard, I''m Tina. And this is Irene."


    ¡°I¡¯m Katie,¡± another girl said, stroking her hair nervously.


    Following suit, the more nonchalant cohabitant introduced herself. "And I''m Ashley."


    After saying their names, all four of the girls were silent.


    Irene rubbed her temples. She needed more context to make sense of her current situation. ¡°Um¡­ where do you all live?¡±


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± Ashley snapped.


    ¡°I am just breaking the ice,¡± Irene murmured.


    Katie lifted her head. ¡°I live past the river¡­ on Gurney."


    Irene frowned. ¡°Gurney? Really?¡±


    ¡°Why, where do you live?¡± Ashley asked, her face going pale.


    ¡°On Sleepy Hollow Road,¡± Irene responded as calmly as she could. Katie gasped, Tina''s eyes went wide, and Ashley wrinkled her nose.


    ¡°I live on Linzey. It''s also off of Sleepy Hollow," Tina said in rushed words. Before Irene could ask, since she was sure Keith''s family lived on the other side of town, she added, "I moved back in with my Dad over the summer.¡±


    ¡°I work part time at the motel on Sleepy Hollow. My Aunt is the manager there,¡± Ashley grumbled.


    ¡°¡­But why us?¡± Tina pondered out loud, her voice going shriller.


    ¡°Why does it matter? We''ve been kidnapped! We''re not rich, so it''s not for ransom. So why else do you think someone would kidnap a bunch of girls?¡± Ashley rambled. She opened her mouth to spout more negativity, but Katie quickly interrupted.


    ¡°My uncle is in the RCMP! Someone will save us,¡± Katie assured. Ashley muttered a few things under her breath, and Tina said nothing. Irene sighed. Her shoulder cracked as she rolled it. Limiting her movement as much as possible, she scooted into the corner. Irene''s hand went to her neck. It was sore and bruised, but she did not feel any punctures.


    <hr>


    Time proceeded in a nebulous haze. Occasionally a man would come in and give them bottled water and dried foods, such as pre-wrapped crackers or granola bars. The intervals were irregular, thus she could not rely on mealtimes to keep herself chronologically oriented.


    "We need to figure out a way out of here," Tina said after the guard had left. Irene took a sip from the water. She''d resisted eating or drinking anything the first time, and watched to see if the other girls had any ill effects. As they seemed fine, Irene was content to risk it.


    "I''m sure someone will save us, we just need to keep our heads down and survive until then," Katie suggested.


    "No offense, Katie, but we can''t rely on the police. Who knows how long it will take them to find us?" Ashley retorted.


    "What if one of us fakes being sick? And then when the guard comes in, we all gang up on him? I bet the four of us could take him down if we work together," Tina chipped in.


    Ashley made a rather rude sound, followed by an even ruder insult. Irene shot her a severe glance, but it was ignored. "Not my fault she''s being stupid. That is so clich¨¦ that they''d probably know exactly what we were doing."


    "Besides, I don''t think it''s a good plan. We don''t know how many men are here, where we are, or how to get out," Irene added, still giving Ashley a firm glance. "But let''s avoid insulting each other. We''re all scared, and if we are going to get through this, we should try to get along."


    "Whatever..."


    "No, Irene''s right. If we bicker, it won''t help," Katie weighed in.


    "I have some bobby pins they didn''t pull out of my hair. They can be used to pick locks, can''t they?" All eyes went to the door handle. They did not see a keyhole. "Um... if there was something to pick."


    "Do you actually know how to pick locks?"


    Tina looked down. "Well... no."


    Ashley scoffed at her.


    "Well do you have an idea, Ashley?" Katie asked, her cheeks a little flushed.


    "Sure. Like I said, they didn''t nab a bunch of girls for no reason. So we just give the guard a taste of the goods, and he might let something slip. I bet I could get his eye," Ashley said, running a hand through her hair.


    "NO!" everyone else said in unison.


    "That''s too risky!" Irene hissed.


    "Have you no self respect!?" Katie gasped in dismay.


    Tina and Ashley both rolled their eyes.


    Ashley placed her hands on her hips. "I''d be willing to take one for the team, which is more than any of you''d do."


    "Well we can''t do nothing," Tina insisted, staring at the door impatiently.


    Irene sighed, looking at her fellow captives.  So impatient.  So reckless.  "Sometimes, all you can do is wait."  She was as eager as the other girls to break free, but she was certain that vampires were behind this. She did not dare tell the other girls that, though. The burden of that knowledge was hers, and hers alone. Irene decided to begin examining the walls while the girls continued scheming together.


    Nerves were frayed, for the next time the door swung open, the girls jumped, Katie letting out a yelp.


    This wasn''t the man who normally brought them meals. Instead of slicked back golden hair, he had shoulder-length curly brown hair. "Alright ladies, queue up and follow moi." An icy needle wove discord in Irene''s stomach. She recognised his voice. It was one of the men who had attacked Cyrus. She was certain of it.


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    The girls all looked at each other, hesitating to move. The man clapped his hands three times while stomping his foot. "Vite vite vite!"


    This startled the girls and they shuffled around, brushing against each other and nearly stepping on each other''s toes. No one wanted to be first. Irene sighed and took the lead, and the other girls followed.


    Irene carefully took note of everything as they walked through a narrow corridor, which turned at the far end. They were taken through a door at the end of the second hall. Immediately, the first thing that impressed upon Irene was red. It was all just too red. From the patterned red wallpaper along the far wall, to the red lanterns that hung from hooks in the ceiling, making the pale cement floor even take on a rosy hue. The next thing to attract Irene''s attention, and stop her in her tracks, were the bars that cut through the center of the room.


    "In you go," their escort insisted. None of the girls wanted to go in. Tina made a run for it despite Irene''s warning for her not to. Within the blink of an eye, the man had caught her and lifted her off her feet and dragged her back. The other girls didn''t dare move, as they now sensed something supernatural about the man. It didn''t stop Tina from kicking and flailing the whole way until she was tossed into the room. The man cleared his throat and looked at the three remaining girls. "S''il vous pla?t."


    Irene and the others filed in. They all stood in a line as the man closed and locked the door behind him. To her surprise, he stayed in the room with them. She watched as he approached a segment of the bars, and it took her a moment to realise it was a door. He paused before opening it, facing the girls and wagging his finger reproachfully, as if anticipating the urge to try and run through. He stepped through and locked them on the other side of the iron bars.


    ¡°Come in, sire,¡± the man called. Through a thick door entered a familiar figure. The lights brightened, and Irene¡¯s eyes stared at the long golden hair. She covered her mouth, but then lowered her head, trying to look less conspicuous. ¡°Are any of these fine ladies the girl you were looking for?¡±


    The blonde man took his time to examine each and every quivering girl. Finally he gave a nod.


    ¡°The one of the far right,¡± he said as stared at Irene. Staring straight at his face, Irene knew without a doubt it was Gabriel.


    "Very good, sire," the slighter man said with a bow. Immediately, he entered the cell again. The other girls looked alarmed, but just shuffled away from him as he strode over to Irene. Irene backed away, but he clicked his tongue at her disapprovingly, snatching her arm. Irene tried to resist, but she was held firmly. She looked frantically at the other girls, who all had their backs to the wall. They looked horrified, but none of them had an ounce of defiance left in them. Perhaps, and it may have been Irene''s imagination, she thought she saw relief on Ashley''s face.


    ¡°Got her,¡± the wavy-haired man said, dragging Irene through the steel cage door.


    Gabriel nodded, putting out his hand to seize Irene''s chin. ¡°Yes, good work Louis. This is the one who was with Cyrus,¡± Gabriel said with a twisted grin. Whispers, like rustling leaves, erupted behind her. ¡°Take the shift off, tell Guy to fill in for you.¡± Gabriel took Irene by the arm and turned to leave.


    ¡°But sire¡­¡±


    Gabriel waved his hand in a dismissive motion at Louis. ¡°Fine, fine, have it your way. But only one. We have to be careful with the local supply,¡± Gabriel said impatiently. Irene heard the barred door creak open as she was being led away by Gabriel. As she was pushed into the hallway, screams echoed behind her. Irene shuddered, sickness and disgust oozing into her heart. Images flooded into her mind as to what was happening to one of those girls, and what was going to happen to her.


    Irene was led into a room with a receded cement floor, a drain sitting like a dimple on the spattered ground. Fear and sickness intensified. Dark stains blotted the cement and a fetid yet metallic smell filled her nostrils. Without a word or warning, Gabriel grabbed her from around the waist and lifted her up so her feet dangled uselessly beneath her. She tried again to fight, jabbing her elbows at him and trying to kick, but it made no difference. She didn¡¯t stop struggling until she was forced to prostrate on the ground. It took Gabriel little time to bind her arms behind her back. Once she was securely restrained Gabriel walked over to a small table.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t any point in wasting your energy, girl,¡± Gabriel said as he picked something up. He turned around with a knife in his hand, twirling it effortlessly between his gloved fingers. Terror filled her chest as he approached.


    ¡°Get away from me!¡± Irene commanded in a deep, but shaky voice. Gabriel just chuckled and grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her upright. She scrambled back into a sitting position, and Gabriel crouched beside her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you just what you¡¯ve allied yourself with,¡± he sneered. His breath reeked of decay. Irene tried to pull back, but could not. With nowhere to flee, Irene firmly banished fear from her face and stared straight into Gabriel''s ghostly pale eyes.


    ¡°What I allied myself with?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Gabriel said, offering no further explanation. He pulled again at the collar of her shirt, slipping it down, exposing her shoulder. Again she tried to struggle, but nothing she did even inconvenienced him. His eyes ran all over her form, searching. He pulled the collar the other way, scanning her neck and shoulders for something. Gabriel brought his eyebrows together, looking perplexed. He muttered something under his breath and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to lift it. Finally he withdrew his hand, looking lost in thought for a moment or two. His lips grew even more thin and grim. Then his eyes lit up in epiphany. Irene, for a split moment, thought perhaps she would be spared, but such an optimistic thought was quickly banished. He grabbed her under her armpits and lifted her to her feet.


    ¡°Do you know what that man you were with is?¡± Gabriel asked, an eyebrow arched.


    ¡°You¡­ you mean Cyrus?¡± Irene lifted her gaze to the looming vampire.


    ¡°Yes, that pathetic, greasy weasel,¡± Gabriel spat the words disdainfully.


    Irene drew in a slower breath to calm herself. ¡°Yes. He''s a vampire."


    Gabriel leaned down, so that their noses were almost touching. She did her best to stare into his eyes intensely without going cross-eyed. But she could not fight the watering of her eyes from his lukewarm, putrid breath. ¡°Good. You passed the first test. I would have known if you were lying. But... how much DO you know?¡±


    ¡°About what? What do you want?¡± Irene finally asked. Is this an interrogation? Does he want to know where Cyrus is? She¡¯d gladly tell them in exchange for her freedom, but Irene doubted she could trust him to actually spare her.


    ¡°Answer my question."


    Without faltering, she responded with cold confidence. ¡°As you said, he''s a greasy weasel. I don''t care to know anything else."


    "Has he fed from you?"


    "...Once. A little," Irene responded. At least, once was all she remembered.


    "Hmm. Once," Gabriel''s eyes narrowed. The answer did not seem to please him. "Did he promise you something? In exchange for services?"


    "...I wouldn''t believe any promise he''d make," Irene said coolly. Gabriel raised his eyebrows and snorted, again invading her olfactory senses. Irene wondered why he smelled so terrible. Cyrus didn''t have a smell. At all. In retrospect, that was very odd. "I honestly don''t know what''s going on. I don''t know where Cyrus is if that''s what you want. He left." Irene saw just a slight smirk surface upon Gabriel''s lips. "I can''t help you further. So will you please let me go? I won''t tell anyone."


    ¡°No. I¡¯m not done with you,¡± he said as he leaned back. He grabbed the knife again. Irene¡¯s eyes went to it, then back up to him. He poked his finger gently with the sharp tip. ¡°Something isn''t adding up. But since you know nothing, I guess there''s no sense wasting my time further. I guess all that''s left is a little experiment."


    With little warning, Gabriel slashed at her with the knife. Pain bit into her chest, just under her collar bone. She tried to scream, but the pain was so intense that her throat constricted. Instead a squeak was all she produced. She remained with the full scream trapped in her lungs, until the air released in a long, raspy breath. She watched in horror as a red blotch grew and grew on her shirt.


    Gabriel cleaned the blood off of the knife and headed for the door. Irene stared in disbelief and shock as all other sensations fled, leaving only hot pain and cold sweat. Her heart pumped furiously, and with each beat, her shirt became more saturated. Irene turned her head to look away from it, her mouth going dry. Irene bit her lip and fell to her knees.


    Irene wasn¡¯t sure how long the pain throbbed in her before someone was thrown in with her. Her eyes shot open and she peered in desperation at the man who lay crumpled on the floor. He looked malnourished and scrawny, but despite being nearly skin and bone, he still had a strange amount of muscle definition on his bare back. Red streaks contrasted brightly across his china white skin, interspersed with red splotches and burn blisters. His pants were torn and tattered, and his bare feet had nails jutting out from them.


    The man groaned and rolled on the floor, then groggily lifted his head. Irene gasped. Although gaunt, she could tell it was Cyrus. He was in worse shape than he had been in when she had first encountered him. He looked like he¡¯d been starved for months¡­ but he couldn¡¯t have been in this god-forsaken place for that long! At that moment she knew she had been hurled into the shark tank. Irene wanted to close her eyes, but they wouldn¡¯t even blink. They were transfixed on Cyrus.


    Cyrus stared at her long and hard, his face seeming contorted and wild. He struggled onto his perforated feet and shambled towards her, his eyes fixed on her cut.


    Irene felt panic strike her, and she began backing up, until her hands felt the wall. She slid back down, trying to make herself as small as possible. Whatever they did to him, it had terrifying results. Irene wasn¡¯t certain if trying to talk to him or reason with him would work. But anything was worth a try.


    ¡°Cyrus¡­¡± By then he was standing over her, sniffing her and licking his lips like a dog.


    ¡°CYRUS!¡± Irene screamed. The loud sound made him shrink back, startled. His head jerked up and he gazed at her face blankly. She stared at him intensely, trying to force him to keep eye contact with her. She was reminded of a guard dog Merle used to have. Irene used to stare that rottweiler down when it barked. Usually if she gave it an authoritative look, it stopped dead in its tracks and stared back. The moment she looked away, it would pull against its chain and bark at her some more. Thus Irene continued to captivate Cyrus with the very same expression.


    For a while they just stared at each other. It was as if any humanity in him had run and hid. However, his eyes slowly drifted back to the blood. He craved it. He needed it. All of this was evident in his eyes.


    ¡°Cyrus,¡± she said loudly again. ¡°Cyrus, wake up!¡± she urged. ¡°Cyrus¡­ don¡¯t do this¡­ oh don¡¯t let this happen¡­¡±


    Mad eyes looked up at her, and for the tiniest moment, Irene thought she saw a hint of cognizance, maybe even fear, in Cyrus''s eyes. But they glazed over and his focus returned to her bloody shirt. Rip. Irene shut her eyes at the sound of fabric tearing. She shuddered at the sensation of lips around the cut. She could not come to terms with all of the thoughts and feelings whirling around her. First came the disgust and horror. Then there was a sharp sting caused by suction and further gnawing of teeth at her wound. Soon the pain was all-encompassing; she didn''t just feel it on her chest but around her whole body. Following this was a sedating sensation and she could almost hear music somewhere in the distance, but it was a superficial tranquility over an ocean of terror. Her whole body relaxed. No. Her whole body stopped. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was the loss of blood that caused this, or if it were the effect of a vampire drinking her blood¡­ nor did she even care. She just ceased her struggle and drifted off into oblivion.

 Chapter 11 - Father

    Irene sat bolt-right up in her bed; the room spun. She fell back onto her pillows and waited out the dizziness. It was a great strain to read the green numbers on her alarm clock, which danced in odd spirals.  Irene squinted and was trying to remember what significance the alarm clock had.  All she could think of was the sense of danger.  Surely, no significance.  She was dead after all.


    Wait. Irene squinted again at the alarm clock, staring hard at the numbers.  3:06 am.  If she was looking, she couldn''t be dead. Irene continued breathing hard. But everything was as it should be. She was in her room, safe. What a nightmare.


    Irene closed her eyes, but then the image of Gabriel holding a knife flooded back in. She could hear a chorus of girls screaming. Irene rolled onto her side, covering her ears. "It was just a dream... it was just a dream..." Irene moaned and wasn''t sure if she was saying those words, or if someone else was beside her, telling her that.  It was reassuring to think it wasn''t real.


    Irene''s mind drifted to the stressful and awkward dinner he had with the Fishers. But as she replayed the evening, her recollection became fuzzy. When did I get home? Did I go straight to bed? Nausea struck before the image of Cyrus, emaciated and brutalised, flickered in her mind like a stop-motion animation. It shuffled with the memory of running down the street, and fighting with an unknown assailant near her home. Where does the memory end and the nightmare begin? Unless...


    Irene sat up again and looked down at herself. Her pyjamas were mismatched, and buttoned up crookedly. Sticky sweat covered her, and her scalp itched. She scratched her head, fingers swimming through greasy hair. Her mouth was dry, and she became aware of a grungy, stale taste.  Her hands itched.  Everything itched.  Even the air around her was itchy.  She didn''t have enough hands to scratch everywhere.  Irene clawed at the air ineffectually.


    Vague fear and anxiety floated about Irene, and yet the images were rapidly fading. Irene tried to leave, but by the time she reached her bedroom door she felt dizzy. She steadied herself in the doorway, and when the room stopped spinning, she stumbled with determination to the bathroom.  She wasn''t sure why she was going there.  But it suddenly seemed very important that she got to that room.


    A face stared at Irene.  A girl''s face.  Greasy, blotchy.  It took Irene a moment to realise she was staring at her reflection.  It didn''t feel like that was her, but it must be.  What should be golden, healthy skin was pasty and sallow.  She had an awful squirming sensation, like a bug trying to burrow in her flesh, though she wasn''t sure if it was digging in or breaking out.  She frantically pulled at her pyjama top, fumbling until she pulled the buttons free and stared at the puckered skin around a scab just under her clavicle.  The image wavered and she blinked a few times, trying to focus.  She ran her finger over it, the rough surface catching the dead skin.


    "Ow..." Irene whimpered as a delayed response, as she realised the sore was hurting.   Attention shifted to her hands; they seemed unusually large, and the red splotches shouldn''t be there.  Whose hands are these?


    Irene''s mouth felt disgusting.  Toothpaste will make it better. But as she reached for the white tube a pang of nausea and weakness overcame her.  She steadied herself against the counter, taking in deep breaths.  The lights in the bathroom were too bright and her head hurt.  Irene turned on the faucet, gave her face a splash, and took a sip directly from the tap. Irene buttoned up, turned off the light and shuffled out of the bathroom. What was I doing?


    "Irene?"


    Irene let out a startled gasp and stumbled against the wall.  Then recognition prompted a flood of relief.  "Dad?"  Irene could scarcely believe what she heard.  Questions.  She had them, but she found it difficult to form words.  She repeated ''dad'' a few times, then added weakly, "When did you...?"


    "Around midnight.  You were already in bed, so I let you sleep."  The hall light came on, and sure enough, the paunchy figure of her father stood there in his robe and boxers.  He looked so far away, and yet she could see his face clearly.  What started as a smile on his face quickly transformed to concern.  He walked over, placing a hand on her forehead, then on her cheek.  "You''re burning up. Do you need me to take you to emergency?"


    Irene shook her head.  "No... not yet... you just got back... I don''t want to go yet... please don''t go..." Irene rambled.  She felt herself entering a swoon, an odd fuzzy sensation at the corners of consciousness as her vision tunneled on her father''s familiar countenance. Again she felt a surge of nausea, but she couldn''t bring herself to run for the bathroom.  Instead she fell into her father''s arms.


    "Irene!"


    <hr>


    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    A rhythmic electronic sound was the first to come to Irene¡¯s attention when she regained consciousness. Irene wasn''t quite aware she was conscious and she just focused on the noises, drifting along with it.  For a moment she felt weightless.  Soon she became aware of many more sounds.  Distant voices talking, the shuffling of feet, and the moving of equipment. Irene drowsily opened her eyes, shuddering at the light that surrounded her. She sighed, moving one hand to her face.  Her other arm stung, and she felt resistance when she moved it too much. Irene shut her eyes again, groaning softly.


    "Irene, you''re awake!"  Irene turned her head to the source of the voice cracked one eye open.  The fuzzy visage of her father came into view.


    "Dad..." Irene croaked softly.  She tried to sit up, but pain all through her body caused her to give up.


    "Take it easy, Irene.  Do you know where you are?" came a female voice Irene did not recognize.


    Confusion hit Irene initially, but she doubled down and concentrated on listening. Taking turns fading in and out of focus among the din was footsteps, banging vents, beeps, and voices mixed with other human sounds such as coughing and moaning. Acrid, sharp, and musty, there was a smell of body odor, disinfectant, and vinyl.  "Hospital." She knew the sounds and smells all too well. Irene looked over at her father again, eyes drawn to a bandage around his arm. "Dad?"


    "Don''t worry, kiddo, just giving back in gratitude," her father responded, gesturing to his arm. "I figured someone''s donation saved you, so I ought to restore the balance."


    "You needed a blood transfusion.  You came in with septicemia," the nurse explained.


    "Septi... whatta?"


    "Septicemia. It''s an infection of the blood.  A doctor will come by to check on your progress; he can answer your questions."


    "Infection?  Uh... isn''t that... what antibiotics are for?" Irene''s words felt blurry as she was saying them, thoughts like pond minnows that scattered at the slightest movement.


    "That''s right. But your case was acute; the transfusion was necessary to stabilise you," the nurse responded as she kept her eyes on the vital monitors.


    Irene let out a long sigh, easing her head back into her pillow. Irene''s memories were foggy. She was afraid to ask what happened to her. She was even more afraid if someone were to ask her about the last few days. Thoughts fleeting, she remembered a red room, Gabriel, and her shirt covered in blood.


    "You really had me worried, Irene," came her father''s voice.  "I should have checked on you sooner. I had no idea when I got home that you were so ill, until you fainted right into my arms."  His elbows rested on his knees as he slumped forward.  "If only I made it home sooner..." her father''s burry voice trembled with pent up regret.


    "Yeah... I guess... sorry... my head''s all fuzzy," Irene muttered softly.


    "Just rest, kiddo, rest.  I''m here now, and I''ll keep you safe," her father reassured her.  She didn''t want to argue. She didn''t want to think. She checked her confusion in at the lobby and embraced the feeling of safety her father provided. Secure albeit weak, Irene drifted back into slumber.


    Irene slipped in and out of consciousness while she got her strength back. When she was more awake, her nurses got her up and moving as much as possible, encouraging her to sit in a chair for her meals instead of in her bed. Sometimes her father was by her side, making small talk. She could sense there was a topic he was dancing around, but she wasn''t ready to pry. There were other times, however, when it was just her - her and the rest of the patients in their curtained off cubbies. Unlike the Fishers, her family could not afford a private room for her.


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    To Irene''s relief, her father wasn''t present when the doctor came to speak with her. He opened with a lot of the standard questions. Irene provided him with relevant medical history that couldn''t be collected before. He reviewed her latest lab results, reporting that her numbers had improved.


    "Now, then Miss Locklyn, I need to ask. How did you get that cut below your clavicle?" Irene felt a lump forming in her throat, which she tried to swallow as her hand traced over the mostly healed wound.


    "I... don''t..." Irene floundered. Irene wanted to go home as soon as possible. Thus, she carefully considered what answer would help achieve that goal.


    "It''s okay, anything you tell me is confidential," the doctor urged.


    "It was an accident," Irene said vaguely as she tried to imagine a whole scenario that could end in a cut. The skeptical lift of the doctor''s eyebrow set her one edge. He frowned, clearing his throat as he pulled up a chair and sat, staring at her with a look of pity.


    "An accident? We see a lot of ''accidents'' in here," the doctor said softly. Oh no. Does he think my Dad did this? Is that why he waited until I was alone to talk to me? Irene coughed and looked away.


    "Yes. Um. I was drinking with some of the other drama students and we decided to do a scene from Shakespeare with real knives. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and didn''t want anyone to get in trouble, so I tried to clean and dress the cut myself." Irene had never been drunk in her life and wasn''t sure how credible her story was. But from the amount of dumb things other students claimed to do under the influence, she hoped it would be believable.


    The doctor studied her, as if trying to decide whether to accept her admission. He sighed and wrote something down on his chart, eyebrows furrowed. She detected a note of frustration and disappointment in him. Or perhaps she was just projecting her own feelings onto the doctor. "I shouldn''t need to remind you that the legal age for drinking is nineteen. And as a doctor I suggest you avoid drinking alcohol, even when you''re old enough. It''s bad for your liver and can lead to... accidents." The doctor looked up over his clipboard. "I also hope that in the future, even if it happens during a misdemeanor, you will seek medical attention more promptly. I won''t bandy about it. You could have died."


    "Thanks for your concern," Irene muttered. "I really felt like I was going to die, and being told that, it... it fits." The doctor studied Irene a moment before his expression softened. He scratched his jaw with his pen, a grating sound as it rubbed against his five o''clock shadow. "Doctor?"


    "Yes?"


    "...The nurse said blood transfusions were not uncommon to treat sepsis, but... was I anemic?" Dealing with vampires, it felt like a very relevant question.


    "Your RBC and hemoglobin were critically low. Which is why I will be prescribing iron and B12 supplements in addition to antibiotics. Your platelets were unusually high, which is usually the opposite case with septicemia. However, everything is looking better and you will be discharged soon. A nurse will go over some paperwork with you and your father, which will include home care instructions." The doctor looked down at his chart again. "I would suggest following up with your GP and getting additional blood work done in a week''s time."


    Irene nodded. "Of course. Thank you, doctor."


    As the doctor had indicated, Irene wasn''t in the hospital for much longer. It was a great relief for Irene to finally put some of her own clothes on. Her medical questions were answered well enough. She knew what to do to manage her recovery. But she still had questions about what had happened. Not just her, but the other girls. A voice broke her from her reflections. "Ready to go, kiddo?"


    "Actually, before I go, I''m going to visit Jordan. Why don''t you go get a coffee? I''ll meet you there," Irene said.


    Her father raised his pale eyebrows. "Are you sure you wouldn''t rather go home and get some rest? You can always come back."


    "I''d sleep a lot better after checking on him," Irene responded.


    "Alright, sweetie. Let me at least walk you to his room. You still don''t look too steady on your feet."


    When Irene reached Jordan''s private hospital room, he was dozing. She smiled gently and put her hand on his. After a silent moment of admiration, she felt his hand squeeze hers. Irene leaned closer to him as he opened his eyes. A smile spread across his blanched lips.


    ¡°Irene, you¡¯re here¡­¡± he said in a quiet, raspy voice. Irene¡¯s eyebrows furrowed, but she forced her subtle smile to maintain her morale. He was sounding worse.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here,¡±


    Jordan looked at her, then at her hand that he was holding. Immediately, he frowned as he saw the hospital bracelet. "Irene? Are you... are you okay?"


    "I will be. I just had an infection, but I''m going home today," Irene said, taking initiative to banish his concerns. Jordan stared at the ceiling for a moment and closed his eyes. Irene¡¯s smile dropped and she knelt beside his bed. How she wished she could bring him home with her. She did not want to stay in the hospital, but she did not want to leave his side, either.


    ¡°Irene¡­¡± he said quietly, then opened his eyes and turned to look at her. ¡°I can see¡­ you are aching¡­ and afraid¡­¡± Jordan said in broken up sentences.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± There was no point in assuring him she was fine. He saw through her, and there was no point in hiding anymore. She crossed her arms on the bed, then rested her chin upon her cradle of arms.


    ¡°Wanna talk about it?¡± Jordan asked in a whisper. Irene slowly nodded her head, her eyes already going moist at the hard recollection. Not all of it was quite clear yet. She couldn¡¯t remember how she got from Gabriel slashing her to sitting in a hospital bed, but she could find fragments that terrified her as much as Gabriel. Still flashes of Cyrus, looking almost deranged with hunger, haunted her.


    ¡°Jordan¡­ remember what I told you?¡± Irene began, but trailed off, imploring Jordan to speak.


    ¡°What you... you mean about¡­ the immigrant?¡± he whispered. Irene nodded her head and rested it again atop her arms.


    ¡°Did you hear about... Tina going missing or¡­?¡± Irene asked. Jordan¡¯s pupils contracted and his relaxed, weary look became intense and focused. He nodded, but said nothing. Irene closed her eyes, remembering those girls, afraid and confused. ¡°What did you hear?¡±


    "...That she died from a drug overdose," Jordan said, furrowing his eyebrows.


    "An overdose? Really? Where''d you hear that?" Irene asked, her head popping up from its rest in surprise. Jordan rolled onto his side, studying Irene tensely.


    "Keith. He was shaken up about it. He suspected something was wrong when she went to live with her father..." Jordan exhaled something between a snort and a sigh. "But, Irene, what does he have to do with this? Unless... he''s not from a cartel is he? I know you''d never use, but..."


    Irene sat up straight, leaning away from the bed. "But?"


    "...Have you gotten involved in drug trafficking?"


    Irene was struggling to keep up with the direction the conversation was going. Drugs were the least of her concern. Jordan thinking she was involved with them was something she was unprepared for. But then again, she wasn''t prepared to accept that vampires were real either. Again, Irene''s hand went to the scab on her chest, feeling its rough texture beneath her thin t-shirt. The longer she remained silent, the more tense Jordan became.


    "No, nothing like that..." Irene swallowed hard and looked away, trying to stop her eyes from watering. Jordan looked shaken.


    "Have they... did he... have you been checked for..." Jordan grew more apprehensive as he tried to bring his question to fruition.


    Irene leans forward, gathering both of his hands together and looked him straight in the eyes. "Stop." A sick feeling came over Irene; she was not ready to explore the possibilities.


    "I''m sorry Irene. You were trying to tell me about Tina. Go on..." Jordan said, dropping his gaze.


    Irene closed her eyes, steadying herself. "I know that she and some other girls were abducted. If she did overdose, I don''t think she took the drugs willingly," Irene affirmed in a stern, matter-of-fact tone.


    ¡°Irene¡­ have you told the police?¡±


    Irene opened her eyes and winced. He looked ghastly and spooked.


    "If you saw someone getting kidnapped..."


    ¡°No. I can¡¯t,¡± Irene said uncomfortably.


    Jordan continued to stare at her unblinking. ¡°You must. Those girls¡¯ parents have the right to¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Jordan. I didn''t see them get taken," Irene clarified, bringing up a hand.


    "Then how do you know?"


    "Because I was taken, too!¡± Irene hissed, emotion catching in her throat. Jordan flinched, drawing away from her slightly. He remained in stunned silence, then slowly rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "By... vampires."


    ¡°By... vampires¡­¡± Jordan repeated incredulously.


    Irene sighed and buried her face in her arms. ¡°I don''t know what happened to those girls¡­ and I can¡¯t remember what happened to me¡­ I was restrained and injured¡­ and then¡­ everything from then on is a mess of disconnected flashes that make no sense! It makes my head spin to even try to connect it all, and I feel so strange and sick¡­ but I heard them screaming as I was led away. I still hear them!¡± Irene said, her throat becoming tight. She bit her lip so as not to cry, but there was still a wavering in her voice. She felt Jordan¡¯s hand gently touch her shoulder.


    ¡°Irene, I wish I could take all that scares and haunts you away¡­ I wish I could protect you.¡± Jordan reached out and gently stroked her brow.


    ¡°Jordan¡­ thank you. I need to go¡­ I don''t want you to see me like this.¡±


    Tears quietly invaded Jordan''s eyes, and it was all too much for Irene. She hurried out, pausing in the doorway to wipe her eyes. Although quiet, she could hear his voice.


    "But¡­ I just want to be there for you¡­ especially when you''re like that¡­"


    Irene resolutely left.

 Chapter 12 - Dried Flowers

    "Well, this has been a crazy fall," The voice of Irene''s father intoned over the car''s engine. Irene remained staring out the window, hugging a bag of the clothes she was wearing when she was brought in. When Irene didn''t respond, her father shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "I, uh, met your tutor. He was asking how you were doing."


    "That''s nice of him," Irene muttered. Then she replayed the sentence in her mind. This caused her to look at her father. "Wait, who?"


    "Your tutor. Cedric or maybe it was Silas..."


    Irene fixed her father with a stare. "Cyrus?"


    "That''s the one. Bit of an odd fellow, but he seemed worried when he couldn''t get a hold of you. He left you a get well card." Irene swallowed hard and then quickly looked out the window. Her first impulse was to immediately tell her father Cyrus was not to be trusted. But how would she explain why? She also considered, if Cyrus was speaking with her father, then he was no longer feral. Irene closed her eyes, flashes of Cyrus closing in on her flickering through her mind. Cyrus was back to himself. And would he harm her father if he knew what Cyrus was? Until she knew what was going on, perhaps it was best to play along.


    "Oh. Yes. Cyrus. Sorry, I''m tired and my mind is on other things," Irene replied. "Well, it''s been a rough start to the year, so I decided I needed some extra..." Irene trailed off. No. Learning what happened to her was not worth letting Cyrus back into her life. Irene''s knuckles became white as she clenched her fists and stared forward, out the windshield. "No. Father. I''m sorry. He lied to you, and I was just about to lie, too."


    Irene could see her father''s plump hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. "What do you mean? What''s going on, Irene?"


    "Father..." Irene began. He glanced at her quickly, a tell-tale tick in his cheek telling her he was trying to remain calm. "Cyrus isn''t a tutor. He''s..." A vampire? No. Time to start telling the truth without telling the truth. "He''s in a gang."


    "A gang? Him?" Her father scowled as he pulled to a stop at a red light. "The argyle sweater vest was a bit over-selling the part." Sweater vest? Irene cleared her throat. She had a hard time imagining Cyrus in anything but his usual black clothing. "But what do you have to do with him?"


    "I found him in the woods, he was injured, I administered some first aid, and what I first thought was gratitude turned into... stalking." Irene shook her head. This story was somewhat close to the truth. She felt she could work with it. "I didn''t know what I was getting into, I was just trying to be a good person."


    "Aw, Irene. You are a good person. It''s just... there are wolves out there, like I''ve said before." Her father rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. "But why did go along with, I mean, almost go along with his lie?"


    "I was scared you''d overreact and start driving crazy, like you did when Monica told you that Benny pantsed her." At the mention of her late sister, Mr. Locklyn swerved ever so slightly, but quickly corrected and straightened out his wheels.


    "Of all the things to remember..." he muttered. "That was a long time ago. But I take your point. We''ll discuss more of this when we get home." Irene closed her eyes and leaned against the window.


    It wasn''t long before Irene heard the familiar grinding noise of tires on gravel. She knew she was home. Her father opened the door and took her things, and Irene tiredly shuffled up the old porch to their front door. Mixed feelings began to stir as she stepped over the threshold. Although her basement had been purged of vampires, she still felt as though her home had been tainted by association, and it would never feel quite the same again. But at least, now, with her father back from his business trip, it felt just a bit more normal.


    Irene expected her father to head for his old pleather chair, but instead he grabbed the newspaper. "I might be a bit, then we can talk." Irene nodded, understanding. Irene walked into the kitchen to get herself some water. On the table she saw a green envelope with her name written in fancy cursive. She picked it up, flipping it over. She was about to open it when she remembered her father mentioning that Cyrus had left her a card. Angrily, Irene tossed the card in the waste basket.


    Irene waited for her father in their cozy living room, stretched out on the plaid loveseat with her feet up on the arm rest. She stared at a crack in the ceiling as a focus as she ran through her thoughts. Bits and pieces of her abduction were still missing, but she remembered enough to be worried that whatever trouble Cyrus was in, she was still entangled in it. Which meant her father was at risk. But how could she prepare him? How could she protect herself and her family? How strange it was to be the one worrying about protecting her father, when usually it was the other way around.


    "Alright, kiddo," came her father''s voice as he walked into the room. He grunted and eased himself into his chair, pleather squeaking. "Tell me more about Cyrus."


    Iene began with a sigh. "Like I said, I helped him out. I should have been suspicious when he begged me not to call an ambulance." Irene shook her head, brushing the bangs out of her face as she sat up. The snort and way her father shook his head told her he agreed. He peered at her questioningly, but didn''t need to vocalize his query. "I guess, because I had been afraid of hospitals for so long, I figured he''d had a bad experience like myself." This was a much better narrative. It was effective, as her father''s face softened and he glanced down. "Once he was better, he started hanging around. He wouldn''t leave me alone, even after I repeatedly told him to leave. He''d follow me places, or bar me from entering doors, or tell lies to my friends..."


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    "Did you tell the police, or your teachers, or someone?" her father asked. Irene shook her head.


    "No. I didn''t... I didn''t know what to do. I had no evidence that he was doing anything wrong," Irene remembered how her neck had healed almost completely after the time he bit her. Yet, oddly, the cut on her chest did not. Was it because it was caused by a knife and not a vampire''s teeth? "I guess I was waiting for you to get home so I could ask you what to do."


    Mr. Lockyln''s face grew very grave, and he began thumping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He glanced away a moment, then looked back at Irene. "Did he hurt you?"


    Yes, he did. But just as she struggled to talk about it with Jordan, it was even harder with her father. He''d fly off the handle, and maybe get himself hurt. Irene chewed on her lower lip. "He... said a lot of things that made me uncomfortable. And some of it didn''t make sense. I don''t think he''s quite right in the head." The tapping grew more rapid and the tic returned to her father''s cheek.


    "And this gang you mentioned. Is this some small local street gang, or something bigger?" Her father asked, barely containing the strong emotions roiling deep within. Irene could sense it was difficult for him to keep calm, but she was unsure if it was fury or fear that he was holding back.


    "I don''t know the scope of it. He was following me around one night when a big man showed up and they were talking trash at each other.  It sounds like Cyrus tried to leave and he got thrashed for it, but now they were trying to get him to return. I know I heard one of them mention a brotherhood. Maybe he''s not in a gang, maybe it''s a cult. But it''s something."


    Mr. Locklyn began rubbing his jaw, taking time to process everything Irene was saying. "A cult or a gang. I don''t know what''s worse. But I don''t want you involved with either," her father lamented. "I know you said you didn''t have any evidence, but we need to contact the police. If there''s any other letters, like the card he sent you, bring that."


    "I tossed it," Irene said bitterly.


    "Then go fish it out."


    Irene sighed and went and retrieved the envelope. She returned and sat down, holding it in her hands. "I don''t know what''s on it, if it would help me. And I don''t want to open it."


    "Would you like me to look at it, Irene?" her father asked, holding out his hand. Irene paused. Her hands shook as she stared at her name. Sighing deeply, she handed her father the card. He quickly tore the envelope and took the card out. Something fell into his lap and he had to grope around and shake out the folds of his shirt to find it. It appeared to be dried flowers, pressed into wax paper. He examined them for a moment, then handed them to Irene.


    Irene inspected the pressed flowers. One was a purple bloom that may have once been vibrant when it was still fresh. Its petals were broad, and she was unsure just what it was, though she knew for certain it was not a bluebell. The other flower had some purple on it, but was predominantly white. She immediately recognized it as an iris. Irene glanced up, watching her father''s brown eyes darting hither and thither as he read the card. He shook his head and shrugged.


    "Well I''m definitely going to have words with him if he shows up again," Mr Locklyn growled. A prickling sensation arose on the back of Irene''s neck, and she wondered if it wasn''t wise to expose her father to anything Cyrus wrote.


    "Ah... now I''m worried. Let me see," Irene said, holding out her hand. Her father hesitated, then passed it over. The fact he was handing it to her meant it wasn''t anything overly gross. The outside was a typical greeting card one could pick up at any store. Gold print on a pale green background said "Get Well" with some water-painted floral designs. Inside the card was a neat and tidy handwritten message.


    Best wishes for a speedy recovery, Irene. An Angel has his eye on you. I hope we can meet and discuss your further education when you get home. Stay safe.


    In Eastern lands they talk in flow''rs


    And they tell in a garland their loves and cares;


    Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowr''s,


    On its leaves a mystic language bears.


    - James Gates Percival


    Regards,


    -Cyrus


    Irene squinted at the card a moment or two. There were a lot of things she expected. But poetry about flowers was not one of them. She looked at the flowers in her hand for a moment. Was he sending her a message? Did she really want to know? If it was, she had no idea what an iris meant, or even what the other flower was. Irene looked up at her father.


    "Grown men sending high school students love poems... disgusting." Irene heard the grind and crack of her father''s knuckles. "I don''t think you need any further ''educating'' from him."


    "No. I certainly do not." Except, perhaps for her survival, she did. Irene rose to her feet.


    "Where are you going, sweetie?"


    "I''m going to put this somewhere safe, in case I need to hand it over as evidence," Irene explained. Yes. Evidence. But not before she could puzzle out what it meant.


    "Ah. Good. We''ll go to the police once you feel up to it. For now, though, you best get some rest." Her father stood up, walking over to the entertainment stand, turning on the radio to tune in to sports. "Oh, I''ll probably pick up some Chinese later, if you feel up for that."


    "That''d be nice," Irene responded, a yawn sneaking up on her. A nap in her own bed was sounding very appealing.

 Chapter 13 - Dilemma

    Things were feeling normal again. There was great comfort in sitting on the couch, eating a TV dinner, and watching television. Her father liked to watch sports, and Irene just liked to watch him. His defenses came down, and there were times he was like an oversized child, which was endearing. The way he clapped his hands in delight when his team scored, or the small tantrums he threw when the referee made a call he disagreed with. Yet he was never so engrossed that he''d stop her from chatting with him during a game. It was often their bonding time.


    However, there was an undercurrent of tension as they sat and watched. Irene was silent, turning events over in her mind. What was Cyrus thinking, masquerading as a tutor? And how did she get home? What happened to Cyrus? Why, if Gabriel already had Cyrus, did he kidnap her and anyone who looked like her? Irene wanted to know, but was afraid the more she learned, the further away she''d be driven from having a normal life.


    During a lull in the game Irene finally voiced her decision. "I think I am ready to talk to the police."


    Mr. Locklyn looked up from the game, seeming a bit surprised at first, but then he smiled. "We''ll go tomorrow." Irene nodded and continued eating, not wanting to say much more on the matter.


    Once her meal was done, Irene grabbed a bag she''d left beside the couch, taking out a library book. She glanced up at her father, who was engrossed in his game. Satisfied, she opened the book, and out slipped the card and the flowers. She studied the flowers, and began flipping through the pages of a botany book..


    As she suspected, the one flower was an iris. It took Irene some time to identify the other flower as Aconite, or Wolfsbane. This made Irene pause. Wolfsbane was poisonous. Irene set the book down and grabbed another, glancing up when her father let out a cheer. He looked over at her, and she quickly tucked the card and flowers back into the book.


    "What''s that, kiddo? Thinking of taking up gardening?" her father asked.


    "No, just reading for my own edification," Irene responded. He gave her a side-glance, somewhat perplexed, but his attention was quickly ensnared by the game. He hollered at the players on the screen. Meanwhile, Irene swapped out her book for another: "The Language of Flowers".


    Irene now had the missing pieces.  Irene eagerly looked at the information on the iris flower. She already knew it was named for the Greek Goddess of the rainbow and had connections to the tie between mortality and the afterlife.  But the poem pointed her away from mythology and more to the message it was used to convey.  The Iris simply meant a message, which seemed redundant to her.  A lot of the entry focused on the use of it in blazonry, particularly of the French nobility.  Gabriel''s slight accent came to her mind.  The way he said his R''s was reminiscent of a French accent, but it was too watered-down to really tell.


    Irene sighed and went searching for wolfsbane.  There was no entry.  Irene snapped the book shut in frustration.  This is probably just another one of his games.  Irene snorted and watched the tiny men on the screen exchange the puck a few times.  Her curiosity overturned her frustration and she opened the book again, looking up aconite instead.  To her satisfaction, there was a listing.


    Misanthropy.  Beware.  An enemy is near.


    Irene looked back at the card. Only now she realized the word Angel was capitalized. Angel. One of the most famous angels in Christian lore leapt to her mind. Gabriel.


    Just as she was trying to form thoughts on what this could mean for her, the doorbell rang, startling her. Her father, who didn''t notice her reaction, leaned forward, about to get up, but then he shrugged and leaned back. "I''m sure it''s nothing important." He said. But after a moment, he thought. "I wonder if it''s Girl Guides? I could go for cookies. They usually sell the mint ones this time of year."


    Irene had gone back to staring at the card when she heard her father''s booming voice. "You have some nerve coming back here!"


    Uh oh. Irene sprung to her feet.


    "I know you aren''t a tutor! If you come near my daughter again, you will have to answer to me!" Irene walked up behind her father, peering past him. Sure enough, illuminated by the flickering porch light was Cyrus. He was wearing an olive green polo shirt, a brown coat, and khakis. Her father was right. He looked like he was trying too hard to cultivate a conservative, intellectual look. The worst part were the spectacles with thick, black, square frames, which did not flatter his large eyes. Cyrus stood, mouth agape. Then his gaze shifted beyond Mr. Locklyn to Irene. She crossed her arms, glaring at him. He returned her glare for a brief moment, looking accusatory at her. She just arched an eyebrow. Then he took a step back, bringing his hands up in a placating manner.


    "Mr. Locklyn, please, I''m sure there''s been some misunderstanding here." Cyrus said, keeping his hands up, eyebrows raised. His hair, which usually had bangs falling into his face, had been combed back, exposing a widow''s peak that made him look older.


    Irene''s father thrust a thick finger at Cyrus accusingly. "There''s no misunderstanding. Who do you think you are, sending a teenage girl love letters?"


    "What, my card? That wasn''t a love letter, I assure you. You''ve got it all wrong. That-"


    "Oh and that poem you slipped in?"


    "Just my sense of humour," Cyrus responded, laughing sheepishly. It was unlike the unfettered chortles or mocking chuckles she''d heard from him before. Irene was surprised at Cyrus''s behaviour. She''d always feared an encounter between him and her father would end in violence. But Cyrus was behaving like any cowed suitor when confronted by a protective father. "If you''d please let me explain..."


    "I don''t want to hear anything from you. I''m going to count to ten, and if you don''t leave my property, Irene will call the police, and if you still don''t leave, she''ll be needing to call an ambulance too." Mr. Locklyn cracked his knuckles. While her father was not necessarily imposing, he easily had some considerable height on this particular vampire. Irene felt anxious, but also hopeful. Cyrus was giving ground to her father. This reinforced the idea that Cyrus was a coward and a bully, quick to drop his pretense of ferocity the moment he wasn''t up against someone weaker. But... she''d felt his strength. It was inhuman, and surely, her father couldn''t match it either. So why was he backing off? Had he been weakened somehow? She watched Cyrus take a few steps back, palms still out. But then he stopped and a look of defiance flashed in his face. Irene''s father took a step farther, warning him to continue his retreat.


    "Ten..."


    "I am only here to help..."


    "Nine..."


    "I don''t know what she''s told you, but..."


    "Eight..."


    Cyrus''s frown deepened, and she saw just the briefest twitch of a snarl on his lips, before he turned it into a smile. Cyrus took off his prop glasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. "Your daughter is in danger." Her father took another lunging step forward.


    "Not anymore! I''ll protect my daughter at any cost!" Her father said ferociously. "Seven!" He barked.


    "Oh yes, you''ve done a bang-up job of protecting her thus far. Where were you when she needed- urk!"


    To Irene''s horror, her father grabbed Cyrus by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Irene could never move him, and here her father was, in the process of throwing him down. Cyrus landed on the dirt path leading to their porch with a thump. He looked up, legs splayed and hands in the mud to steady himself. He glanced at Irene a moment from his prone position, and Irene shook her head pleadingly. He then looked up at her father, no longer hiding the snarl on his lips. "You leave me no choice."


    "Cyrus, don''t!" Cyrus was quickly on his feet, and had her father''s shirt in his fist, forcing her father to bend down to his eye level. He stared intensely at her father, and Irene was terrified he was going to bite him. She rushed out. "Please!"


    Cyrus''s other hand easily caught Irene, keeping her at an arm''s length as he continued to stare at her father with an eerie intensity. Her father''s gaze was locked on him, no more words passing his lips. She looked at her father for signs of pain, but instead his eyes appeared glazed, glassy, and compliant. "As I said, it''s all a misunderstanding." Her father continued not to react, and Cyrus kept unwavering eye contact. "It''s understandable, my actions could easily have been misinterpreted." Irene shook her head, glaring at Cyrus. No, his actions were QUITE clear to her. "But your daughter saved me, and it''s only natural I should want to return the favour. Your daughter was very unwell one night, and I brought her home. In her feverish state, she became very paranoid and refused my further help." Cyrus wove this alternate story, and she could see her father becoming more and more calm. Cyrus eased his grip on Mr. Locklyn, who straightened up.


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    "I... I see." For the first time since the exchange, her father blinked and his brow furrowed. "But she wasn''t mistaken about you being in some sort of gang or cult?" Again, his hackles were rising. Cyrus briefly narrowed his eyes, but kept staring at her father.


    "No. And yes, I lied about the tutor thing." Cyrus smiled and gave a small shrug. "Mia culpa. But I didn''t want to alarm you. Nonetheless, Irene is in danger. And I have been trying to protect her, and I can only do that if I can remain close by." Irene scowled. He was not going to worm his way back into her life. Irene looked at her father, expecting him to see through Cyrus''s charade. But her father looked dull and compliant.


    "That makes... sense..." Mr. Locklyn said, but he sounded uncertain. Again he blinked and his eyes seemed to come back into focus. "If you really wanted to protect her, you would go to the authorities, turn yourself in, and hand over evidence about whoever is threatening my daughter!" Her father swung out his hand, gesturing vaguely off into the distance. Cyrus hissed, but then quickly smoothed out the wrinkles forming on his brow, trying to maintain calm. Her father had broken eye contact, and this clearly vexed Cyrus. He thrust up a hand, grabbing Mr. Locklyn''s chin, forcing him to stare the vampire in the eyes.


    "Stop it!" Irene demanded. What else could she do? She wasn''t sure exactly what Cyrus was doing, but he was doing something to her father. Something that her father was having some internal struggle against. Irene reflected back to the times when she had felt paralyzed and unable to resist Cyrus for brief moments. Cyrus ignored Irene, keeping her back with his other arm still, and his gaze focused on her father.


    "The authorities can not help. My... gang, sure, let''s call it a gang. Why not? That gang has contacts in the RCMP. Contacting them would put everyone in danger." Cyrus released his grip on her father, but not his hold on his mind. Irene began clawing at Cyrus'' wrist to no avail. "You need me. From now on, I will be a boarder at your house. That is the new narrative. You will trust me."


    "I... yes. You''re my... boarder. I trust you," her father finally relented to whatever power Cyrus was exerting over him. Irene''s eyes swelled up with tears. Her father was supposed to protect her, not side with the source of her recent woes. "Thank you, for looking after my daughter in my absence."


    Cyrus grinned one of his horrible grins. Irene didn''t know what came over her. Ferociously, she sank her teeth into Cyrus'' hand. For this first time, she got a reaction from him, feeling him jump and pull away. He looked at her, appearing as surprised as she felt herself. After a moment, he laughed. "Well I guess what goes around comes around," Cyrus responded. Irene then began to tug at her father''s arm.


    "Father, snap out of it! Cyrus is NOT to be trusted!" Irene insisted desperately.


    Her father turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Irene, I know you think I''m making a mistake. When you get older and have a family yourself, you''ll understand. We have to trust him, for both our sakes." If he had just blankly told her that he trusted Cyrus in a monotone voice, it would have given her more will to fight. But the fact he now looked lucid, and the way he spoke was entirely like him, it broke her heart. Whatever Cyrus had done, it had moved past whatever barrier he''d been putting up, and nestled itself into his core. Irene pulled away from her father, and ran inside. Just before she closed the door, she heard Cyrus ask how much rent her father wanted, as if everything were perfectly normal and benign. Irene slammed the door and ran to her room.


    Irene wasn''t in her room long when she heard a tapping at the door. Hesitantly, she called out, "Come in." To her relief, it was her father''s head that poked in. Irene sat up, hugging Silver who had been laying beside her, purring.


    "Hey, kiddo. I''m just checking on you before heading to bed. I''ve got a sudden headache." He rubbed his eyes tiredly.


    "Are you really letting Cyrus stay here?" Irene asked. He sighed.


    "Yes, Irene. It''s for the best. The company is a stone''s throw from bankruptcy and I could use the extra income."


    Irene looked down, just focusing on the vibrations from her beloved pet. "You never told me it was that bad."


    "I didn''t want you to worry. I am sorry, though, that I haven''t been here for you. I''ve just been trying to be a good provider." Her father began rubbing his eyes again, his fingers going to his temples.


    "I understand. Get some rest, Dad." Meekly, he nodded and her door shut with a nearly inaudible click. Irene continued petting Silver, who began to knead her thigh with her tiny paws.


    "You''re still on my side, aren''t you?" In response, the gray tabby lifted her tail, crooking it at the very tip and headbutted Irene in the stomach. "Aw... thank you." Irene doted on her furry friend with pets.


    Abruptly, that crooked tail straightened out and the fur became raised. Silver turned around in Irene''s lap, her thigh stinging as Silver dug in her claws to maintain balance. The little cat hissed at the door. With this sudden change in demeanour, it didn''t surprise Irene when the door swung open, and Cyrus stepped in.


    "Get out of my room," Irene said immediately, hardly looking at him as she worked on smoothing Silver''s tail. Silver''s ears swiveled back and she crouched on Irene''s lap, letting out a throaty growl. Cyrus made no response, and she heard a few heavy steps as he lumbered further into her room. She looked up again, and he plopped down beside her on her bed. The cat hissed and scratched Cyrus'' hand, which he had placed down on the edge of the bed beside Irene. "Silver!"


    In the pale moonlight that streamed in through her window, she only briefly got a glimpse of Cyrus''s face before she realized the danger. The dark circles, the gauntness. He''d been fine moments ago, what happened? Before Irene could react, he had grabbed her cat by the scuff of the neck and was holding the cat inches from his face. The cat continued to hiss and squirm, trying to get free. He bared his fangs. "Cyrus stop! Don''t you DARE eat my cat!"


    "I need blood..." Cyrus said between clenched teeth. Irene grabbed for Silver, but he moved her out of Irene''s reach. The cat yowled and swore at this indignation. "Choose. Cat... father, or..." he trailed off, shaking his head, struggling to speak. "I''m too weak... hunt." Irene stood up. What could she do? While he wasn''t quite in the frenzied state she''d witnessed in Gabriel''s den, he was not playing the fool now.


    "Leave my father out of this!" This was a plea as much as it was a demand.


    "Choose!" Cyrus growled. Silver managed to finally slip out of Cyrus grasp and she hit the ground running. Cyrus just fell onto his side, laying his head on her pillow. Irene did not understand what was happening, just that she needed to do something. "Need..."


    "Go to hell," Irene said, turning away.


    Cyrus propped his head up briefly, fixing her with an intense stare. "If you don''t... hell... will come... here." He then let his head drop again into the pillow, closing his eyes.


    Irene drew in a breath, shaking. She could not subject her father to this. Irene trembled, hating what she was about to do. She knelt down beside Cyrus, pulling her hair to one side and exposing her neck. "Then bite me."


    Cyrus opened one eye and peered at her. "You''ll die. Too soon... since... last..." Cyrus closed his eyes again, turning away from her. "GO!"


    <hr>


    Irene shivered, rubbing her hands together. Her heart was racing, and she felt sick to her stomach with what she was about to do. She paced outside of a nearby motel. Irene turned, about to walk away. What she was about to do was wrong; Irene wondered if perhaps she ought to kill Cyrus while he was weak. But how? She didn''t know what would or wouldn''t work, and if she failed, there''d be no coming back.


    What Irene had been waiting for arrived. She heard him long before she saw him. A warbling, uncertain voice, soaring to high pitches of song, and then sputtering into sobs. Irene watched as the disheveled, pot-bellied man ambled into the parking lot, his sandy beard and curly hair giving him a wild appearance. Most people in her neighbourhood called him Sobbin'' Robin. Irene often avoided him, as he lamented the same hardships over and over without trying to fix them. For the first time, Irene felt genuine compassion for him.


    "Robin?" Irene called. He lifted his head, mid-verse and looked around. It took a while for his puffy eyes to find her. Not recognizing her, he looked around as if expecting there to be someone else named Robin. He then looked back at Irene, one bushy eyebrow lifting as he gestured to himself, mouthing ''me?''. Irene nodded, beckoning him.


    "Whah... wha''can I, urf, d''you for, young lady?" The drunk swayed on his feet, trying to give her polite attention.


    "Would you like a warm meal?" Irene asked, her voice trembling. The man looked at her, giving her a measured assessment, albeit several times having to blink, squint and wipe at his eyes.


    "Well. Tha''s kindness, li''l bird, buh... ah... I got all''er warmth I need, right here," Robin said, holding up his bottle of vodka. He then took a swig to demonstrate his point. When he pulled the bottle away, he sighed, forlorn. "Is th''only warmth I feel now, sin'' she left."


    Irene wasn''t sure what to do. She thought for sure the promise of a hot meal would have been irresistible. How was she going to lure him away now? He took another swig, about to turn away, but then pulled the bottle away, staring at it. He gave it a one eye squint, then turned it upside down. Nothing but a sorry dribble dripped out. Irene looked up. "Are you sure?"


    "Well I..." He stumbled over his own feet, barely catching himself. He let out a belch, and it was all Irene could do to not wrinkle her nose in disgust as his smell reached her. "Well, it woo''n be ''propriate, young lady. Hey. Hey. What''re you doin'' out this late?"


    "I can''t sleep. There''s a lot weighing on my conscience," Irene answered truthfully. The man nodded, lifting up a single finger as he continued to bob his head.


    "Ah, yeah... yeah... I know that. I know that, urp, well." He brought the bottle to his lips again, only to remember it had no succor for him. He let out a nasally whimper and dropped the bottle. Irene jumped at the sound of the glass shattering, looking around alertly lest someone come out and see what the noise was. Irene''s guilty conscience would not let her forget that she did not belong there. Surely, anyone else would see her as suspicious. She ought to be. She was up to nothing good.


    No one came. The man began sobbing. Irene''s lip curled in contempt. Not at the man''s uninsulated display of emotion, but at her own scheme. She walked over to the man, holding her breath so as not to gag, and wrapped an arm about him. He continued sobbing, muttering half sentences about the family that had left him. She rubbed his back soothingly, and in his despair, he was easy to herd. Slowly, she guided him towards her home. There was no going back after this.

 Chapter 14 - Four Letter Word

    The rushing of water was loud and invading. An old drain swilled pink lather, as the water oppressed the bubbles. Raw skin continued to rub against itself, chanting a mantra for cleanliness. More soap was oozed into a pair of eager hands, and they continued the cycle of cleansing. No matter how dirty the water got, no matter how tainted the soap became, not a single crimson stain was lifted from the chafed skin. The hands stopped for inspection. The fingers were bony and frail; the skin sagged, yet clung tightly against every contour of bursting blue veins. At every joint and knuckle the skin was knotted and swirled disgustingly. Suddenly, a ghastly gurgling erupted from the drain. Gunk sprayed up from the old pipes. After the first volley, thick red liquid spurted forth, drenching the hands.


    Irene sat up quickly in her bed. Cold sweat clung to her body, and she quickly brought her hands up for examination. They were spotless and just as youthful as ever. Irene sighed and slowly rested her body back down, taking in deep breaths to calm herself. It was just a dream.


    Irene gently rubbed her eyes, and then let her fingers travel to her temples. Soothingly massaging them, she tried to sort out her feelings. Had she really done it? She removed her hands from her head and looked at them again. Her mind began to try and justify what she had done. Thoughts, such as having no choice, that she was preventing a catastrophe, and that it was survival, kept springing to her mind. However, no matter how much she tried to make the guilt go away, it whispered ''murderer''.


    It had been three days since then, and she had been unable to leave her house. Her father had asked her what was wrong, but she kept making excuses. Cyrus was pacified, and thus they were safe for the time being. However, Irene could scarcely believe what she had done. She chose her father''s life over another human being. Just as Irene was about to close her eyes, she felt it. It was closer than usual. She slowly turned her head and saw a white, expressionless mask in the far corner of her room.


    ¡°What are you doing here, Cyrus?¡±


    The smooth texture of the ghastly face slid into a wide grin before becoming serious and neutral again. ¡°You made some rather... distressed sounds,¡± came his voice loftily through the darkness.


    Irene drew the sheets tighter about herself. ¡°So...?¡± Irene asked tiredly. The face grew closer and more defined, until fragments of moonlight highlighted his dark form.


    "I came to make certain you were alright. I do need to protect the goods,¡± Cyrus said as he sat down at the foot of her bed.


    ¡°The goods?¡± Irene responded indignantly.


    ¡°No need to get defensive. Well, actually, do. Do get defensive. That''s more like you." Cyrus sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. "You haven''t been yourself. If this is because of guilt, let it go. That man had already given up on life,¡± Cyrus said, leaning closer to her. She shrank and bundled herself as tight as she could against the wall.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my call!¡± Irene refuted.


    ¡°No, no Irene. You have a good head firmly on your shoulders, don''t let it drift off into the clouds now. It was your call, and he was a logical choice." Cyrus said firmly. Then he chuckled quietly. "Granted, I didn¡¯t need the high alcohol content in his blood. Just be glad he wasn''t on narcotics." Irene shook her head and then sunk it into a nest of arms.


    ¡°His life wasn''t hopeless; he could have cleaned up! But I took that all away,¡± Irene lamented. Cyrus shook his head.


    ¡°Oh stop this moaning!" a rare sound of vexation and contempt entered Cyrus''s voice. He placed a hand over his chest. "I¡¯m the one who killed him! I was too hungry to stop! You just brought him to me to protect you and yours." Irene swallowed hard, unsettled by Cyrus''s change in demeanour. Cyrus crossed his arms. "Irene, you may think all lives are equal, but they aren¡¯t! Some people have better lives, are better people, or have a better purpose, and that is that! Don''t waste your energy on this ¡®who am I to condemn them¡¯ nonsense! People judge and condemn people every day! You aren¡¯t set apart from them, Irene. You may be better, but you aren¡¯t set apart!¡± Irene lifted her head and stared at him, her eyes burning.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think I¡¯ve tried to justify what I did? The guilt just won¡¯t go away¡­¡± Irene bemoaned. Cyrus threw out his hand and grabbed her arm, yanking her quickly from the corner and held her in front of him. She tried to get away, but his grip was granite, and soon his other hand had her other arm. He put his face very close to hers.


    ¡°Guilt feeds itself, peaches. If you feed it, it grows until it becomes a nasty little demon with horns and pitchfork! Don''t let it. It may never go away, but you just need to show your guilt who is boss!" Cyrus straightened up, leaning back to give Irene some space to breathe, so to speak, but still held her arms firmly. "Now be that strong girl I admire, and suck it up!¡± Irene tried again to pull away, but there was no escaping his clutch. This was the way it had been since he had arrived. Why did she bother? Irene reluctantly looked into Cyrus¡¯s dark eyes, as they stared into her with inexorable intensity.


    ¡°I guess¡­¡± Irene''s tone was weighed down by exhaustion and uncertainty. She kept staring at his eyes, and watched as the skin on his cheekbones pushed up against his lower eyelids. She didn¡¯t want to admit that he was right. Yet, she had come a long way and had come to cope with things, so why should she let this be the straw that broke the camel¡¯s back? She hated to draw strength from him, but there was no one else there for her at the moment. Irene wondered why her father hadn''t come to check on her. But, she was also relieved. She couldn''t confide in him about any of this. ¡°You made your point, Cyrus. Will you please let go, now?¡±


    ¡°Cute,¡± Cyrus responded, not loosening his grip, nor dropping his smile. Rather, it intensified. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve come to your senses. You said yourself, you had no use for people who mope and feel sorry for themselves. I''m glad you¡¯re back.¡±


    Irene opened her mouth to remind him to let go of her, but her words could not get past the two lips that pressed against her own. Irene¡¯s entire body tensed up as her mind began to race so fast that it seemed as though a single thought could not be processed before being replaced. Irene was rendered dumb as she felt her body slowly leaning back, guided gently yet firmly by Cyrus, until her head rested upon her pillow. Irene wanted to resist, but he pulled away to gaze directly into her eyes. "Relax," Cyrus whispered. Immediately, the tension she felt in her arms and legs melted away. He smiled in evident delight, and his gaze dropped as he kissed her again. Irene felt trapped and distant from herself, as if she were standing across the room, watching with contempt. Contempt equally for Cyrus and herself. It wasn¡¯t until she felt Cyrus¡¯s hand slip up her shirt that she managed to break free and grab his wrist.


    ¡°Off.¡±


    That single command fell onto silence and hesitance. Cyrus¡¯s hesitance to stop, and Irene¡¯s hesitance to slap him if he didn¡¯t. Dejectedly, the vampire got up off of the bed and stood, looking down at her. Irene glared up at him, bringing the sheets up around herself protectively once more.


    ¡°Yes¡­ you certainly are back to your old self¡­¡± Cyrus muttered.


    ¡°What were you thinking!? Can you not see that I don¡¯t want you?¡± Irene exclaimed, hues of red tinting her sight.


    ¡°Jordan isn¡¯t here, Irene,¡± Cyrus said ominously. Irene¡¯s eyes widened momentarily, before they slowly slid to slivers.


    ¡°I never told you his name¡­¡± Irene said suspiciously. Cyrus leaned against her bedroom wall, only a vague outline of him showing against all the blackness.


    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. However, a certain Jordan Fisher is the only patient to be visited by Miss Irene Locklyn. It¡¯s a shock to see how seldom you visit your boyfriend,¡± Cyrus added tauntingly. Irene responded with a frigid silence. However, this did not stop Cyrus from continuing once it was evident that Irene had nothing to say. ¡°There''s a cute little name that pops up even more than yours: Merle Crowe.¡±


    Irene drew in a deep, long breath. ¡°I see what you are trying to do. If I am entirely alone, if I push away my friends¡­ then maybe I¡¯d turn to you¡­ you pathetic¡­ thing.¡± Cyrus leaned forward, away from the wall, and stared down at her.


    ¡°Pathetic? I¡¯m not the paranoid girl who can¡¯t see what is right in front of her,¡± Cyrus retorted. Irene cocked an eyebrow up at him.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t paranoia if someone is actually messing with you,¡± Irene responded coolly.


    ¡°Stop blinding yourself with your indignation and moral superiority, and be more grateful you didn¡¯t wind up like those other girls." Irene still hadn''t heard anything about the fates of Ashley or Katie, and she shuddered. "If you care to know, as I think it''s very relevant, I can take what I want when I want and you can''t stop me,¡± Cyrus pivoted on his heel and headed for the door.


    Irene stared wide-eyed. Cyrus''s words hung heavily about her mind. She had already felt the futility of her struggles against the vampire. She wanted to cry more than anything now. She had thought it many times, but he had finally had the audacity to voice the sickening truth. She was completely at his mercy; he could do anything to her. However, for the first time she stopped and thought, why hasn''t he?


    "Cyrus wait!" Cyrus had swung open the door, poised to slam it. He paused, turning to her, eyebrow cocked. "You could. So... why haven''t you?"


    Cyrus scoffed and shook his head, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Irene. You''re a smart girl, so I''m shocked you haven''t figured that out. Ah, well, you''re young. I can forgive you." Cyrus turned to her fully, shutting the door behind him. "I don''t want to hear you scream ''please stop'' but to whisper, ''don''t stop''. But you''re just too damn frigid." Cyrus squinted a moment, glancing to her window. He looked oddly pensive for a moment.


    "Then why... I know you did something to control my father. And I could feel you doing something to me." Cyrus quickly looked back at her, crossing his arms and turning away.


    "Ah, that... you caught on to my little trick," Cyrus said sheepishly. A broken chuckle tried to materialize, but there were gaps in the mirth, leaving a hollow sound in its wake. "It''s pretty neat. But..." Cyrus looked at Irene over his shoulder. "Ah, nevermind about that." Irene crossed her arms, staring at him critically, silently demanding an explanation. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders and turned fully back to Irene. "I thought if you relaxed enough to get a little taste, you might change your mind. Then we''d both be a lot less tense. Can you blame me for trying?"


    "YES!" Irene nearly screamed. She then covered her mouth, afraid of waking her father. Even though she''d done nothing wrong, the idea of him seeing her now made her feel extremely uncomfortable. On the one hand, she wanted the protection of her father, on the other, she knew her father, like herself, was powerless against Cyrus. Cyrus opened her door, and leaned out into the hallway, watching silently for a moment or two. He then stepped back in, smiling pleasantly.


    "We''re good. Now where were we? Oh, right, discussing the elephant shaped romantic tension in the room."


    "...Romantic tension? I''m tense because I''m honestly afraid you will... force yourself on me," Irene responded bluntly. Cyrus stroked his chin, peering at Irene.


    "Right. I can understand how you''d feel that way. Especially after I pretty much threatened to. In retrospect, probably not the most suave move on my part." Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I got a little carried away. Really, you can ignore half of what I say."


    "Not just threatened. Attempted! Just because I couldn''t fight back or say ''no'' didn''t make what you were trying to do any less... it was still... still..." Fluttering sensations erupted whenever Irene tried to say the word she was thinking.


    "Rape is a four letter word," Cyrus filled in cheekily.


    "It''s nothing to be flippant about! Have you no shame?"


    "No. I don''t," Cyrus responded curtly. He walked back closer to Irene, and she drew her covers tighter about herself as if they could actually protect her. "But my lack of shame is the least of your worries. Gabriel, however, is a much greater threat. He revels in his depravity. You are fortunate he was lenient with you."


    "I still don''t know how I got out of... wait! Back up. You''re trying to change the topic!" Irene glared at Cyrus who smiled at her sweetly. He brought his hands up under his chin, batting his eyes in mock innocence. Contempt bloomed anew in Irene and she did not hide it, a sneer riding up her lip. Seeing this, he just raised his eyebrows. Irene pointed at him. "You admitted you were trying to assault me."


    "Assault is such a violent word." Cyrus sat at the foot on her bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Irene drew up her knees close to her chest. "Like I said, I was just helping you to relax. Then you told me to stop. I stopped. Don''t I get bonus points for that?"


    "NO!" Irene squeaked in exasperation. "Using vampire mind tricks is no different than drugging a drink!"


    "Hmph. Your point?"


    "My point is it is still a violation!" Irene hissed through grit teeth.


    "Tch! Enough with the pious school girl routine. If you''d get over yourself, you''d realise there''s nothing to fear or be ashamed of. We can either be at each other''s throats," Cyrus smirked as his eyes drifted to her neck, prompting Irene to bring the sheet up again under her chin, "...or you could make this an opportunity to have some real fun. If it benefits us both, how is it a violation?"


    "Because I don''t want you! I don''t need to justify myself more than that!" Irene''s voice was getting higher pitched, but she was still trying to keep her volume low. She should scream. She knew she should scream. Anything to make him go away. But still she feared what Cyrus would do to her father if he were to try and defend her. The burden of the consequences of seeking help was crushing her as she gripped her sheets tight.


    "Oh, I think I could change your mind." Cyrus raised his eyebrows, tilted his head, and crossed his arms.


    "You can''t make someone want you!"


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    "Oh, but I can, and I have." Cyrus said with an insolent shrug of his shoulders.


    A few indignant noises erupted from Irene''s throat. She could hardly fathom anyone could be so disgustingly conceited. Behaviours and sentiments like this portrayed in media were exaggerations, or so Irene had assumed. "They were probably faking it out of fear!"


    "Maybe. Some just felt it was their societal or moral duty to resist, but deep down it''s what they wanted. Enough women who resisted me at first ended up begging for more." Cyrus leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee and he peered at Irene with a crooked eyebrow.


    "You are disgusting and delusional. Women don''t want to hear about previous conquests."


    "Speak for yourself. Besides, what would a girl know about what women want?" Cyrus asked dryly.


    "Do you listen to yourself? If you think of me as a girl then what does that say about you? After what you''ve..."


    Cyrus sat up straight, holding his hands up. "Oops." He interrupted. "I walked into that one. This is going nowhere. Let''s just forget this whole mishap," Cyrus said, waving his hand in the air.


    "Forget? I am not going to forget this, Cyrus." Irene was having a hard time controlling the exasperation in her voice, as she found his blunt and insensitive bantering distasteful at best, and mortifying at worst. But all she had were words. And even those did not seem to be making an impact. But at least if she kept him talking, kept prodding, she was beginning to flesh out her own boundaries.


    "Suit yourself. Believe me or don''t, but you can rest easy. I''m not in the mood to pull any more shenanigans tonight." Cyrus got to his feet. "Unless you want to hear about my valiant rescue of your grace from Gabriel''s Lair of Horrors, trademark, then I think I''ll go get a drink."


    Irene remained with her knees up and her covers up around her neck. Why did Cyrus have to play these games with her? Just when she was hoping he''d leave her alone, he teased her with the information she''d been craving. Irene bit her lip, combating the conflicting desire to get away from Cyrus, and for the truth.


    Irene''s silence seemed to be interpreted as an invitation to stay, as Cyrus shut the door and sat on her floor, cross-legged. There was something almost bright and child-like in his countenance as he smiled and clapped his hands together. The effect, considering what had just happened before, was very disconcerting to Irene.


    "Alright then! Where shall I begin? Oh yes. I suppose I will begin with my embarrassing abduction."


    Irene broke out of her thoughts and scowled. "How about you begin by marching yourself out of here? I should never have stopped you from leaving in the first place!" The truth was not worth putting herself in continued danger. Cyrus had gone too far.


    "Too bad, I''m already comfortable. It''s story time now. You lost your chance to banish me."


    "Did I ever have a choice to begin with?"


    "Well, yes. But you need to learn not to hesitate, Peaches." Cyrus wiggled his tush where he sat and places his hands on his knees. "Ready?"


    Irene remained curled up in her corner, still unsettled by Cyrus, and making every attempt to avoid eye contact with him yet remain watchful of the offensive scoundrel. She was tired, confused, and resigned to misery. She did want to know, and she hated him for it. Grudgingly, she said, "Go on."


    "So there I was, standing on your porch, catching the eye of the pizza delivery lady. I offered her a ''tip'', to which she seemed amenable. I lured her to some nearby bushes. Wonderful service, would recommend again." Irene scowled. "Because I''d been keeping myself well fed, I only needed a pint or two. She was light headed, of course, and I eased her into a more comfortable position to recover. Blackouts and memory lapses are a common enough side effect; I didn''t worry about finishing her off to maintain my secret."


    "Then why didn''t you do the same to me and move on?" Irene asked.


    "Because I needed somewhere to hide. Also, by the time I bit you, a short term black out wouldn''t quite erase the mystery of the rapidly healing stranger. But I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, the elephant-shaped romantic tension in the-"


    Irene breathed in sharply at Cyrus''s impertinence. "STOP!" Cyrus laughed. "Just get back to the story. How did Gabriel''s men get you?"


    "Ah yes. Funny thing. The door was locked when I tried to get back in. Curious, isn''t it? I''m sure it was just an oversight on your part." Irene looked at him archly, then looked away. He snickered under his breath. "But I figured the night was young, so I might as well take a stroll. While I was having a pleasant moment to myself in the nearby woods, I was grabbed from behind. Louis is able to mask his presence, even from other vampires, so he''s really good at getting the jump on people. Of course, I''m stronger than him. Trouble was, just as I was about to fight him off, he stuck a needle in my neck and then it was lights out."


    "What, he got you with a tranq?"


    "Hey now, before you get any ideas, drugs used to render a mortal unconscious won''t work on vampires. Not even in stronger doses. This was a very special cocktail, and no, I won''t tell you what it is." Cyrus rubbed his neck. "After the way I''ve treated you, I''m quite certain you''d take any opportunity to bring me down." Irene wasn''t going to argue that. "Right. So. Thwarted by a locked door and a needle, I was brought to my dear brother, Gabriel."


    Irene hadn''t noticed that she''d dropped her guard a little. Her sheets were no longer pulled about her, and mirroring Cyrus, she was also sitting cross legged on her bed, listening. "Gabriel had some... words with me about my accusations. He''s a proud man, and didn''t take kindly to his clownish brother actually defying him. I was given one last opportunity to come to my senses and come back. Having some impulse control issues, I told him where he could stick it. I sometimes marvel at how I''ve stayed alive this long," Cyrus rubbed his chin and looked out the window. Despite the levity in his tone, Irene caught a flash of regret.


    "You and Gabriel have referred to each other as brothers. Is that just because you belong to some sort of brotherhood or..." Irene inquired. Cyrus looked back at Irene.


    "Oh. Hmmm. Well, sort of yes. Before he founded The Bloodened Hood, which is a lame name and I wanted to just be the Red Fangs, but apparently that was too similar to Red Scorpions and..." Irene crossed her arms, tapping her finger on her upper arm impatiently. Spotting this Cyrus smirked. "Right. We were a Brotherhood. But before that we were just brothers, he and I. My dam, the woman who created us, gave us her blood simultaneously. We began our lives as vampires together. And even when she was neutralized, we stuck with one another. We''ve got a long history that spans hundreds of years."


    "For some reason I thought you were a fairly young vampire," Irene admitted. How could someone hundreds of years old be so obtuse?


    "I''ve got a young soul."


    "Do vampires have souls?"


    "I don''t know; it''s just an expression, kid." Irene shuddered. It bothered her when he called her a girl or a kid, considering his overt sexualization of her. She slid back, bringing her sheets about her again. "Anyway, I was trying my brother''s patience. And trust me, I''d been trying it for years. I guess he finally decided enough was enough. He hauled me off, let his underlings, who never liked me for some reason, beat and starve me. Which confused me. Gabriel couldn''t seem to make up his mind whether he wanted me back or wanted me dead. Although when he interrogated me, I began to realize he thinks I either know or have something he wants, but I haven''t the foggiest what that could be."


    Irene''s countenance darkened. This sounded very familiar. "He kept asking me questions, too. But he was... very vague as to what he was searching for."


    Cyrus looked down at his lap. There was a stall in his story. He lifted his head again, his tone going softer. "I don''t say this to people often but... I am truly sorry you got caught up in this," Cyrus confessed. Irene scoffed and looked away. How could he be sorry? She looked back at him, and his face was sober. Again, she tore her gaze from him, as it made her uncomfortable. "You really don''t deserve any of this." Cyrus continued. Irene hugged herself. How dare he apologize now? It was simpler to hate him if he didn''t show remorse. "I mean, you are a critically judgmental prude who will justifiably end up sad and alone, but you don''t deserve..." Cyrus shook his head. Irene exhaled, realizing she''d been holding her breath. Oddly, his self-sabotage of what may have been a tender moment was comforting to her. It restored the status quo. "...This. Any of it."


    Irene didn''t deserve this. She knew that. But hearing it made her oddly apprehensive and she wanted to hide her face. Perhaps because it was coming from Cyrus. But his apology would not wash away his offenses against her. "Just... get on with the story."


    "Fine, fine." Cyrus waved his hand in the air, banishing any sentimentality from the room. "My recollection gets a bit hazy, since eventually I lost cohesion. I became little more than a beast, as you saw." Irene closed her eyes and shuddered, her throat tightening as she recalled the terror she felt when she saw him. "All I do remember is coming to my senses, holding your limp body in my arms. I called out to you, but you were out cold. To be honest, then and there, I was tempted to keep feeding. You taste really, REALLY good, Irene."


    Irene shuddered, bringing a hand up to her neck. "I don''t want to hear that, Cyrus."


    "Ahem. Right. I was crushed. I howled like a mad man and cradled you in my arms, knowing the only way to save you was love''s true kiss..."


    "Cyrus! Can you please just be serious?"


    "Fine. I can try." Cyrus rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "In truth when I held you in my arms... I was angry. As much as I joke about being a beast, I am not a lowly animal and will NOT be treated like one by other vampires. I realized what was happening. Gabriel was feeding you to me, like some caged animal. It wasn''t easy to do what I did next, but it was crucial. I regurgitated the blood I just drank back into you."


    Irene''s stomach lurched at the thought, and she gulped, trying to keep the bile from rising. "What did that..."


    "It gave you time. But it weakened me. I licked your wound hurriedly, but didn''t have time to let it close up completely. I continued the charade of savagery. When someone came in to remove me, I took the nails from my feet and shoved them into his eyes. I had to act fast before Gabriel got to me. I grabbed you, and I fled. I only barely escaped."


    Irene had scooted to the edge of her bed by this point, leaning forward, wrapped up in the story. If it was true, it meant that Cyrus was capable of putting someone else''s needs before his own. But why? Irene furrowed her eyebrows, and seeing this, Cyrus tilted his head.


    "What?"


    "Nothing. Go on."


    Cyrus shrugged. "There isn''t much more to tell. If I brought you to the hospital, there would have been too many questions. I had to hunt, so I stashed you in an abandoned building. Once I had fed, I stole some coats to cover our torn and bloody clothes, called a cab, pretended we were drunk, and brought you home."


    Irene grimaced and put her hand over where the knife wound had been. Then she had a vague memory of waking up in her own bed, in clothes that didn''t feel quite right. Once again, her thin eyebrows plunged down over her eyes, which darted side to side as she began searching her recollection. "If my father only got back that night... then... I must have woken up a few times to take care of myself, but I don''t remember..."


    "Ah, that''s pretty normal."


    "What happened to my bloody clothes?" Irene asked.


    "I disposed of them. They were stained and torn," Cyrus responded with a shrug.


    "And you just left me here?"


    "Well... that wasn''t the original plan. But there was something I needed to deal with rather urgently. It took longer than I thought and I had to take shelter from the sun; I couldn''t make it back."


    "Why didn''t you just stay away? Why come back and plague me further? Why invent lies and pretend to be a tutor? What was with the card?" Irene asked, trying to put all the pieces together.


    "Woah, now, slow down there. Okay. I didn''t stay away because I like it here. Also, you are a delight to plague. The tutor thing seemed like a decent cover story. And yes the card had a meaning. I thought a clever girl like you would..."


    "It''s about Gabriel. He''s still hunting us." Irene was quick to disperse the inference that she wasn''t able to pick up on Cyrus coded message. She wasn''t sure why she cared if Cyrus didn''t think she was intelligent. But she did.


    "Ah so you DID figure it out. Then why were you so eager to get rid of me? You do realize your father can''t protect you from Gabriel, don''t you?"


    "Because you''re the only reason Gabriel knows I exist! You''re what he''s after, not me!" Irene said angrily. "You said you were sorry I got involved in all this, well, if you are, then un-involve me!"


    There was another silence between the two. Cyrus looked out the window, squinting, his profile illuminated by the delicate moonlight. "I wish I could, peaches. But it''s too late now. Gabriel has caught your scent, and he''s vexed with me. So that really sucks for both of us."


    Irene looked down at her lap, thoughts whirling. There was a lot to process, from the nightmare that awoke her, to her guilt, to Cyrus making her feel completely helpless once again. And now, there was the present threat of someone as bad, if not worse, than Cyrus. How did her life come to this? All she did was try to be a good person. And now she was enmeshed in a situation that was slowly chipping away at her values. She gave Cyrus a side glance. How long before he stripped away everything she was proud of? She had a deep pride in her ability to control her emotions, while watching the other teenagers get lost in the forest, swinging from mood to mood like monkeys on vines. But he brought out intense rage she never knew she had. She held her head high because she was able to take care of herself and rely on no one, as far as a minor could rely on no one. Yet now she was depending on others constantly, and felt as though she was barely a contributing participant in her own life. And she believed she would never harm another person, no matter what. Yet faced with a threat to her family, she condemned a harmless drunk to a grizzly fate. She bit her lip to hold back tears. She did not want to give Cyrus the satisfaction of seeing her cry.


    "What... do we do, then?" Irene could find no solution. Yet another prize was taken away from her. She was proud of her ability to problem solve, but she was left feeling dull and incompetent.


    "Right now? You get some sleep. Outwitting Gabriel won''t be easy, so I need time to think," Cyrus said, jumping to his feet. "In the meantime, don''t go out at night. Oh, and maybe think about hanging up some mistletoe!"


    Irene huffed, as she was growing impatient with the one-track mind of this vampire. "Cyrus, seriously-"


    "I am serious!" Cyrus interjected, placing his hands akimbo. "I said most popular media got it wrong. But they just got the plant wrong. Instead of garlic, stringing up mistletoe at entrances will keep vampires out. Or in. Don''t ask me why. Keep in mind, though, that just because it keeps the vampire from traversing a portal, doesn''t mean they can''t throw something in. Or shoot through a window. Obviously, don''t put any at the front door, because I need to be able to get in and out to keep you safe. I can''t believe I''m suggesting this, but keep some over your window and bedroom door. It''ll keep me out, but more importantly, keep other vampires out too."


    Irene reflected on this new information. Her knee-jerk reaction was to believe this was some sort of prelude to mischief on Cyrus''s part. On the other hand, if he was in earnest, a protection against vampires would be reassuring. Keeping him from her bedroom would at least help her sleep at night. But there was one problem. "I don''t know where I''d get mistletoe. The only time I see it in stores is around Christmas, and even then, I think most of it is fake."


    Cyrus shrugged. "Guess you''ll have to figure that out." Irene sighed. But oddly, this gave her some measure of control back. She could finally do something to protect herself. As much as she hated to admit it, Cyrus had just given her hope. Hope which she had been in danger of losing. And yet, the very same man was the one who took it away to begin with. "Anyway, goodnight Irene."

 Chapter 15 - Back To School

    It had been too long. Irene''s life had been disrupted, and despite everything she was dealing with, she longed for the distraction of the normal teenage experience. Irene was feeling strong enough to go back to school, and try to put it all behind her. This was her resolve the next morning as she bustled about.


    "Irene? What''s all this?" her father asked as he watched her prepare her lunch.


    "No need to call me in today. I''m going back to school," she announced as she cut up some apple slices, spritzing them with lemon juice to delay oxidation. Her father snagged a piece and popped it in his mouth.


    "I am glad you are feeling better, Irene. You know where your doctor''s note is, right?"


    "I''ll be fine," Irene responded as she filled her water bottle.


    "Take it all the same, just in case," her father cautioned. Irene sighed and relented, signaling to her father as such with a nod of her head. He walked over and kissed the top of her head.


    "Take care, kiddo. I need to get to work."


    <hr>


    As Irene was tying up her shoelaces, she heard footsteps behind her. She groaned and looked over her shoulder. There stood Cyrus, staring. The sun had not yet fully risen, but he was cutting it close. Irene was certain that he was staring at her backside, and it made her skin crawl. After last night, Irene wanted to get as far away from him as possible.


    ¡°Going back to school?¡± he asked. Irene sighed and nodded her head. Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°Be sure to come back home before it gets dark. There is something ominous in the air.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± Irene muttered as she lifted her school bag and quickly left.


    The day had just begun, but Irene was already tired upon arriving. Passing through the school lobby, she stopped to notice a table set up with a beautiful red cloth, and two framed pictures. She walked over closely, and saw portraits of Katie and Ashley. Irene hadn''t heard anything about them on the news, and it caught her off guard to see memorials to these two girls. But what about Tina? Was her death not worthy of recognition just because it involved drugs? What happened? What false truth was everyone here told? It just wasn''t fair!


    Irene continued to just stare at the pictures, flashes from that horrid event leaping to her mind. Irene put her hands to her ears. It was a futile gesture, because the sound she desperately wanted to escape came from within. They were screaming and moaning in such pain and agony. Irene shuddered, her knees feeling weak. Heat throbbed through her body, but spread out in icy echoes. Soon she could see their faces. She didn¡¯t see them when that horrible vampire got to them, but now, her mind was conjuring contorted visages of torment. Irene let out a sharp sound that was neither a scream nor a gasp, but something in between.


    Reality was reunited with her at the touch of a hand and the calling of her name. Irene hadn¡¯t any idea how long she had been like that, nor how long someone had been calling her name. She opened her eyes and saw the concerned face of Merle. ¡°Irene¡­¡±


    ¡°M-Merle¡­?¡± Irene muttered, uncertain. Merle had been all shades of red with her. However, Irene hadn¡¯t the capacity at that moment to hold it against Merle. She turned around to face Merle, sniffling to hold back a sob. Merle peered at Irene silently for a moment, studying her carefully.


    ¡°Irene¡­ now you are really starting to scare me¡­¡± Merle said in a shaky voice. Irene was never one to get so emotional over death. Yet, here she was, crying over three girls that she barely even knew. Irene shook her head and looked down. Merle quickly stooped down to make herself shorter than Irene, just so she could look up and still see Irene¡¯s face. After a protracted silence, Merle stood back up and put both of her hands on Irene¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine¡­ I need to get to class,¡± Irene finally managed to mutter. Merle shook her head vehemently, clutching Irene¡¯s shoulders tighter.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re going to take a walk! It¡¯s only P.E. after all!¡± Merle insisted. Irene stared at Merle, wide eyed.


    ¡°I can¡¯t skip¡­¡± Irene stuttered. Before this year, she had a remarkable record for good attendance, doing her homework, being on time, and NEVER skipping. It may seem, in the situation that she was in, a strange concern to have, but Irene was trying to fit herself back into her regular life in spite of everything. It was how she had always coped before.


    ¡°Irene, a smudge on your record won¡¯t kill you! Just take a walk with me; we aren¡¯t skipping because we¡¯re being bad, it¡¯s because you need someone to talk to!¡± Merle coaxed. Irene slowly shook her head. Merle sighed at Irene, searching her pale face.


    After a moment''s hesitation, Irene meekly nodded. Merle took that opportunity to seize Irene¡¯s arm and guided her outside to a shady patch of trees. The silver birches were almost naked and offered little cover, but the Japanese maple still had brilliant red leaves clinging desperately to its branches. ¡°No one should bother us here¡­¡± Merle said as she stepped over some overgrown foliage. She sat down on an old bench, and patted a spot beside her. Reluctantly, Irene sat down beside her.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t get anything from Jordan when I asked him about you¡­ since I figured if you weren¡¯t gonna talk to me, you¡¯d at least talk to him¡­¡± Merle said. Irene barely nodded as she let out a stony gaze towards the tree in front of her.


    ¡°Jordan¡­¡± Irene said softly. Merle cocked her head to the side, staring at Irene curiously. Since only silence followed, Merle took it as her cue to continue.


    ¡°He seemed really worried about you though. I don¡¯t blame him. Irene, you¡¯ve been in the hospital, and I haven¡¯t heard why. Your father didn¡¯t say much and just assured me all you needed was rest¡­¡± Merle explained. Irene lifted her head, raising her eyebrows. She turned her head to stare at Merle, her eyebrows furrowed. Merle looked as though she was about to say more, but Irene put up her hand and interceded.


    ¡°Did you drop by while I was in the hospital? My father didn''t mention... I thought you were still mad at me.¡± Merle¡¯s large eyes also narrowed for a moment, before she let them pop to their usual wideness.


    ¡°Oh, you know me, I''m always flying off my handle," Merle said, shrugging and crossing her arms. "But when have I ever stayed mad long?¡± her tempestuous friend shook her head. "Now something''s bothering you, and I may not be super observant or smart like you, but I think it''s got something to do with those girls. Am I right?"


    Irene stared at Merle for a long time. However, Merle just leaned in close to her, with wide, expectant eyes. Irene sighed and glanced down. ¡°Yes¡­¡± Irene finally admitted. Merle¡¯s eyes grew even wider, and they seemed to dominate her round face.


    ¡°But you didn''t really know any of them,¡± Merle leaned closer still, wrapping an arm about Irene''s shoulders. ¡°Whatever is going on, you need to get it off of your chest.¡±


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    ¡°I already got it off of my chest. I told Jordan,¡± Irene said coolly. Merle shook her head and continued to press on Irene.


    ¡°You are still really bothered¡­ please, why do you keep all of these secrets from me?¡± Merle whined. Irene let out an aggravated sigh.


    ¡°Because, Merle, as clich¨¦ as this may sound, it¡¯s better for YOUR well being that I don¡¯t tell you. What I know is dangerous, and what I know is how I ended up in the hospital,¡± Irene growled. She whipped her head around to stare fiercely into Merle¡¯s bewildered eyes. ¡°Do you want to be a victim too!?¡±


    Merle pulled back away from Irene, cringing from Irene¡¯s sudden outburst. It wasn¡¯t the explosive outburst that Merle usually had, but something much more heavy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m SORRY!¡± Merle squawked. Irene continued to stare at her with hostile eyes. Merle took in a deep breath, running a hand through her wild hair. ¡°I just want¡­ to share your problems is all¡­ I just don¡¯t want to lose my best friend.¡±


    Irene relaxed, letting the tension flow out of her frame. With a sigh, all the aggression in her mannerisms deflated, leaving a defeated looking Irene. ¡°I¡¯m sorry as well¡­ I just don¡¯t want anything bad to happen to you. It¡¯s just your failure to understand that is frustrating me¡­ and you keep getting angry when I try to do what¡¯s best for you,¡± Irene explained honestly.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get so angry if you didn¡¯t make it seem like you don¡¯t trust me with your problems. It¡¯s just this Cyrus guy¡­ I feel like he has something to do with a lot of this, like you¡¯ve fallen in with a bad crowd. I want to pull you away from them, and help you!¡± Merle said, with large, pouting eyes. Irene shook her head and stared up at the sky.


    ¡°I wish I had never met Cyrus¡­¡± Irene sighed. She curled in her lips for a moment, thinking about all of the unsettling chaos she had been through since that morning in the woods. Mornings had always been sacred to her, and he defiled it.


    ¡°Really¡­ because the way you two were walking so close to each other that one evening¡­¡± Merle muttered. Irene turned and glanced at her sharply.


    ¡°He was walking close to me,¡± Irene clarified, a bit of injury in her tone. Irene frowned, rubbing her temples with her hands. ¡°Listen Merle, I can¡¯t tell you everything, but Cyrus is a bad man, and he¡¯s associated with criminals who hurt those girls. I don''t know what the news said, but I doubt it''s the truth. If you are going to tell me to go to the police about it, I can¡¯t. I don¡¯t have enough information, and it¡¯s too dangerous to try and get them involved.¡±


    ¡°This sounds like something right out of a movie Irene,¡± Merle reflected. She had a peculiar smirk on her face, as though she was uncertain whether to be excited at the thought of something so different and thrilling happening right in her town, right in her circle of acquaintances, or to be skeptical about what Irene was telling her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying¡­¡±


    ¡°I know you wouldn''t lie about something like this. It¡¯s just so exciting and strange!¡± Merle exclaimed, a queer twinkle in her eyes. Irene drew away, a look of contempt tugging at her lips.


    ¡°This is serious, Merle,¡± Irene snapped. Merle flinched, and stared at Irene for a long moment. She sobered up a little, a gentle blush fading onto her freckled cheeks.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Merle said. She stood up and stretched. ¡°Well, alright, you can¡¯t tell me everything¡­ I just wish you would have told me at least THIS much sooner,¡± Merle said. Irene shook her head and also got onto her feet.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to P.E. now,¡± Irene knew she was terribly late, and a doctor''s note would not protect her from that. Merle remained perched on the bench, watching Irene.


    <hr>


    Irene was breathing heavily as she walked her last lap. She really needed to get back into shape. The rest of the class was engaged in a game of soccer when she had finally arrived for class, late, and unexcused. Despite a note to get out of physical exertion, her P.E. instructor interpreted that as a license to merely make Irene walk a penalty lap instead of run it. Irene sighed, and held no hard feelings towards her teacher.


    In the changing room, Irene overheard a group of girls talking among themselves.


    ¡°Yes, Katie¡¯s dad is going nuts over her death¡­¡± one of them, a blonde, said.


    ¡°Well can you blame him? I¡¯d be heartbroken if I lost my only daughter,¡± another chimed in, twirling her curly brown hair between her tanned fingers.


    ¡°Well, word is that Katie¡¯s dad won¡¯t even talk to her Uncle, until he finds the person responsible. Katie was an excellent swimmer and he insists she didn''t drown without foul play,¡± the fair blonde added. Irene usually did not pay attention to idle chit-chat, but she was mildly curious.


    ¡°What does he expect? These things take time. Besides, they are focusing on catching Ashley''s killer.¡±


    ¡°Well, if we had a DECENT police force, things like this could be prevented. I had no idea we had sickos around here, though,¡± a third finally piped in. She was also blonde, but had much shorter hair and freckles.


    ¡°There are people like that EVERYWHERE!¡± the brunette added, exasperated.


    ¡°There''s rumours that Ashley and Katie''s deaths might be connected, somehow. They both didn''t come home the same night, according to Jim."


    "Jim?"


    "Katie''s cousin."


    "Oh. Maybe. But Ashley was always running away. I still think her creepy ex did it. But he''d have no reason to stab Ashley, then drown Katie. Katie was such a goodie-good, and Ashley, well, was not." The freckled girl concluded. The other blond nodded in agreement. Then, suddenly, the brunette glanced over at Irene. Irene quickly glanced away.


    ¡°Speaking of goodie-goods..." the brunette remarked, and the other girls looked towards Irene. "Come on, let¡¯s talk somewhere else,¡± the brunette finally said. Irene sighed as she leaned over to tie up her shoelaces. The trio of girls nodded in agreement, grabbed their bags, and left. So, they made one girl appear as an overdose, one as an accidental drowning, and let another be a murder? Why not make them all appear as accidents? Why rouse suspicion by leaving one to be found murdered? Unless Gabriel and his men were getting sloppy. Irene wasn''t sure if sloppiness would be good for her, or very bad.


    Irene picked up her school bag and left the changing room. She knew the rest of the day would be tiring if she kept over hearing mention of the girls. All through math class it seemed to be the only thing people could talk about, other than talking about the latest shows, discussing who to snub, or the latest celebrity gossip. Irene tried to hide within herself as she worked through a very wordy math problem. She wished that all she could think of were the cost of tennis balls and golf balls, or how much distance a canoe traveled in a river with a fast current. However, it was to no avail. Katie and Ashley¡¯s names haunted her. Could she have done more to help those girls? Could she do more to help herself?


    After school, Irene did not go home. Instead, she walked, albeit not as briskly as she used to, to the public library. Not only did she have books to return, but she had some research to do. Irene poured over books on botany, trying to learn what she could about mistletoe.


    After a long study session, Irene stretched and leaned back in her chair. She reviewed what she had learned. She never knew much about mistletoe other than people kissed beneath it at Christmas. But learning its power over vampires was oddly ironic, considering the plant itself was a vampire of the botanical world. It drank the life out of its host tree, remaining young and vibrant in the winter while its host withered and shed its leaves. Culturally, mistletoe was regarded as a very sacred plant, despite it being a weed by modern standards. Myths of mistletoe, killing the unkillable Baldur, being the substance of Christ''s cross, or allowing Aenas access to the underworld all seemed to point to a connection to life and death, not just for the mortal but the divine as well. It left Irene wondering... just what is a vampire? Irene doubted any of the books in the library could answer that inquiry.


    Irene''s next task was to research if mistletoe could be found locally. Perhaps she could harvest some herself. To her disappointment, the most common form of mistletoe found in British Columbia was invasive dwarf mistletoe, known for its explosive green berries. She was unsure if all mistletoe was effective against vampires, or only Viscum Album, the white-berried mistletoe found in Europe.


    Irene''s next step was to hit the computers. But there was a waiting list to use one of the few computers provided at the library. Irene sighed, looking out the window. It was getting dark. She could not risk staying much longer. Irene gathered up her notes and left, hurrying for the closest bus station.

 Chapter 16 - Branching Out

    Irene panted heavily, her chest aching. No matter how much she breathed, she could not get enough air. But she was home. She''d thrown her door open and ran inside. The noise must have alerted her father, whose car she saw in the driveway.


    "Irene, what''s the matter? Are you okay?" her father asked as he approached from the kitchen. Irene shook her head and held up a finger, signaling for some time. Her father instead just helped her out of her coat while he waited for her to be able to speak.


    "I''m... fine... just decided to run... a bit..." Irene responded. Her father hung her coat up, frowning with a mixture of disapproval and concern.


    "Don''t push yourself, Irene. I know you''re young, but you''re not invincible," Irene looked up at her father, nostrils flared. I know! I''m weak and fragile.... you don''t need to remind me. If only you knew... Irene looked down. But she did not want her father to see how helpless she felt. Irene snorted, pressing her lips together, but eventually nodded. She wouldn''t stay helpless. Oh no. She just needed to get some mistletoe.


    "I''ll try to remember that, Dad," came Irene''s even response. Her father looked at her for an uncertain moment, but then just nodded.


    "Anyway, dinner''s on the stove," her father informed her. Relieved, and suddenly aware of how hungry she was, Irene went in to eat.


    "That uh... Cyrus fellow..." her father began to say. Irene looked up, and then down at her bowl of macaroni surprise. "I just realized, I never see him eat. I know he said he works night shifts and he probably eats out but..."


    "Yeah. Probably. Um... Dad... what do you really think of him?" It had been bothering Irene. Just how deeply did Cyrus''s ability to influence her father run?


    Mr. Locklyn shrugged as he finished a mouthful. "Hmm. I can''t make up my mind about him. I believe he means well in his own way, but I don''t think he''s playing with a full deck," her father remarked, twirling a finger by his temple.


    "That doesn''t worry you?" Irene prodded a little further.


    "Well, he seems protective of you, so I''m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I remember what you said about him, but I think all of us have gotten off on the wrong foot." Mr. Locklyn grabbed the salt, adding more to his bowl. "I''m willing to make a fresh opinion of him. Trouble is, I rarely see him, so that''s not been easy."


    "Ah. I see. Well maybe that''s just as well," Irene murmured as she tried in vain to stab some peas with her fork, in an attempt to get equal parts ground beef, peas, and noodles.


    "Which is why I''m thinking of inviting him to have dinner with us," Mr. Locklyn concluded. Irene''s mouth hung open, fork hovering in front of her mouth. There was a clatter as she set it down, staring at him.


    "I don''t think that''s a great idea. Neither of us are really good cooks," Irene said quickly. How would a dinner with Cyrus even work? Irene shuddered, but hid this with a quick drink of water.


    "We can order something in. It''s less about making the meal and more about pinning him down for a thorough interrogation from your old man." This statement was punctuated with a good natured chuckle, but there was also a slight growl in her father''s voice.


    "Mm. No thank you. I was part of an ambush dinner at the Fishers'' recently and I wouldn''t want to put anyone through that," Irene responded, trying to find any way to squirm out of this new plan of her father''s.


    "If you are really opposed to the idea, I guess I could just talk to him, man to man," Mr. Locklyn waved his cheese encrusted fork in the air, jabbing it in the direction of the basement. "He''s a mystery, that one. And you know how I feel about mysteries."


    "That the answer to a mystery is often anticlimactic?" Irene answered as she rolled some peas around in her bowl.


    "Well, that and I don''t like them in the house." Her father put down his fork and waved his hand. "I know, I know. I agreed to let him stay. He''s already paid up this month''s rent, and as long as he doesn''t cause any grief, I guess I should leave him well alone. But this gang business has me on tenterhooks. I''m just hoping he was exaggerating the danger for some harmless mischief." The bowl clinked and squealed as he scraped the edges with his fork. Irene found herself grinding her teeth with each sharp sound. Noises like that didn''t used to bother her, and the fact that they now did irritated her even more than the noise itself.


    "I hope so too." Irene knew better. She hurried to finish up the last of her meal so she could leave the table. Her father looked up at the abruptness with which she stood and took her dishes away to rinse out.


    "Everything okay, kiddo?"


    "Yeah, just got some homework to catch up on." Irene said, taking his now empty bowl and stacking it with hers. Her father eyed her for a moment, but said nothing more than a quiet ''thanks''.


    <hr>


    The next day at school Irene booked into the computer lab, searching for more information on mistletoe and where to purchase it. However, due to the invasive nature of mistletoe, getting it fresh locally wasn''t easy. There were online retailers selling it, but not only was it expensive, but she did not have a credit card. Shipping times were also a problem.


    Irene had one last resource to resort to, but it was grasping at straws. Not only was it a long shot, but relying on gossip was distasteful for her. Nonetheless, after school, the search would begin.


    "Um... It''s Joseph, right?"


    Irene stood before another student, who was tall and slightly plump. Irene was tall for her age, but this teen towered above his peers, and was all the more awkward for it. He looked at her a bit perplexed by her approach, but smiled pleasantly, the glint of his braces catching her eye. He brushed his dark hair out of his brown eyes, fingernails painted black.


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    "That''s me. What is it?" he asked in a disarming voice. She was a little surprised, having expected a more surly response.


    Irene decided on a direct approach. "Do you practice witchcraft?"


    Joseph laughed airily at this question, and to Iene''s astonishment. He made an extravagant flair with his hands. "I pay homage to the Goddess, if that''s what you mean. Why do you ask?" He asked with a warm twinkle in his eye.


    "I''ve a bit of a... problem I am hoping you can help me with," Irene began. He brought a hand up to tap at his chin as he regarded her thoughtfully.


    "If you are asking about curses, I don''t do ''black magic''." Joseph implemented finger quotes as he spoke of magic. "Now, if you want some advice through a tarot reading, then I''d be happy to help," Joseph spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture.


    "I''m not sure I want to know what the cards would say," Irene admitted. She believed tarot reading to be a hoax, but with vampires in the picture, now she wasn''t so sure. Just as she couldn''t be sure if this young man knew any actual magic. "Actually, I need help getting some plants required for a protection charm."


    "Oh!" His hand went to his mouth as he looked her over with a bit more scrutiny. He then proceeded to play with a dark beaded bracelet on his wrist. "There does seem to be a dark shadow looming about you." Irene glanced down. Her first thought was that he only said that after she asked for protection. He saw no darkness, he just wanted to impress her. But she couldn'' take chances, now could she? She lifted her eyes.


    "I need mistletoe. Would you know where to get some?" Irene asked, trying to head off any attempt to get her to join some coven.


    "Mistletoe?" he parroted while raising his fair eyebrows, which belied his natural hair colour. "That is an unusual request. Most people only think of it as a kissing plant." Joseph paused, seeming to think something over. "What''s your name?"


    "Irene."


    "It''s nice to meet you, Irene. Walk with me," he invited. Irene sighed, feeling she might be in for a longer conversation than she''d hoped. But she fell into step with the large-bodied school mate.


    "You said you need mistletoe for a protection charm. I''ve never used it myself. I know that druids used it for fertility festivals." Joseph gave Irene a side glance. Irene just shook her head.


    "Before you ask, no, I don''t need it for that."


    "To better help you, I need to know what it is you want protection from." Joseph continued.


    Irene sighed. How would she explain this? She looked him over for a while, then focused straight ahead, to avoid collisions with other students. "Don''t laugh. But... vampires." It was worth a shot.


    "Vampires?" he responded. Despite her preface, he let out a soft laugh. "No, don''t worry, I''m not laughing at you. I''m just laughing because it''s refreshing to see someone take them seriously."


    "What?" was Irene''s immediate, unguarded response.


    "I''ve had troubles with them." Joseph squinted. Irene''s attention was wrapt as he spoke. "Psychic vampires, feeding off of negative energy. They make people miserable just so they have a feast, leaving us exhausted and off balance." Irene kept her face carefully neutral to shield against the disappointment she was feeling. But she would not get his help if she alienated him by calling his beliefs and ideas ludicrous. So she decided to just go along with it.


    "Yes, there are some people in my life. Two, in particular. One always seems to bring out the anger in me, and I''m normally very calm. The other terrifies me and I don''t feel safe around either of them. I''m tired all the time..." Irene said, appalled as she realized she was getting very good at bending the truth on the fly.


    Joseph clapped his hands, his rings clinking, and he pointed at her. "Yes, exactly! That''s just what psychic vampires can do. And the threat is real. If your positive energies are out of balance, it can bring on sickness and misfortune."


    "My health has been in decline since these people came into my life," Irene confirmed.


    "Aw, you poor thing." Irene grit her teeth at the patronizing response. Joseph continued walking, gesticulating often with his hands as he spoke. "I''m surprised you are asking for mistletoe instead of verbena or hawthorn. Those are more classic vampire wards. Well, and of course there''s garlic, but most people can get that at a supermarket. It doesn''t work, though. It''s delicious of course."


    "Verbena and hawthorn." Irene repeated, familiarizing herself with their names. "Would you know how to get those as well? Though I still want the mistletoe." Irene recalled some of what she''d read about mistletoe, trying to speak the young man''s language. "Its place, hanging between heavens and the underworld, is very important to me."


    Joseph put his hand on his cheek, again looking pleasantly surprised. "That''s right! It can be a symbol of immortality. You''re taking a daring new approach here, and I love it!"


    "So, would you be able to get me mistletoe, or tell me where I can get some? And those other plants?" Irene asked, trying to keep the conversation focused on her own objective.


    "Hmm, well I''m not sure about the mistletoe, but I can ask around in my circle. I have some hawthorn branches at home. And I know someone who absolutely swears by verbena, so she can probably tell me where to get some." Joseph rubbed his fingers together, evidently delighted.


    This conversation had gone better than Irene thought it would. "I admit, I wasn''t expecting you to be so..."


    "Resourceful?"


    "I was going to say obliging," Irene filled in.


    "And I love that you''d say words like ''obliging''. It''s like you poofed out of some old novel. It''s a shame we hadn''t talked before now." Joseph responded, looking down at her.


    "We probably wouldn''t have had anything to talk about before. This is all new territory for me. I''m a skeptic, but recently, I''ve been rethinking things." Irene wasn''t entirely sure what it was about Joseph that made her feel like she could open up to him. Realizing this, she suddenly became somewhat discomforted, and she crossed her arms.


    "Well it''s been nice anyway. Do you have an e-mail addy?"


    Irene paused, initially alarmed by the request. Of course, once he needed some way of contacting her. But Irene still felt wary of giving out contact information on such a brief acquaintance. Alas, it must be done if she wanted to get the information quickly. "Ah, yes, let me write it down. But I don''t have a computer at home. My father says after seeing them all day at work he wants to come home and not see one at all," Irene found herself sharing as she dug around in her bag for a notebook and pen. She ripped out a page, folded it in half, then ripped it again. "If you could write yours, as well, so I can add you as a contact, that''d be appreciated."


    "Of course!" Joseph said, taking the offered pen and notebook, scribbling down his information. Irene wrote hers and handed it over. He took it in a dainty fashion, despite his larger stature. "I''ll keep in touch! And I''ll say a prayer to the Goddess for you."


    Irene didn''t really have much faith in prayers. But for those who did, she understood it was kindly meant. Giving a tired half smile, she managed to say a "Thank you," that wasn''t entirely insincere. All that remained was to wait, and stay on guard.

 Chapter 17 - Hanging Mistletoe

    Irene closed her eyes, focusing intently as she conjured the images of Cyrus and Gabriel. She focused on the very idea of a vampire, and what it was about them that was frightful. Her heart raced as that helpless feeling stirred her stomach into a flutter. She slowly opened her eyes, staring at the candle that flickered delicately before her, watching the wispy tendrils of smoke drift up through the air. A nearby open window breezed it into a writhing blue coil. Irene worked on wreathing dried flowers and berry-laden mistletoe among hawthorn branches as she imagined a feeling of safety and peace.


    Irene recalled what Joseph had told her when they met up for the transaction. He was happy to give her the hawthorn, but arranged payment for the mistletoe and the verbena. As he shook her hand, he looked her in the eyes and said, "It''s important as you weave your protection talisman that your intention is clear. First think of what''s frightening you, and then express your desire for protection and safety. You can do this with a prayer or incantation or just with strong, focused thoughts. And make sure you hold on to a thought of safety as you hang them up around your home. Oh! I find having a candle really helps set the mood." Irene barely managed to not roll her eyes. But given some thought, she decided she might as well take his instructions seriously.


    It wasn''t easy for Irene to keep her skeptical thoughts from invading, and to instead channel her thoughts into the task at hand. She never would believe she would attempt to cast a spell in her life. Yet, here she was, standing in a candle-lit room, hanging foliage above her window. Once she had secured the garland around her window, she closed it, as a final act symbolic of shutting the evil out. Irene grabbed her cup of push-pins, an inelegant method to affix the talismen, and left her room.


    Irene finished by putting what supplies she had left together into another garland which she decided to wreath on the outside of various windows in her house, but left the front door accessible to Cyrus. She was sure the next inevitable rainfall would probably ruin them, but in the meantime she did actually feel safer, in spite of her skepticism.


    Just as Irene was vacuuming herbaceous debris out of the carpet, her father came home. He stood behind her, staring at the display above her door in silence, until she turned off the vacuum.


    "That''s um... new. Doing some redecorating?" Her father asked, rubbing the back of his thick neck as he looked at the twisted branches and faded scarlet blooms.


    "Yes," Irene responded, offering no further explanation.


    "Smells kind of lemony," her father remarked, as if trying to find something nice to say about the change, but Irene could tell he did not like it. He flashed her a questioning look.


    "It does," Irene responded. "I am cheering myself up by trying something different."


    "Ah." He squinted up at the dead plants. "And this cheers you up? It looks a bit... funeral."


    "In a way," Irene answered as she began gathering up the vacuum cord.


    "Well, if this, uh, well if you like it, then I guess I''ll just get used to it." Her bemused father turned and left, muttering to himself. Irene just looked up at the finished result. Maybe it was all mischief, but to her, it felt like doing something, rather than being dragged along on whatever sordid ride Cyrus was driving. It felt like she was taking back control. It felt satisfying. Maybe that was the real magic.


    "Vervain, really?" Irene''s thoughts were shattered at the sound of that voice. She''d been sitting in her room, working on some homework later that evening. But she''d left her bedroom door ajar to allow Silver easy access. She stared at the door, half expecting her efforts to come to naught and Cyrus to push in. After a moment of silence, nothing happened. She smiled, and remained where she was.


    "Just an added precaution," Irene responded.


    "The mistletoe would have been enough," grumbled Cyrus''s voice through the door.


    "Is there a problem with it?" Irene asked, setting down her pen.


    "No... no. No problem. I just know from personal experience that vervain is useless against va..." He cut himself off, aware that Mr. Locklyn''s bedroom was just down the hall. "...very bad luck."


    Irene shrugged, not saying anything more. She listened for the creak of the floor to notify her of his departure. Finally feeling at ease, Irene finished up her homework, and crawled into bed.


    The following days were uneventful, to Irene''s relief. Her father was working a bit later than usual, but was usually back just after sunset. Cyrus was usually out the door as soon as it was safe for him to do so. This worked out well for Irene, as she wasn''t keen on her father and Cyrus having that chat. There was no telling what would come out of Cyrus''s mouth. Irene spent more time in her room in the evenings, where she was safe. For the first time, Irene felt like she had a chance to really breathe.


    "Oh, Irene! I''m glad I bumped into you! Might I say you are looking lovely! Those shadows under your eyes have all but cleared away!" Irene was stopped just outside the library by Joseph''s large frame. She was heading in for some peace and quiet during her lunch, and evidently, he was on his way out.


    "Hello, Joseph," Irene responded, unsure whether or not to thank him as the compliment seemed just a touch backhanded.


    "I can see the spell is at least doing wonders for your sleep," Joseph said. He then realized he was blocking the library doorway and he stepped out and positioned himself by the wall.


    "Thus far, I haven''t had anymore, uh, psychic attacks," Irene responded, the words seeming so strange coming out of her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw some students walking by who gave her and Joseph a quick glance, and then began snickering. Irene frowned at them, but they weren''t worth a second thought''.


    "Thus far. Ha. Yes, I''m glad it''s been helping." If he heard the snickering, he didn''t bat an eye. "You know, Irene, if there''s anything else I can help you with, just send me an e-mail."


    "That''s very kind of you, Joseph." While it had been Irene''s intention to stay and speak with him further, she found herself at a loss on how to continue the conversation. She''d been so content with the friends she''d made when she was younger, she realized she had not had a lot of practice making new acquaintances. Irene looked Joseph up and down, and decided to just plunge into a personal question. "I always thought people who wore lots of black were gloomy, but you''re not. So... what does it mean to you?"


    Joseph''s eyes brightened, and he seemed amused by the question. "Not a lot of people ask, just label me and move on. So, thank you for asking!" Joseph said cheerfully. Irene nodded, continuously surprised by the odd mix of self-assurance and openness exhibited by her peer. "Well, I used to be gloomy. I didn''t fit in, I had health problems, I was afraid of a lot of things," Joseph explained, lacing his fingers together as he reflected. "But then I learned about the beauty of both life and death and everything in nature. So when I first began wearing black it was how I was expressing myself, how sad I felt. But now, like, it''s how I express that I am at peace with things. That I see the beauty even in the darkness."


    Irene took everything Joseph said in, sorting it out and processing it through her own filters. Then she began to wonder if Joseph would see the beauty in vampires, real vampires, as well. Or if he''d find them as abominable as she did. "You say most people mistake your black appearance as something darker. I did. Wouldn''t it be better to express your happiness by appearing happy and bright?"


    "But I do express joy. I express that with smiling, and wishing people a lovely day. And with these, I''ll have an even brighter smile," Joseph said, pointing to his mouth and putting on a grand grin, exposing the many braces adhered to his teeth. "I still get sad and afraid, and these clothes comfort me. They also look good on me." Joseph said with a limp-wrist accent. "And what about you, Irene? Your clothes are so... unremarkable, that you don''t tell anyone anything about yourself."


    Irene looked down at her white shirt, blue jeans, and navy jacket. No mottos. No prints. Just solid colours. But that was what Irene always liked. It was also cheap. She often picked up clothes off the discount rack. Her shoes, however, she never skimped on. Irene wiggled her toes looking at her white sneakers. "I don''t really like drawing attention to myself."


    "And why''s that?" Joseph asked. Irene looked up. Joseph had been open with her, thus it seemed only fair to be open with him in return. But Irene couldn''t. She deep down knew the reason. Irene glanced around, adjusting her bag strap which had begun to slip down her shoulder.


    "I guess I just don''t want to be bullied." It seemed like a reasonable explanation. One that could be accepted and not bear further scrutiny. If she said she didn''t know or didn''t want to talk about it, she he might keep prying. So it was always better to just give people something they could understand.


    "Aw," Joseph said with a sympathetic pout. "Yes, I get that. Kids can be cruel. I''ll be glad when I graduate."


    "Me too," Irene responded. And she wondered if she''d even make it to graduation. Hoisting up her bag again she looked up at Joseph. "And to graduate, I really need to get this work done. It''s been nice talking, though,"


    "Of course! Have a wonderful rest of the day, Irene," Joseph said kindly.


    "You too, Joseph."


    It had been a while since Irene had visited Jordan. She kept worrying that she''d distress him more than comfort him, but she also worried the distance would hurt him just as much. Plucking up her courage to brave the hospital yet again, Irene hopped on a bus straight after school.


    When Irene arrived at Jordan''s room, she saw Mrs. Fisher sitting beside him. Not wanting to interrupt, she turned to leave. But she did not vanish before Jordan had noticed her and called to her. Unsure what else to do, Irene turned and faced them both. She had not spoken with Mrs. Fisher since the unfortunate dinner.


    "Irene. Please, come in," Mrs. Fisher beckoned, her voice warm and inviting, but her eyes a bit watery. Irene felt uncomfortable, but could not flee now. She walked over, and Mrs. Fisher stood up, offering her chair. Irene shook her head, declining the seat. "Oh, do, I was just leaving."


    "Oh. Thank you," Irene said quietly as she sat down. Mrs. Fisher placed her hands on the back of the chair.


    "I''ll see you tomorrow, peanut."


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "Mom..." Jordan protested plaintively. But both of them laughed, although Jordan''s laugh was faded and worn, while Mrs. Fisher''s laugh was tainted by worry.


    "Goodbye, Irene," Mrs. Fisher said. She lingered, as if she wanted to say more, but then she just picked up her purse and walked out. Once they were mostly alone, Irene looked to Jordan.


    "She still calls you that?" Irene asked playfully.


    "Only when she''s being really clingy," Jordan responded with a half smile. "I don''t blame her." Jordan frowned. "The doctor says my WBC is back where it should be, but I''m still getting symptoms, so I''ll be having another CT scan." Irene said nothing, and just took Jordan''s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezed back, and for once, it felt strong. "What''s new with you, Irene? Merle said that you''ve been making new friends."


    "Merle''s been to visit you a lot lately, hasn''t she?" Irene reflected.


    "You know how lonely she gets. And she thinks you are mad at her, so she''s been giving you space," Jordan responded, sitting up. Irene leaned over, helping to adjust his pillows for his comfort.


    "Hmmm Merle giving me space. That''s unlike her. You wouldn''t have anything to do with that, would you?" Irene asked with a small smile. Jordan laughed, but it quickly turned into coughing. Irene held out a tissue, ready for when he needed it. His faced turned red and his whole body heaved as he worked whatever plagued him out of his lungs. When it had subsided, he grabbed the tissue and nodded a ''thank you'' to Irene. "Did you get another infection? Here in the hospital?"


    "No. It''s just that being inactive so long has been hard on my lungs, or so the doctors say," Jordan responded. Irene passed him his water, and he took a few guarded sips.


    "I guess that makes sense. I was getting winded easier after my stay, and I wasn''t in here as long as you," Irene responded, punctuating it with a sigh.


    "Did you ever resolve the uh, bedbug infestation?" Jordan asked. Irene blinked a few moments before she realized what he was talking about. A nurse walked in to quickly check his machine.


    "How are you doing Jordan?" the nurse asked.


    "A bit winded," Jordan responded.


    "Any faintness or nausea?" the nurse asked, brandishing a thermometer. "I''m just going to pop this under your tongue."


    "I know the drill," Jordan said, opening his mouth. He then looked at Irene and did a double eyebrow raise, prompting her to answer his question.


    "Oh, uh, I''ve rid my room of pests, but the basement is still a problem." Irene responded. Jordan nodded, and they both went silent, listening to the beeps of the machines and the scribble of the nurse updating his chart. When the thermometer beeped, she took a look and scribbled something down.


    "Looking good Jordan. I''ll be back in an hour with some medication," the nurse said. And as abruptly as she''d arrived, she disappeared.


    "I guess your father really had the wool pulled over his eyes, didn''t he?" Jordan asked.


    "I think he''s been outright bound and blindfolded." Irene huffed. "I''ve since realized that Cyrus can make people... I don''t know... dazed and impressionable. I guess it''s like hypnotism. But I think he still needs to tell them a believable story. I don''t think he can outright control people. But he''s done something so that my father believes he can be trusted." Irene folded her arms.


    "That''s not good, Irene. Has he... done that to you?" Jordan asked, looking very tense.


    "A little. He''s forced me into a calm state, but it doesn''t seem to last long," Irene responded, shrugging her shoulders. "I don''t know why it seemed to work better on my father."


    "Well it''s a relief that it doesn''t work so well on you, but scary that it does work well on your father. Have you given any further thought to seeking help from the police? I know you worry that they''d think you are crazy, but if you could bring, I don''t know, like a blood sample or something, it probably would show up unusual or something."


    "And how would I get a blood sample from Cyrus?" Irene asked.


    "Well... he sleeps during the day, doesn''t he?" Jordan asked as he shifted his position.


    "Yes, but I wouldn''t want to wake him, especially in an attempt to steal his blood. He probably would hurt me," Irene said, tapping her fingers on her upper arm. "Anyway, if his blood came back normal I''d get in trouble for wasting their time."


    "It was just a thought," Jordan responded.


    Irene nodded, looking down. "I know. And I''m glad you keep thinking up solutions. As it is, I''ve resorted to witchcraft."


    Jordan stared at her a good long while. Then he laughed. It was, to Irene, a beautiful sound, until it ended again in a sputter of coughs. This fit wasn''t as bad as the last, and she passed him his water yet again. "Thanks." Sip. "I never thought I''d hear you say that seriously. What did you do? Brew a potion?"


    "No. I just lit a candle and hung some plants around my room," Irene responded.


    "That doesn''t sound too outlandish. Or magical," Jordan responded, seeming mildly disappointed. Irene snorted and smiled.


    "Yes, but it''s mistletoe, verbena, and hawthorn."


    "I''m not sure I like the idea of you hanging mistletoe up with a strange man in your house," Jordan said, going from amused to apprehensive.


    "But it''s been working. He doesn''t enter my room anymore."


    Jordan''s hands gripped his blanket tight and he looked at Irene. "He''s been in your room?" Irene froze. She forgot that she had not mentioned that detail before. all the things she''d been hiding from Jordan flooded to her mind. Should she tell him everything? But seeing how tense he was getting, she worried it would worsen his condition.


    "Yes. Only a few times. It''s not like I invite him in, he just has boundary issues," Irene responded guardedly. No. Jordan needed to be stronger before she could tell him everything. Jordan stared at her for a moment, but slowly, his hands unclenched and he leaned back into his pillows, coughing once or twice.


    "I swear, when I get out of this hospital..."


    "...You will continue to take care of yourself. Don''t worry. I''m handling things," Irene reassured. Jordan stared at her searchingly, and Irene did not let her concern show.


    "So the mistletoe and the, the... those other plants, really keep vampires away?" Jordan asked in wonder.


    "They seem to. I don''t know for how long, though, or if the spell needs any maintenance," Irene admitted after a moment.


    "And when Merle mentioned you''d been hanging around Joseph..." Jordan began.


    "It was because I required his help," Irene explained. Jordan sighed, bringing up his knees.


    "I just wish I could be the one to help. Instead I''m stuck in here, helpless while you go through this, alone," Jordan lamented. Irene took his hand again, this time holding it with both of hers.


    "But I''m not alone." She''d never felt more alone in her life, but Irene would say anything to alleviate Jordan''s anguish. Almost anything. "I have you. I have my father." Irene laughed lightly, trying to break the tension. "I have Silver." Jordan tried to chorus her laughter, but his heart clearly wasn''t in it. "Truly. She''s been on my side from the beginning. She''s always hissing at Cyrus, and even attacked him once."


    "He didn''t hurt her, did he?" Jordan asked, a little surprised.


    "No, no," Irene said, adding a laugh which put Jordan at ease. "He just scruffed her until she squirmed free and ran off in high dudgeon." Jordan laughed more naturally and managed to keep his coughing to a minimum.


    Jordan cleared his throat and smiled. "I can see that. She''s friendly, but has that classic cat pride." He sighed with the relief of thinking on cheerier topics. "She''s a good girl."


    "She is. She really is. I''m glad Dad got her for me. Though if I get into UVic, I probably won''t be able to bring her with me. I doubt student housing would allow pets." It was reassuring to talk about the future rather than to fear it.


    "Yeah..." Jordan said quietly, but his gaze went distant as he slipped into his own thoughts. Irene let the silence wash over them for a moment, then reached out to hold his hand again. After several minutes had passed, hazel eyes looked into golden brown. "My... parents are glad I have friends, but..."


    "But...?" Irene asked, her mind racing back to the way she''d left things with the Fishers.


    "My father thinks we should break it off. My mother likes you, of course, but even she thinks it''d be kinder to you if we were to just decide to be friends." Jordan said, looking down at his blanketed lap.


    Irene was silent for a moment, digesting this. He tentatively lifted his gaze to study her, but then looked down again. Irene did not remove her hand from his, but her grip on him lessened. "And... what do you think, Jordan? What do you want?"


    "I know I said I wanted us to get married once we''re adults." Jordan said, still not looking at Irene. "I was a bit disappointed at first when you didn''t up and agree. But I know you, and I knew you wouldn''t. Not without carefully thinking it out."


    "That''s who I am." Oftentimes she was proud of looking before leaping, but as of late, she has felt herself stalled and stunted under the burden of thinking. She waited for Jordan to continue saying what was on his mind, doing her best not to prod him or put words in his mouth.


    "The thing is... I might never fully recover. The craniotomy was successful, but they''re worried another bleed may have started."


    "But you''re doing so much better!"


    "Yeah, in some ways. But you''re seeing me on one of my good days. So I need to tell you, while I can think straight, that I agree with my mother." Jordan sniffed, bringing up a slender wrist to wipe at his nose. Emotion caused his voice to crack as he continued. "She''s spelled it out to me that I might be a burden, and well, my family are happy to take that on, but you''re young and have a life ahead of you and I might be a dead end." Although Irene was sure Jordan felt he was being brave and noble, she could hear the bitterness in his voice. Bitterness which Irene was feeling towards Jordan''s father. She was sure he was behind this. He was the one who thought that she was a dead end for Jordan!


    "Jordan... let''s not make any decisions right now. Either to commit or break up. Let''s just see where things go, but let go of any expectations," Irene said as calmly and diplomatically as she could.


    Jordan slammed his hand down on the bed. "What does that even mean?!" Irene pulled her hand back, startled by Jordan''s sudden outburst.


    "I didn''t think I was being unclear. Just leave things the way they are. The way they have been..." Irene began to say. Jordan''s eyes filled up with tears and he shook his head.


    "Forever. Irene, we''re going nowhere. Even before my accident, we were stuck. I care about you Irene, but I don''t know what you want!"


    "Jordan, you''re what I want!"


    "Am I?"


    The question fell upon Irene like a heavy club, and she winced. Once again, neither voice was heard, but instead of a peaceful silence, it was tense and poignant. Irene tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. She wanted to reassure him that he was, but strong and confusing emotions compelled her to silence. And with each second that passed without an answer, Jordan grew more visibly agitated.


    "Jordan, I thought... I thought we understood each other," Irene finally managed to say, her voice trembling and tired. Jordan took in a deep breath, covering his face with his hands, flinching as the IV tugged.


    "We did once. But I''m not so sure anymore. We''ve been mature about things up until now. But I almost died! I just want to be a stupid teenage boy." Jordan''s hands dropped onto his lap.


    "Well you''re being a..." Irene responded in haste, but cut herself off. No. She was not going to unleash her anger on Jordan. He did not deserve it. She''d save that for Cyrus. Although this was something she could not blame on vampires. "If you truly don''t want to be in a relationship anymore, then say as much. Don''t tell me what is best for me, or what your parents think is best for us. Just tell me straight what you want."


    Jordan remained silent as he rubbed his face and wiped away his tears. He looked away from Irene for a moment. Finally he gained the courage to look her back in the eyes. "When I''m out of here I don''t want things to go back the way they were before. I either want to move forward, or to end things."


    Irene drew in a deep breath, her eyes darting side to side as she sorted through her own thoughts. Was Cyrus right? Was she pushing everyone away? Merle and her weren''t talking, and now Jordan was growing impatient with her. This was not something she was prepared to deal with. "Alright. When you''re better, we''ll either get engaged or break up. But right now I don''t think that''s a decision either of us should be making."


    "Promise?" Jordan asked, staring intensely into her eyes.


    Irene nodded without breaking eye contact. "I promise." This seemed to soothe Jordan for the time being, but he was looking pale and tired. He slipped back down into a recumbent position. "You look worn out. I should go."


    "Yeah..." Jordan said, stifling a yawn. "Good bye, Irene."


    Irene felt an odd weight to those words. Irene told herself it was just the medications, or the pain, or the stress of being in the hospital that was getting to him. But she could not shake the feeling that Jordan was unhappy with their relationship, and that he was dissatisfied with her.

 Chapter 18 - Goodbye, Father

    The following days Irene just went through the motions. A haze descended upon her as she tried to reconcile the problems she had at home, trying to keep her father from discovering what Cyrus was, carrying the stress of making sure she was home before sunset, and pondering over what went wrong between her and Jordan. Since he didn''t break up with her entirely, but rather delivered an ultimatum, it gave her some hope. He did want to stay by her side. He just wanted more. He wanted to move up or move on. Irene still didn''t feel ready for either. She just hoped that when the time came to make good on her promise, she would be.


    One day she stayed late after school. Joseph had approached her in a bit of a bind, saying he needed some help with a stagecraft project, and most of his group had to bail. Irene had no artistic talent, but she didn''t mind sitting and compiling some papier mache ornaments that had already been roughly shaped by someone with greater vision. She didn''t say much, but found listening to Joseph and his project partner talk and joke around was pleasant. It took her mind off of the things that had been plaguing her. However, it also took her mind off of the passage of time.


    Just as Irene was washing her hands at a nearby basin in the art room, she glanced up. The blinds had been drawn, but there was no light coming in from the edges. This caused her to freeze. She looked at the clock on the wall in a panic. It was later than she''d thought. "Oh...! I need to get going!"


    "Irene? You''re going already?" Joseph asked. But seeing her distress, he didn''t prod her further. "Thanks for the help! You''ve been marvelous!"


    Footsteps echoed in the empty yet illuminated halls of the school as Irene paced. She needed to get home, but she was afraid to leave the light. Could she call for a ride? No. The courtesy phone at her school had been decommissioned. Again Irene cursed her resistance to having a cell phone. After calmly contemplating her options, she recollected that there was a payphone equidistant from the closest bus stop. After careful consideration, Irene finally decided to just head for the bus stop. She zipped up her warm jacket, pulled up her hood, and headed out into the night.


    The bus ride home was nerve wracking. Irene ran nonstop from the bus stop, still constantly reminded of being abducted on her street. To her relief, she made it home in one piece, albeit soaking wet from a downpour that spitefully timed its arrival with her stepping off the bus. She eyed her father''s car in the driveway and stomped up the old porch. She thought she saw something moving in the trees nearby, so she threw open the door, nearly tripping over herself to get inside and slam the door shut.


    "Irene, is that you?" she heard her father''s voice call.


    "Yes, it''s me! I''m home!" Irene called back. "Sorry I''m late..." she added as she began to fight to get her wet things off. She heard her male voices in the kitchen and she held her breath.


    "...means a lot to me." was all she made out in her father''s voice.


    "Of course, Carl. I''ll do my best," came Cyrus''s voice. Only then did Irene notice his shoes were still by the front door. Usually Cyrus was out of the house by now. And since when was Cyrus on a first name basis with her father? Irene hurriedly hung up her wet things and walked in, pulling away strands of wet hair that clung to her cheeks. Cyrus and Carl Locklyn were sitting at one corner of their small kitchen table. Her father had a mug in his hand, and Cyrus had a hip flask in his.


    "Come warm yourself, kiddo," Carl said, gesturing to her. "The kettle is still warm if you want to make yourself a mug." Her father lifted his mug to her. Irene just nodded. Hot cocoa DID sound nice. She eyed the two men warily, however, not liking the idea of them talking together. Irene puttered about, trying to get an idea what they may have been discussing.


    "Well that''s all the time I have. Thank you for this little chat. It''s been... enlightening." Cyrus said as he brought the flask to his lips and eyed Irene. She frowned as she got the instant hot chocolate mix out of the pantry. Cyrus stood up, reaching across the table and put his hand out. Her father shook it, and Cyrus turned to leave.


    Irene sat down beside her father, stirring her drink vigorously. "What were you two talking about?"


    "First I''d like to know what kept you so late. Dinner''s in the oven, but I was beginning to worry you''d miss it," her father responded before emptying the last contents of his mug down his throat.


    "I was helping a friend with a project," Irene responded.


    "Oh? Are you and Merle talking again? Glad to hear it," her father responded amiably as he stood up to rinse out his mug.


    "No, not Merle," Irene clarified. Her stirring slowed, her spoon tinkling as it hit the edges of the ceramic mug.


    "Oh? A new friend, then?" her father asked as he pulled open the oven door and peeked inside. A savoury smell wafted to Irene, reminding her just how cold and hungry she was.


    "Well maybe friend isn''t the right word. He helped me with a project, so I returned the favour. But he is nice. His name''s Joseph," Irene responded.


    "Ah! Just a little longer," her father muttered as she shut the oven door again. He returned to the table, sitting down. "Ah, so just a classmate. It''s not like you to use the word ''friend'' so lightly."


    "I''m tired, I guess it was just easier to say," Irene responded.


    "Still, good to see you working with others on projects. I sometimes worry you''ve become a bit of a loner," her father reflected as he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands upon his stomach.


    "So what were you and Cyrus talking about?" Irene asked again, trying to change the topic.


    "Ah. That," her father said, sitting up straight again. His hands remained together, his thumbs twiddling. Irene looked down. She already had an idea what he was going to say. "Well, I''ve been rather suddenly called out on another trip. It''s a last ditch attempt to pull our company out of the rut it''s in. I''ll need to travel across the border..."


    She knew it. He was leaving again. After everything she was in the middle of, after his apologies for not being there, he was leaving again. Irene sighed, but nodded. "When do you go?"


    "In three days," her father said. He then sprang to his feet just as Irene leaned forward at the table, placing her hands down.


    "Three days?!"


    "I think our dinner is ready!" her father quickly said, turning away from her and opening the oven door.


    "Three days?" Irene repeated. "So soon?" Normally these trips were planned more than a week in advance. Irene was still frowning when her father returned with a hot chicken pot pie, fresh out of the oven.


    "Well, I''d known for a while but... you seemed so distant I was just waiting for the right time to bring it up," Mr. Locklyn explained as he slipped off the floral oven gloves, using them to fan some of the steam rising off of the golden crusted pie. "Mmmm would you smell that! Not burnt this time!"


    Irene eyed the pie. That was a large pie for just the two of them. "You invited Cyrus for dinner and he turned you down, didn''t he?"


    "Even the smell of a pie in the oven didn''t entice him. But I at least managed to get him to sit and have a drink with me. Though he said he''s avoiding caffeine when I offered him some coffee." Carl said with a shrug as he poked some holes into the pie, allowing more of the heat to escape.


    "So... what were you discussing?" Irene dogged.


    "Ah, that I''d be out of town and I''d appreciate it if he helped out a bit more while I was gone. And, well, I asked him to look out for you." Mr. Locklyn explained as he cut into the pie, carving out a generous portion for himself. "Anyway, more for us, right?"


    "Right..." Irene took the offered knife and cut herself a modest piece, scooping what she could onto her plate as neatly as possible. Which wasn''t very neat at all. A mess of crumbled pastry, gravy, vegetables and chicken chunks in a brownish gray mound was the result. But it all tasted the same. She was focusing hard on the food, trying to keep herself from showing how hurt and angry she felt with her father, leaving her alone with Cyrus.


    "I shouldn''t be gone for more than six days, and I already have my return ticket booked," her father further added. With the hard part over, Carl tucked into his meal. Irene just sat and poked at her food for a while in silence. She scooped some of it up onto her fork, but then set it on the side of her plate to cool. Should she tell him the truth about Cyrus? But she''d kept it to herself this long, he''d probably start shouting. And again she worried that he''d start a fight he could not win to defend his daughter.


    "Have you ever thought of just... finding a new job? One that keeps you close by?" Irene finally asked after staring sullenly at the table. Her father stared at her, gravy dripping from his fork as it hesitated in front of his open mouth. He set it down, frowning deeply at her.


    "I''ve been with that company for years! I know they''re struggling now, but they''d go bottom up without me," Mr. Locklyn responded in a measured tone that did not fully conceal his vexation.


    "If that were true, then shouldn''t they pay you better?" Irene challenged.


    "Hey, I want to go back to how we lived before, too. But you still got a roof over your head and plenty to eat! We''re just renting this place until I can pay off my debts, you know that!" Carl said, grabbing a paper napkin to wipe some gravy from his chin.


    "I know that. It''s not about the money, it''s about how well they treat you," Irene grumbled.


    "Now, now, kiddo. They came through for me when Monica got sick, giving me the time I needed to take care of her. Most companies would have let me go. I was just so foolish to believe in a miracle cure and looking back I can''t believe how I fell for that trial treatment scam..." her father sighed, placing his fork down.


    "And what about me? What about giving you the time to take care of me?" Irene finally asked, tears welling up in her eyes despite her attempt to fight it. She gripped her hands, grabbing the roll of paper towels and ripping one off to wipe her eyes.


    "Irene, honey. Things are different now. We''re too small and specialised to thrive against book giants like Barnes & Noble or Amazon. If they could spare me this trip, they would. As it is... we''re likely going to be bought out, and as much as I hate the idea of a US company bailing us, we''re against a rock and a hard place." Carl stabbed a chunk of chicken very decisively as he spoke. He then looked up again at Irene who was sullenly taking a small mouthful of her meal, trying very hard not to continue showing any emotion. "Aw... I know... it''s been hard."


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    "It is hard. I try not to need you or worry you, Dad, but..." Irene''s shoulders raised then drooped with a large sigh. "I feel like everyone is abandoning me. And I know that isn''t rational. But it''s how I feel."


    "Abandoning you? I do this for you! I feel so bad I spent your college fund trying to make Monica better... I''m trying to make up for it."


    "I can get a scholarship." Irene retorted. She glared down at her plate. There was no sense in going round for round with her father as well. "You know what? Nevermind. I''m just tired, I''m not myself. It''s only six days, then you''ll be back," Irene said, withdrawing from a difficult conversation. Talking about her feelings, even with her father, especially with her father, was always too uncomfortable for Irene.


    "I noticed you haven''t quite been yourself, kiddo. Want to tell me what''s up?" her father asked.


    Irene shrugged. "Jordan and I had a fight. We nearly broke up," Irene said, not hiding the emotional exhaustion she was feeling.


    "Aw, Irene. So that''s what''s been eating at you. It''s not easy being in love, whether you''re young or old," her father reflected out loud. He used the pretence of chewing another mouthful to give himself time to think. Irene deployed a similar tactic, and both ate in thoughtful silence.


    "Thanks for supper Dad. I''m full," Irene said, pushing her messy plate away from herself.


    "You''re welcome," her father muttered. Irene stood up, cleared away her own dishes, and went to her room.


    <hr>


    Irene tried not to let it distress her that her father was leaving again so soon. But it seemed as though the moment she had found a foothold in her trials, her support networks were once again giving out. Irene laid in bed, Silver loyally curled up on her chest, purring. At least she had her cat. Irene began wondering if she''d end up as one of those lonely old ladies with only their pets to keep them company. And then she got to wondering if that was really such a bad thing. Relationships with animals were far more straightforward. Irene gently lifted Silver so she could roll over onto her side, placing her ally on the pillow beside her. And from there she drifted to sleep, to the sound of purring and rain pounding.


    Slumber, however, did not last long for Irene. In the middle of the night her restless dreams were disturbed by a shrill cacophony. She jolted awake, her heart racing and thoughts disorganised. It took a while for her to identify the horrific shrieking noise, and then for her eyes to go to the source. Silver was standing at the foot of her bed, back arched, fur standing on end. She let out another ferocious scream that ended in a growl. Irene looked to her bedroom door first, almost expecting Cyrus to have somehow got past her wards. Her door was ajar but Cyrus was nowhere to be found.


    Irene looked at Silver, who was staring at the window intensely. She had gone from standing with her back arched to crouched low, ears still pinned back and tail swatting side to side as she let out a sound between a growl and a whimper. Irene looked at the window, but it offered no clues. The drawn curtains blocked her view. She considered getting up and opening them, but was afraid if there was someone or something there, that they''d see her. The distant sound of a car could be heard, its powerful high beams briefly illuminating the spot outside her window as it passed by. It was then she saw a vague silhouette outlined beyond the curtains, and just as the light faded, she saw it move away. Irene picked up her cat who growled again, but did not fight her. Instead Silver turned to her, shoving her head into Irene''s armpit. Irene held her close and stroked and smoothed her ruffled pet.


    "Good girl... good girl," Irene cooed soothingly. Irene strained to listen for sounds of a break in. She listened for the sounds of someone rapping at the windows. She waited for anything to happen. But all was still and silent. Even the rain had stopped. Irene remained in her room a while longer. Had another vampire found her? Was that one of Gabriel''s goons? There''d be no reason for Cyrus to skulk around her window when he could pester her right outside her bedroom door. Silver only screamed like that at Cyrus, or at tom cats. And that was not a tom cat.


    Bracing herself, and holding Silver tight, Irene stepped out of her room. Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked into the dark hallway. No one there. Two more steps and movement caught her eye and she let out a frightened yelp. This in turn caused an equally startled response. Irene turned and saw her father standing there, a hand to his chest.


    "You startled me. What are you doing up?"


    "What do you expect with your cat making that racket? She could wake the dead," her father grumbled. Irene just pet her cat defensively, bringing the dainty tabby''s head close to her lips.


    "Something outside must have scared her," Irene responded.


    "Well hopefully it''s gone and her highness will let us all get back to sleep. If you''ll excuse me," her father said tiredly, gesturing to the bathroom door which was just past Irene. She stepped to the side of the hallway and let her father pass. Silver grew impatient and began struggling, so Irene let her go, and the cat sauntered off towards the kitchen.


    Irene got herself a drink of water. Her heart had mostly calmed down, but she was still feeling some lingering anxiety about what she saw. She began wondering if she''d just imagined the silhouette. However, whatever set off Silver wasn''t her imagination. Irene remained in the kitchen, listening for the sound of her father''s bedroom door. Once he was back in his room, Irene checked the front door and all the windows to make sure they were closed and locked. Once she was satisfied that nothing was amiss, she finally went back to her room and tried to get back to sleep.


    Sleep, however, continued to be elusive and intermittent. Irene was often waking up, looking at the clock, listening for a moment, then rolling over and trying again to get some sleep. When she was awoken by the sound of the front door, she quickly got out of bed and tiptoed to her bedroom door, listening. There were footsteps and the jingle of keys. That must be Cyrus returning. It irritated her that her father gave him his own set of keys, but as a boarder it was necessary. It was much better than leaving the door unlocked, which she used to do, even before Cyrus showed up. She was a light sleeper, and it wasn''t a very dangerous neighbourhood. But now, she locked up every night.


    Irene shuffled out, intent on catching Cyrus before he went down to the basement.


    "You''re up early, even for you," Cyrus remarked before she said anything. It was dark, and she could barely make out his face and hands.


    "Cyrus. I think another vampire has been by the house," Irene whispered, not wanting to wake her father again. She could not see his expression in the darkness, but the silence that followed was telling.


    "What makes you think that?" He asked quietly after a pause.


    "Silver woke me up growling and yowling, and I saw a silhouette briefly outside my bedroom window." Irene reported.


    "A vampire? Oh my! Well, I guess I''d better go take a look-see," Cyrus responded, sounding like a parent humouring their child upon insisting there''s a monster in the closet. Irene frowned and crossed her arms, finding her way to a kitchen chair. Cyrus left, and Irene waited.


    "Well, I did see some footprints in the mud out there," Cyrus said when he returned. "Could have been a vampire. Or a peeping tom. Silver hates toms, right?"


    "Wrong kind of tom," Irene responded, irritated. Cyrus snickered quietly. "This is serious!"


    "Oh, yes, this is serious. But as you know, I never am," Cyrus responded coolly as he walked over and sat down at the kitchen table across from her. "I''ll stick close the next few nights. And you''d better come straight home after school."


    Irene snorted. It was her plan to come straight home, but being told by Cyrus irritated her. She kept her irritation to herself. Refusal out of sheer contrariness was foolhardy and unsafe. "I will."


    "Good. I''ve kept you alive this long, I''d hate to lose my investment now." There was a creaking noise as Cyrus stood up again. "Get some rest, peaches."


    Irene muttered some sort of sound of acknowledgement, but she wasn''t quite sure it counted as a word in any known language. Cyrus went to the basement, and she went to her sanctuary and attempted to salvage what little sleep she could.


    <hr>


    The coming weekend came and went in a blur. The hours of daylight were getting shorter, and Irene had to make the most of them as she prepared for her father leaving again. Cyrus wasn''t heading out as early either, and in the few days leading up to her father''s departure she noticed them talking a fair amount. While Cyrus maintained his playful air, he modified his humour to suit her father''s more. It irritated her seeing them get along. It vexed her more that her father seemed to forget that he''d ever mistrusted Cyrus.


    Her father left on a Monday. He kissed her goodbye before she left for school. She knew he''d be gone by the time she returned. She tried to visit Jordan again to talk to him about her father''s departure, but he was asleep and not easily roused. Merle continued to avoid her. It seemed the only person she talked to was Joseph, but that was usually restricted to small talk and passing pleasantries. Irene had been alone a lot throughout her life, but this was the first time she was unsettled by it.


    Nights were the worst. To be safe she began lighting candles and trying to focus on feeling safe, as if she were afraid her wards would fail. She even began to doubt they ever worked in the first place. Perhaps Cyrus was simply choosing not to enter to ease her into a false sense of security. At least Silver usually warned her with a growl and a hiss when Cyrus came near. But she usually ran off shortly after. Irene didn''t blame her.


    One particular night Irene was struggling to sleep. While she was sure she had drifted off, it was another rainy night, and a particularly loud moan of wind through the trees disrupted her. She crept to the window, peeking through the curtains. Nothing to see out there. This had become something of a routine for her. She thought she heard water rushing, but it may have been her imagination. She then stepped out of her room, heading towards the bathroom.


    She noticed light outlining the bathroom door. Oh, had she left the light on by accident? As she was about to open it, it swung open of its own accord, causing Irene to jump back from a fright. Standing in the doorway, with wet hair, was Cyrus. He raised his eyebrows, his hands finding the edges of the doorframe. To Irene''s horror, he didn''t even have so much as a towel.


    Irene immediately looked away, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes.


    "Rude!" cried Cyrus in a facetiously scandalised tone. "You''re going to give me body image issues."


    "I''m rude!? What do you think you are doing? You can''t just walk around my house naked!" Irene hissed. With a hand to carefully block anything she didn''t want to see, she peered back at him to scowl.


    "I forgot a towel!" Cyrus said innocently. "Be a doll and grab me one?"


    Irene was going to tell him to get one himself, but she decided to just go fetch one from the linen closet down the hall. Irene returned, tossing the towel at him, and he caught it, laughing. In just a few seconds her eyes had wandered where she didn''t want them to. Then something suddenly occurred to her, and she was shocked that it hadn''t occurred to her before. In spite of herself, she found herself staring, no blush or discomfort, just clinical detachment and the nagging of something not adding up.


    "Huh..."


    "Yes?" Cyrus used the towel to fluff his hair instead of wrapping it about his waist.


    "...If vampires don''t have a pulse, then how-"


    "Am I so magnificently tumescent?" Cyrus asked playfully as he finally girded himself in a towel.


    "Ugh..." Irene had no idea what that meant, but had a strong conviction it was something inappropriate. She turned to leave, but stalled when she heard Cyrus speak.


    "We''re not dead. We have hearts, you know." Irene looked over her shoulder. "That''s just another thing the media got wrong." Cyrus flicked his wrist in the air. "I have a pulse. But when I''m dormant it slows down and almost stops." One hand on his towel, Cyrus walked over to her. Irene half turned to him, but didn''t fully face him, ready to leave if he made any wrong moves. Cyrus held out his free hand, wrist up. "Go on, feel for yourself."


    Irene was about to turn away and leave, but she paused. It was best not to take Cyrus''s word for everything and investigate for herself. Irene cautiously placed two fingers on the veins along the underside of his wrist. Thump. Through her thin skin she could feel the expanding and contracting of blood pumping through his vessels, like any living being. Her hand quickly pulled away and she stepped back, to give herself space. Of course, before she knew he wasn''t human, she had felt his pulse when she was checking him for injuries. How could she have forgotten?


    In the light cast into the hallway from the bathroom, Irene could see an odd expression on Cyrus. Not the usual smug grin or skin-crawling leer. But almost as if there was some sort of new theory or epiphany he''d stumbled across. "Irene... if I were mortal, would you still find me repulsive?"


    "Yes. It''s who you are, not what you are that I despise," Irene responded firmly.


    "Hmmm..." Cyrus ran his fingers through his hair, shaking off excess droplets of water. "No, I think there''s something more going on here. I''ve been hated before, and what can I say? People love to hate me, hate to love me, and everything in between. But this is different."


    "Well I''m glad you''re so self aware." Irene responded sarcastically. "I don''t understand why you don''t just go away. Get far away from Gabriel. Start over somewhere new..." Irene swung out her arm, gesturing to her home. "Why stay here?"


    "It''s not that simple." Cyrus stepped closer, locking eyes with her. Irene took another step away. She broke the gaze immediately, remembering the power he had during eye contact. Irene turned to calculate how quickly she could get to the safety of her room. His gaze followed hers and he nodded. "Go on, you''re much safer there."


    Irene didn''t hesitate. She quickly fled to her room, slamming the door on the towel-clad vampire. Irene put her hand to her heart as it began to race, thinking in the aftermath how she narrowly escaped an unpleasant situation. But what was more disturbing to Irene is that she realised she was slowly becoming desensitised to his antics. It was also distressing to think of him as alive. Her hand went from her chest to her mouth. All the times she had thought about killing him. She''d never seriously entertained killing anyone before. The only thing that had stopped her was fear of failure, and what he''d do to her. But now, thinking of him as alive, not some undead creature, made the thought, despite the threat he posed, sickening. Once again, Cyrus had shaken her sense of self.

 Chapter 19 - Ice Cream and Rifles

    After school the following day Irene was hurrying to the bus when she heard her name called out.  She turned and watched Merle bound up to her.


    ¡°What is it, Merle?¡± Irene asked warily.


    Merle bent over, placing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.  After a series of heavy heaves, Merle glanced up at Irene with a queer little smirk. ¡°I thought maybe we could get something sweet."


    Although the extension of an olive branch would normally come as a relief, all Irene felt was ambivalence.  She looked at her watch, trying to decide how to best budget her time.  It was a sunny day for that time of year, and there might be time for an after school treat.  Irene reflected that she had not been dealing kindly with Merle, and she didn''t want to burn all of her bridges.  ¡°Alright, Merle, that would be nice,¡± Irene answered politely.


    Merle¡¯s smile grew as she beamed at Irene. ¡°Cool! I¡¯ll pay! Vice Cream or Timmy¡¯s?¡±


    It was too cold for ice cream, but Irene knew Merle loved it so much that she could settle down on a couch in the middle of a winter storm and spoon away a whole bucket.  ¡°Ice cream would be fine."


    Merle¡¯s grin continued its radiance, outshining the afternoon sun.  Irene could fit in a small sundae or milkshake if only to see Merle keep beaming.  Satisfied, Merle walked with a bounce in her step as they headed down the street.  Irene was already reviewing the bus schedule to know when she''d have to leave to be home before dark.


    As the two girls walked, Merle had the decency to not bring up their previous conversation, and instead talked about whatever ran to the tip of her tongue.   Advertisements, billboards, people, and cars were all kindling for Merle¡¯s flood of rambling. Irene listened, nodding her head to show that she was paying attention, and occasionally adding a word here or there.


    A few times Irene looked over her shoulder out of habit.  Sometimes she''d see a man in a long coat, but then she reasoned on a clear day it couldn''t be a vampire.  It must just be a coincidence.


    ¡°So¡­ what do you want?¡± Merle chirped as they stood in line.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have..." Irene scanned the lit up menu, "...a banana split,¡± Irene decided to her own surprise.  She originally wanted something small, but the smells and sights excited a larger appetite.  Merle smiled, walked over to the counter, and declared her order..


    The ice cream parlour had an open design that made use of its limited space. Two of the four walls had wall-to-wall windows which ended shy of the ceiling, maximising what little sunlight the valley had. Irene sat at a small booth and stared out the window, watching cars and pedestrians go by.


    A tray was set down in front of her, and Irene began to second guess her decision when she stared at the creamy monstrosity. Heaps of soft serve and whipped topping with chocolate fudge swirls and an underwhelming sprinkling of nuts stared back at her.  Somewhere in there was a banana, she hoped. Her friend happily dug into a decadent brownie fudge sundae, while Irene demurely set about excavating for fruit.


    After a few mouthfuls, Merle looked up at Irene intently. "So, I noticed you''ve been spending time with that Joseph kid."


    "And you''ve been spending a lot of time with Jordan," Irene shot back before she could rein her tongue in.  Merle paused, eyebrows lifted, and then gave a unilateral shrug as she stirred the contents of her sundae around, releasing the sweet and earthy aroma of the hot chocolate fudge.


    "Well, yeah.  I know with your Dad gone so much, you don''t have as much time to visit him."


    Irene nodded her head as she crunched on some nuts, trying not to let any shards get wedged between her teeth. "Yeah.  You''re right."  Irene sighed, regret filling her chest.  "I''m glad you help cheer him up.  Just so long as you aren''t burdening him with... worries about me."  It was the best evasion Irene could come up with.


    "I try not to.  But he does ask about you.  What am I to say?"  Merle waved her spoon around, flicking brown bits without a care.


    "Well I guess that can''t be helped..." Irene muttered.


    "So.  Joseph." Merle single-mindedly got the conversation back on track.  "Remember when you said that goths were pretentious attention seekers with no more depth than a saltine?"


    Irene was relieved Merle wasn''t asking about Cyrus, but a little horrified at having her words thrown back at her.  Irene scooped up an even portion of syrup, banana, nuts, and cream and held it in front of her mouth, quietly admiring her triumph. "Yes, I did say that.  But I realise I shouldn''t have been making fun of them.  I don''t know what they may be dealing with."


    "Hey, it''s not like you said that to anyone''s face, right?  We just laughed behind their backs."  Merle paused and set her spoon down upon seeing Irene''s arched eyebrow.  "Don''t give me that look, Irene.  You rolled your eyes at Joseph and all the others."  With a slight pout on her lower lip, she scraped the sides of her disposable sundae cup.  "It''s not like you''re a bully, Irene."


    "Maybe not.  But I realised I was the pretentious one," Irene reflected after clearing her mouth. "Anyway, Joseph is really nice.  But I never tried to get to know him because I thought anyone who wears black would be gloomy, and I don''t need gloom."


    "No you don''t.  You''re gloomy enough as it is." Merle looked momentarily uncomfortable.  She thrust her spoon into her sugary dessert, bringing out a large brown glob to keep her mouth busy while her mind processed.  Once she had swallowed, she lifted her spoon, pointing with it as she spoke.  "You know, if everyone didn''t know Joseph is gay, I''d be worried on Jordan''s behalf.  You almost never say anyone is ''really nice''."


    "Everyone knows?  Or they just assume he is because he paints his nails?" A nut squeaked in protest between Irene''s teeth.


    Merle''s cheeks flushed. "It''s just something everyone knows!  I bet he''d tell you if you asked."


    "It''s really none of my business.  It''s also irrelevant since I have Jordan." Irene poked at her banana some more.  Merle scoffed and rolled her eyes.


    For a moment the two girls ate in silence.  Then Merle looked across the table at Irene with a renewed focus. ¡°So¡­ I mean, like I said, Joseph isn''t really a concern.  But..." Merle paused and licked her lips, "...what about Cyrus?  I mean, as you say... you''ve got Jordan..."


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Irene narrowed her eyes and stabbed her banana with enough force that whipped topping splattered on her hand.  "Don''t even go there, Merle.  He''s dangerous."  Irene licked the creamy white dessert off the back of her hand.


    "Ha.  You look like your cat right meow," Merle giggled.  Irene just looked up at her and rolled her eyes, not in the mood to smile.  The red-haired friend glanced out the window for a moment or two.  "So if Cyrus is so dangerous, why do you spend so much time around him?"


    Irene sighed as she scooped up a chunk of banana.  Merle truly had a one-track mind;  she pecked and scratched until she was satisfied.  ¡°I try NOT to spend time with him, Merle."


    ¡°Then why is he staying with you?¡±


    Irene sighed and shook her head.  THAT was a valid question, one she kept asking herself.


    ¡°Because he won¡¯t go away."


    ¡°Uh-huh.  Why don¡¯t you make him?  Tell your Dad what you told me."


    Warm air passed through Irene¡¯s lips as she sighed. "I can''t."


    "Why not?"


    ¡°It''d take too long to explain." Exasperation was already growing in Irene.  She cooled it off with a mouthful of soft serve.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got time.  Besides, your Dad is a great guy, and he''d never let anyone bad into your house.  None of this makes sense.¡± Merle persisted.


    ¡°It''s complicated."  Irene was aware she was sounding like a broken record. "Cyrus claims that he took care of me when I was sick.  I was told he saved my life but I think that''s stretching the truth a bit,¡± Irene admitted, severing pieces of her banana with her spoon and spreading the chunks all around.


    ¡°He saved your life?" It was Merle''s turn to sound exasperated.  "And you still don¡¯t like him?  I¡¯d be swept off of my feet if someone saved me!¡± Her blue-gray eyes glittered.


    ¡°May have saved my life. And saving a life doesn''t negate all the trouble he caused,¡± Irene muttered.  Merle just about choked on a brownie chunk.


    ¡°He saved your life Irene!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s bad news, Merle!¡±


    ¡°Not if he¡¯s saved you!  Anyone who takes care of my friends is a good person in my books!¡± Merel insisted. ¡°Maybe he was bad, but maybe saving you is his way of repenting.  Give him a chance¡­ wait¡­ what am I saying?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Merle, what are you saying?  I still have Jordan..." ...I hope... "...so I won''t let someone come in and sweep me off my feet.  I¡¯m not a part of one of your girlish romances!¡± Irene said crossly, insecurities leftover from the row she had with Jordan bubbling to the surface.


    Merle stared, her face going from pink to scarlet. ¡°Girlish romances!?  You think I¡¯m silly to want my romance to actually be romantic, rather than just some sort of casual whatever that you and Jordan have?  You guys never kiss, never say you love each other, and sometimes I just wonder!¡± Once again, Merle was getting riled up.  And while Irene usually patiently endured Merle''s outbursts, she was too raw not to be baited.


    Irene curled up her lips in a sneer. ¡°What do you know, Merle!?  You''ve never had a boyfriend!¡±


    Merle''s eyes went wide and she inhaled sharply, choking on a chunk of brownie.  Merle grabbed a napkin and coughed into it, while banging her fist on the table with her other hand.


    Once Irene was sure Merle was alright, she didn''t wait for her friend to make a rebuttal and added, "Anyway Jordan and I are just more private with our affection.  We''re comfortable with each other."


    Merle cleared her throat, using a clean napkin to dab at her eyes.  ¡°You may be comfortable, but have you ever thought what Jordan feels?  You take him for granted!  And no one''s going to wait forever for an ice-queen!¡±


    Irene''s eyes went wide as colour drained from her face.  Merle had overstepped a line, and it set Irene reeling. Irene pushed the remains of her banana split away from her, stood up, and stormed out.  Irene hadn''t the wherewithal to acknowledge that she shot first with her own thoughtless remarks; all she knew is that she was hurt again and would not stay to be emotionally battered further.


    With her thoughts thundering over Merle''s implications, Irene stepped out of the Vice Cream.


    An ear-bursting boom terminated all cognition.


    Irene threw her arms over her head protectively.  She wanted to run, but her legs wobbled.  Screaming and pandemonium broke out as people in the parking lot rushed for safety.  Standing amidst it all was the man in a long coat.  In his hands he held a hunting rifle.  Irene yelped when she felt her arm being grabbed, only to realise it was Merle tugging her.


    ¡°C¡¯mon Irene, we gotta go!¡±


    Irene¡¯s legs freely gave way to Merle¡¯s urging, and one leg clumsily managed to put itself in front of the other.  What now?  Irene and Merle were halted by another shot that ricocheted off of a metal bike rack in front of them. Both girls screamed and crouched down, arms over their heads.


    ¡°Not so fast!¡±


    Terror resonated through Irene at the sight of that barrel pointing at her and her friend.


    ¡°What do you want from us!?¡± Merle yelled. Irene covered Merle''s mouth.


    BOOM!


    Like a spider web, glass cracked in a radial pattern out from a hole in the nearby windshield. A smaller crash drew Irene''s gaze to a cell phone that had been dropped by a man hiding behind the car.  Pointing his rifle back at Irene, the shooter nonchalantly walked over and crushed the cell phone with his platform boot. Even with all the noise and confusion, she could pick out the sound of the rifle being reloaded.


    ¡°You¡¯re coming with me¡­ AND NOBODY BETTER THINK OF CALLING THE COPS!¡±


    Irene looked up, eyes traveling up his ripped jeans, up past his studded belt, up past his shirt with the faded skull on the chest.  He waved his gun in the air in an act of intimidation.  Irene tried to make sense of the situation, her extremities all tingling with fear.  It was broad daylight, so it couldn¡¯t possibly be a vampire.  And a vampire wouldn''t need to use a gun.  So why was this happening to her?


    Free of Irene''s hands, which were now protecting the back of her own neck, Merle begged, ¡°Please just let us go!¡±


    The man with the rifle laughed.  He approached Irene and Merle, keeping his weapon trained on them.  As soon as he was close enough he put the rifle in his offhand and grabbed Merle by the arm.  She let out an ungodly shriek and thrashed. The man hit Merle with the butt of his gun, momentarily stunning her. The assailant wrapped an arm about Merle, her throat kept in the crook of his elbow, his free hand grabbing a knife which he pressed into Merle''s back.  ¡°Come along, or your friend here gets it.¡±


    Now Merle was in danger.  The abject fear in her friend''s face was something Irene never wanted to see.  She''d tried so hard to keep her out of trouble.  But it was all for naught.  Resentfully, Irene followed the man as he led them to a battered, black car.


    The punkish man opened the back door of a car. "Get in."


    Without a word of protest, Irene and Merle complied.  The man tossed his rifle in the passenger seat and got in.  Irene looked out at the pale faces of the witnesses.  This was too public and open to be the work of vampires.  Are they this desperate? What about the low profile and keeping away from the police?  Surely, this has to be connected to them, but what are they up to?


    The engine revved as the man made a hasty getaway. Irene braced herself for the fast acceleration and sudden turns, and Merle looked desperately out the window. Irene¡¯s face was pale, but her expression was cool and neutral.


    Irene looked over at Merle who was sobbing quietly beside her, and all she could think was ¡®I told you so¡¯.

 Chapter 20 - Interrogation

    After driving for a while, the man pulled into the parking lot of one of the many churches found in that neighbourhood. Irene peered out hoping to see someone she could reach out to for help, but the parking lot was empty save for a single sporty car. The man grabbed his rifle and got out, walking around to the back door. When the passenger door came open, Irene was again staring down the barrel of a gun. Fear squirmed in her gut like a throng of maggots.


    ¡°Get out.¡±


    Without hesitation, Irene got out, raising her hands with the palms out. After she was out, Merle shakily exited. Both girls stared at the ground, no longer able to look at the man or his gun.


    "Turn around." Irene turned first. Merle hesitated, but as the man rested his finger on the trigger, she quickly spun about face. There was a soft click and the whisper of cloth. Moments later, a blindfold was placed over Irene''s eyes, and another surge of panic trembled through her. She took a deep breath to ground herself. What will happen, will happen.


    Both of the girls were sternly led to the other car, and guided into the back seats. There was a smell that Irene recognized and felt an instant pang of nostalgia - the smell of a new car. They hadn''t had a new car since Monica was alive. Irene didn''t want to conflate such a happy moment with one that was terrifying. How many good things would these people taint?


    Slam. The doors were shut. Rustling and the sound of fabric against fabric resounded in their ears. A sawing sound was heard, followed by a distinctive click. Another slam. Jingling. Engine revving. Motion. They were on the move once more.


    Irene could feel Merle shivering beside her. Irene let out a sigh and reached out, groping clumsily until she found Merle''s hand. She gave it a squeeze, but was too afraid to say anything. Perhaps, that was for the best.


    When the car came to another stop, Irene gave Merle''s hand another reassuring squeeze, and received one in turn. Irene listened as the front car door opened and shut. Footsteps were heard to Irene''s left. She straightened up, pulling away from the door instinctively before it opened, a rush of cool air reaching Irene''s arm and cheek. Irene''s left arm was roughly grabbed and yanked, pulling her out of the car. She then heard Merle make a defiant noise as she was likely dragged from the back seat as well. Standing side by side, blindfolded, and afraid, the pair could only imagine what fate awaited them. A hand was placed on each of their backs, pushing them forward. Irene walked carefully, feeling the ground before putting her foot down. There was a shift in the air as it became heavier and smelled of dust. Echoes of their footsteps could be heard as they were marched forward.


    ¡°Watch your step, we¡¯re going down.¡± The hands left their backs. Moments later there was a grunt and a loud, angry creak. The man took a hold of Irene¡¯s shoulders, and led her down onto some stairs. ¡°Keep walking,¡± he instructed. Irene paused, groping around until her hand clasped around something smooth and cylindrical. It was at a declined angle and felt sturdy when Irene gave it a little shove. Clinging onto this banister, she began to descend, with Merle and the kidnapper not far behind.


    Irene stopped when she felt a wooden door in front of her. The sensation of the man pressing past her caused her to squish against the wall to give him space. Once he opened the door, Irene felt a burst of warm air reach her cool cheeks. Her nostrils picked up a perfume-like fragrance, mixed with a smoky odor. Irene and Merle were roughly pulled inside. Merle stumbled and fell to her knees, but Irene managed to catch herself. Once steady, Irene lifted her head, relying on her other senses for more clues. Her ears rewarded her with the sound of a familiar voice; a voice that made her blood freeze.


    ¡°Who is this other girl?¡±


    ¡°She was with the target. I figured you wouldn¡¯t mind another neck to feed on. I did what you asked me, now I want my reward!¡± the captor said.


    ¡°Gabriel¡­¡± Irene muttered.


    ¡°Irene¡­ do you know what¡¯s going on?¡± Merle whispered.


    ¡°Ah, so you remember my voice. I¡¯m surprised to see you looking so¡­ healthy,¡± Gabriel¡¯s voice came. It plagued Irene¡¯s ears, and she felt dirty just hearing him. Her blindfold was whipped off. Within moments her eyes adjusted, staring at Gabriel¡¯s fair but stern face. His features became only more severe in the candlelight, and a halo seemed to gleam from around his golden hair.


    ¡°Gabriel¡­¡± Irene repeated, her voice spewing disgust.


    ¡°I heard you the first time," Gabriel said patronizingly. He grabbed her chin in his bare fingers, forcing her head to turn to either side as he examined her neck. ¡°What was that fool up to?¡±


    ¡°Sire, my reward?¡± the man repeated. Gabriel glanced past Irene, a look of irritation building into his pale eyes.


    ¡°You will get your reward ¨C but not from me! Go talk to Roan. He will give you the immortality that you crave, Matthew,¡± Gabriel said in a dry tone.


    ¡°Matthias! My new name will be Matthias¡­¡± the man insisted. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Without saying a word, Matthew muttered an apology and quickly left. Gabriel walked over and locked the door, then turned back to Irene. Irene had knelt down beside Merle and wrapped her arms around her.


    ¡°Did you really think I wouldn''t find you?¡± Gabriel said.


    ¡°Irene¡­ what is going on?¡± Merle asked, her lower lips quivering. Irene held Merle tight, looking up at Gabriel.


    ¡°Shush Merle¡­¡±


    Merle shakily lifted her hands, taking off her blindfold. She peered up at Gabriel¡¯s tall form, her eyes wide and face pale. Gabriel grinned, showing his fangs. Merle let out a shriek and tried to crawl away, but Irene held her tight.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s¡­ this can¡¯t be real!¡± Merle exclaimed.


    Gabriel raised an eyebrow. ¡°Hm¡­ so you never told your little friend."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Irene glared defiantly up at him. Gabriel was much stronger than her, but it was still daytime. If she could just get out, he could not follow her¡­ but what of Matthew? What if there were others like him, lining up for immortality? It hadn¡¯t occurred to Irene that humans and vampires would work together.


    ¡°Leave her out of this,¡± Irene insisted. Gabriel rubbed his chin in thought, as if he really were considering Irene¡¯s demand.


    ¡°Well, she knows about vampires now, so I can¡¯t." Gabriel responded. "Bad luck for your friend, I''m afraid, as she''s useless to me."


    ¡°Vampires¡­¡± Merle made a choking sound, as her face contorted into a grin so large it looked more like a grimace. Hysterical giggling erupted from her mouth. Merle slammed the ground, her body tossed with the throes of laughter. ¡°Vampires¡­. Vampires¡­ of course¡­ why didn¡¯t I think of that? There are vampires walking the streets!¡± Merle babbled in between giggles. Irene held her tight and shook her. "It all makes sense now!"


    ¡°Get a hold of yourself!¡± Irene demanded. Irene looked fiercely up into Gabriel¡¯s snowy eyes. Irene rose, gently letting go of the hysterical Merle. ¡°Enough of this! I told you to leave her out of this!¡±


    ¡°You are in no position to make demands,¡± Gabriel said calmly yet menacingly. ¡°Come, princess.¡± Gabriel''s voice dripped with derision and venom.


    ¡°Princess¡­ Irene¡¯s a princess now¡­¡± Merle sputtered, laughter still crying in her tone.


    Gabriel took Irene firmly by the arm and led her away. She pulled against him, but had as much luck resisting him as she did with Cyrus. He was just too strong. She heard the laughing and muttering of her friend get fainter and fainter as she was pulled away.


    The room Irene was led into was empty and colourless. A single, bare light bulb hung from the ceiling. Irene had expected there to be a small square table in the middle with two chairs on either side. However, instead, there were manacles on the wall. Irene shuddered. She did not want to be bound again. Redoubling her effort, she tired to squirm free, but Gabriel''s grip was absolute.


    Gabriel dragged Irene, despite her trying to plant her heels, to the shackles. Irene felt rage and panic swell up in her chest at being so helpless. There was nothing she could do to prevent this, and it ate at her. Her precautions were just an illusion. She was never safe. All she could do was glare at Gabriel, who remained unaffected. Clink. Clink. The cold metal rubbed and chafed at her wrists. Irene''s eyes watered, but she refused to sniff or let a tear fall. Once Irene was secured to the wall, Gabriel bared a large, toothy grin at her, and Irene turned her face away from his putrid, metallic breath.


    ¡°Now tell me Irene, how DID you survive?¡± Gabriel asked, poking her right where her knife wound had been. Irene tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. Cornered, and still feeling maddening defiance, Irene spat in his face. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her, calmly taking a handkerchief out from his breast pocket and wiping away the saliva. ¡°I have eternity to get an answer ¨C you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± Irene responded angrily. Gabriel shook his head, clicking his tongue at her.


    ¡°Little miss, as clich¨¦ as it is, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."


    ¡°Answer my question,¡± Irene demanded.


    Gabriel let out a low chuckle. He leaned in close to Irene, so all she could see were his pale eyes and sharp fangs. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation."


    ¡°You¡¯re right! I don¡¯t appreciate it!¡± Irene retorted. Gabriel abruptly put his hand around Irene¡¯s fleshy throat, but did not yet apply any pressure. Irene immediately regretted her defiance. Gabriel was not like Cyrus; she could see this in his cold eyes. He was in some other league of cruelty that Cyrus only licked the boots of, and that terrified her.


    ¡°I was going to try and keep this civil, but I''m afraid I must remind you that this will go easier on you if you answer my questions, and keep yours to yourself,¡± Gabriel warned. Irene drew in a deep breath, rolling her eyes up. She still didn''t have any memory of how she got there, and only had Cyrus''s dubious account of events.


    ¡°I was taken home, then to the hospital, and recovered there,¡± Irene relayed with brevity.


    Gabriel released her neck and took a few steps back, smiling almost pleasantly. ¡°There now, that wasn¡¯t so hard¡­ but that doesn¡¯t fully answer my question. How did you survive?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± Irene responded coldly.


    ¡°Well perhaps I can refresh your memory,¡± Gabriel said as he reached up, taking Irene¡¯s hand in his own, then began crushing it. Irene clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, letting out a long, ragged breath. She could feel her bones compressing under the might of his hand, and her knuckles grinding against each other. There was a distinct cracking sound and Irene let out a gasp of pain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember!¡± Irene squealed. Gabriel wasn¡¯t satisfied, and began to squeeze even harder. Irene bit her lip to keep herself from screaming. It didn''t work. ¡°YOU¡¯D HAVE TO ASK CYRUS!¡±


    ¡°Cyrus?¡± Gabriel asked, releasing her hand. Irene let out a low groan, and it felt almost as if her hand were expanding and her fingers might tumble out of their sockets. Gabriel looked at her intensely. ¡°Cyrus is still alive?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Irene snapped. She blinked furiously to get the last of the tears out of her eyes so that she could see clearly once more.


    ¡°It seems one of my men has been telling me falsehoods. That will never do,¡± Gabriel frowned, looking only mildly annoyed on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of menace in his voice. "Though that does explain the mistletoe. The rat has betrayed his own kind''s secrets." Gabriel clicked his tongue in disapproval. The tall vampire paced for a while, every once in a while glancing back at Irene. A crooked smile slowly sculpted itself onto his face. Gabriel grabbed a knife out from beneath his long, black coat.


    ¡°I told you what I know!¡± Irene insisted desperately.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pity that is all you know. I need to know what makes you so special. Cyrus never wasted his time on anyone unless they were very useful to him. He plays the buffoon, but make no mistake, he has raped and murdered countless victims when he tired of his seduction games. So there must be a reason you''re still alive,¡± Gabriel said as he walked over to her. Irene watched the knife with wide eyes, not having time to react to Gabriel''s words as the more imminent fear of that glinting blade presented itself. Gabriel took a hold of one of her crushed fingers while Irene stifled a cry. Pulling one of them, he hacked through it, severing her finger. There was no holding it in, Irene let out a shriek. Tendrils of pain shot down her wrist. Warm wet blood tickled her senses as it trickled down her hand. There was no use in being strong. Irene began sobbing.


    Gabriel took out his handkerchief again and wrapped the bloody finger in it. Seeing her finger by itself was surreal. Bile rose up in her throat, but all she managed were dry heaves between sobs.


    ¡°Ah yes, this should lure him out,¡± Gabriel said, satisfied as he clenched the wrapped finger in his hand. He gave her a nonchalant wave as he headed out, leaving Irene to bleed and ponder upon what horrible torment awaited her next. Irene wanted more than anything to just collapse, but the pain was not yet great enough for her brain to shut her down. So instead she waited in bitter agony for the blood loss to do it instead.


    If the pain and fear weren''t so pervasive, Irene might almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But this was no laughing matter. She didn''t have the energy left to laugh or cry at that point as she just hung against the shackles, limp and powerless. The punchline to this sordid joke was that Cyrus, loathsome as he was, might be her only hope. As Irene''s consciousness began to fade, causing her to nod then jerk awake a few times, she thought to herself what a relief it would be to drift off and never wake up again.

 Chapter 21 - Out of the Fire into the Pot

    How much longer? Irene¡¯s rampant thoughts of misery slowed down until all she could think about when something would happen more than what. She had gone in and out of a partial state of consciousness. She wasn¡¯t sure if her hand still hurt, or it just remembered the pain. Irene licked her dry lips, tasting the salty tears that had rolled into the grooves thereabouts.


    An eerie creek reached her ears, and instantly, more light poured into the room. Irene closed her eyes tight. Neither the light streaming in from the adjacent room, nor the dim light that was flicked on were terribly bright, but she''d been stewing in darkness for an age it seemed. When the shock to her eyes had subsided, she peeled her eyelids apart to see two figures walk into the room.


    ¡°You certainly DO love your chains, don¡¯t you?¡± came a very familiar voice. Even in the dim lighting she could recognise Cyrus. He walked with Gabriel. The two men, standing side by side, were stark contrasts of each other. Gabriel, fair, tall, and impressive. Cyrus, dark, petite, and insignificant. He looked even smaller next to his ''brother''.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame dungeons have gone out of style,¡± Gabriel¡¯s deep, rich voice resonated. Irene screwed her face into a hideous scowl. Cyrus approached her and made a show of examining her all while avoiding eye contact. She felt as though she were a tapestry being appraised for sale.


    ¡°You are lucky there is barely a scratch on her¡­¡± Cyrus said to Gabriel. Gabriel lifted his eyebrows at Cyrus.


    ¡°Barely a scratch? He cut off my finger!¡± Irene said angrily. Cyrus turned to her again, this time finally looking her in the eyes. Shivers shot down her spine. There was some strange feeling that resonated from him, but she could not identify it ¨C and that disturbed her. The whole situation was disturbing. She wanted out.


    ¡°Knowing Gabriel, that is barely a scratch¡­¡± Cyrus said to her quietly. He then sharply turned to Gabriel, crossing his arms. ¡°Well, then, let¡¯s get this over with, Gabriel. What horrible methods of extraction are you going to propose?¡± Irene cringed. The word ¡®extraction¡¯ under the current circumstances brought a flood of unwanted and horrifying imagery. Gabriel¡¯s twisted smirk did not help to ease Irene either.


    ¡°What would you do if I were to have mangled her? If she is just a temporary plaything of yours, why would it matter? You could always find yourself a nicer toy,¡± Gabriel said smoothly, his eyes wandering to Irene for her reaction..


    ¡°So there it is¡­ I am just your plaything¡­¡± But she knew there was more to it than that. If she''d learned one thing from Cyrus, as much of a clown as he seemed to be, he could maneuver quite well. There was a plan. And she had her role to play, if she wanted to survive. She resented cooperating with Cyrus, but she didn''t want to be in Gabriel''s clutches either. Cyrus sighed and glanced at Irene for a moment or two, then back at Gabriel.


    ¡°She''s a satisfying source of amusement,¡± Cyrus responded. He walked closer to Irene, petting her cheek. Irene continued to glare at him, as that was all she could do. ¡°It isn¡¯t easy finding another like this ¨C she¡¯s irreplaceable.¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­ satisfying?¡± Gabriel asked, not convinced. He walked over to Irene, leaning in close to her. He took in a deep sniff of her, then stepped back again. ¡°You haven¡¯t even unwrapped your toy ¨C how can she be satisfying?¡± At this suggestion, Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and Irene squirmed a little.


    ¡°You know that I always save the best for last,¡± Cyrus responded dryly. Gabriel began to chuckle. Irene did not like where this was heading. Irene made believe that she could turn into vapour and just float away out of this horrid place.


    ¡°Oh? Just how you saved Layla for last¡­ oh wait, no, she broke before you really had a chance to have fun with her, didn¡¯t she? Although a multitude of men did,¡± Gabriel taunted. With the brevity of a switch being flicked, Cyrus¡¯s nonchalance morphed to rage. Within a weary blink of Irene¡¯s eyes, Cyrus hand clutched at Gabriel''s throat. Such a horrid snarl was on Cyrus¡¯s face, with his fangs bared. His teeth seemed to dominate his entire face, his eyes just slivers of throbbing anger.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ you¡­ EVER¡­ talk of her that way again!¡± Cyrus growled in such a guttural voice that Irene almost did not recognize it. Gabriel, however, just gave a cocky grin down at Cyrus. With very little effort, Gabriel pried Cyrus''s hand off his throat and threw Cyrus onto the floor. There was a sickening crack as flesh and bones hit pavement. Then, Gabriel snapped his fingers. Immediately two men charged into the room. The pair of them seized Cyrus''s arms, hauling him to his feet and holding him back as he struggled against them like an angry dog at the end of a leash. Arrogantly, Gabriel fixed his collar.


    ¡°Tisk tisk Cyrus, anger does not suit you well. Where is that charming smart ass we all know and adore?¡± Gabriel mocked. He placed his hands behind his back and looked between Irene and Cyrus. ¡°What dog doesn¡¯t sink its teeth into a chew toy? Maybe it¡¯s just a dog that has gone soft and forgot how to play rough¡­ would you like me to remind you?¡±


    Cyrus let out a growl that led into a slurred string of cussing at Gabriel, some of which Irene guessed were in other languages. Gabriel grinned wickedly and turned to Irene, reaching up and grabbing her chin. Irene squirmed as his hand slid down her jaw, down to her shoulder, then pressed firmly on her clavicle, opposite of the side Gabriel was standing. Cyrus watched with wide eyes as Gabriel placed his mouth right into the nook of Irene¡¯s neck, causing her to cringe.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Cyrus yelled. Gabriel paused, his pale eyes gliding to stare at him, pushing them up with a wide, toothy grin.


    ¡°Is there something you wish to tell me, Cyrus?¡± Irene could feel each word Gabriel made as his cheek remained close to her skin. She stared upward. She could not look at either of them anymore. There was no escape in body, perhaps there could be in mind. However, the pain in her hand prevented her from fading away, and Gabriel¡¯s presence, so close, bound her to the moment.


    ¡°I told you already, I don¡¯t believe in that crap anymore!¡± Cyrus growled. Gabriel yawned mockingly and dismissed Cyrus''s claims with a wave of his hand.


    ¡°Same old boring words. If not the cornerstones, what is it? No one puts up this much fight for a toy. I want to know how you could have possibly brought yourself from a state of blood frenzy without draining her dry. Perhaps there is something special in her blood?¡± Gabriel asked, his eyes going back to her throat. ¡°Perhaps, not one of the cornerstones, but maybe something from another myth?" Gabriel''s hand went from her chin and reached up, stroking her brow. "Are you a Blood Chalice?¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Nonsense, Gabriel! You searched for centuries and never found a REAL one! They don¡¯t exist either!¡± Cyrus insisted, tensing up, but ceasing his struggle. ¡°The only reason she survived was because¡­¡± Cyrus cut himself short. He lowered his eyes for a moment, and then glared back up at Gabriel, ¡°¡­because it wasn''t time, yet.¡±


    Gabriel pulled away from Irene and slowly turned to Cyrus, placing his hands in his pockets. ¡°Oh Cyrus, you swore you¡¯d never make another since Layla. Is she a replacement?¡±


    Cyrus shook his head, turning his head to either direction to glare at Gabriel¡¯s henchmen, then stared at Irene. By this time, Irene had lowered her head. She tried not to notice, but a crawling sensation gave her the sense she was being stared at intensely. Irene lifted her head again, Gabriel evaluating her anew.


    ¡°No one can replace a beauty like Layla.¡±


    ¡°Humph! That camel wench had dirty blood and never should have been one of us. But you were always impetuous and a slave to your lust. I''m surprised you haven''t assembled your own vampire harem,¡± Gabriel derided.


    "Oh and what am I to think about all the men you surround yourself with, Frenchy? Or the little boys you like to groom - eh Roan, Flynn?" Gabriel turned up a dreadful sneer at Cyrus''s implication, but had no more to say. One of the men holding Cyrus, assumedly either Roan or Flynn though Irene could not tell them apart, punched Cyrus in the gut, causing Cyrus to stagger forward, while the other held him up.


    Irene had heard enough. It was all too disgusting. As she listened to more sounds of Cyrus being beaten, her fingers clenched and released. It hurt, but she felt almost as if she still had her finger. Yes. Focus on that. Push out the noise. She commanded those nerves and muscles to move, and she felt them move. Yet, as her fingernails dipped gently into the bottom of her palm, she felt only three. It was a surreal feeling ¨C and concentrating on her pain helped her feel more calm.


    Something cold pressed into her neck. The pain barely registered, and her eyes drearily focused on the blade being held to her throat. Cyrus yelled out in protest and kicked his own legs from beneath him. Caught off guard, he managed to force the man holding him down with him. With amazing swiftness and inhuman flexibility Cyrus threw up his legs over his one shoulder, like one would do in a reverse safety roll. Yet, instead of rolling back, as the men still had his arms, he managed to catch one of the vampire¡¯s necks between his legs, and dragged him forward, flipping him over the shoulder.


    Gabriel¡¯s attention was caught and he swiveled to see what the commotion was, the knife that had been placed against Irene''s throat mercifully removed. The vampire that Cyrus had flipped landed face first into the cement floor with a blood-chilling crunch. Crumpled on the floor, the redhead slowly put his hands beneath him. No man could survive that damage to his neck.


    Meanwhile, the other vampire was on top of Cyrus to keep him pinned. Gabriel muttered something in another language. Irene thought it was French, but it was too quiet for her to be sure. Gabriel re-examined Irene, as if she were the answer to a question. Amidst the fighting, Gabriel drew close to Irene once more, foregoing the knife and instead placing his teeth at her tense neck. Irene squirmed again as she could feel his lips, and just barely the smooth, wet texture of his fangs brush against her skin. Irene¡¯s hairs had been long since standing on her neck, but now they were trying to rip out their own roots and flee.


    Things seemed to slow down a moment as Cyrus looked over at Irene and Gabriel, wide-eyed. Then everything happened in rapid succession. Cyrus jammed a candle into one of the twins'' eyes, but Irene lost track of the action after that. More candles. More fire. More vicious brutality. Irene could scarcely watch the battle of monsters ¨C as no human, she could fathom, would do what they did to each other.


    The room smelt thickly of blood, and there were two writhing forms, covered in flaking black husks. Irene could feel the bile stinging her throat, threatening to evacuate her stomach. Gabriel had paused to watch, but then resumed his task, and she felt the her skin break. Right at that moment there was a loud thud and she felt the wall shake behind her. Cyrus was there beside her, pinning Gabriel.


    ¡°Impressive, Cyrus,¡± was all Gabriel said, not an inch of fear in his countenance. His cold pale eyes surveyed Cyrus for a moment with both disgust and intrigue. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Cyrus brought a bloody metal rod up to Gabriel¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Cyrus hissed, adding something in French Irene could only guess at being a derogatory slur by the vitriol in Cyrus'' voice. Gabriel glared down at Cyrus, his nose wrinkling up with a sneer. Unable to pry her eyes away from the scene, Irene could see that Gabriel was not a man used to being talked to in such a way. Again Gabriel tried to speak, but Cyrus took his blood brother''s shoulders and yanked him forward, only to slam him harder into the wall. Like spilt ink, a network of cracks branched along the wall, as debris fell into Gabriel¡¯s hair. ¡°This is your final warning. Cross me again, and I WILL end you.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think you could end me? I am your superior in every way!¡± Gabriel scoffed. In a rather pointed rebuttal, Cyrus drove the rod through Gabriel''s stomach and into the wall behind him. Gabriel howled in pain and outrage, his hand grabbing the crude skewer. Not wasting any further time while Gabriel worked to free himself, Cyrus tore the chains that bound Irene from the wall. Despite relief at being free, she struggled against being scooped into Cyrus'' arms. "My finger''s missing, but my legs are fine!" she snapped as she stumbled forward. Cyrus was her lifeline, and if his arms were full carrying her, they''d both be vulnerable. But she didn''t have the time or the wherewithal to voice this reasoning.


    Gabriel had just finally pulled himself out, and a deep indent shaped loosely like his body was in the stone wall behind him. There was a clatter as Gabriel tossed the discarded weapon. Cyrus ejaculated a few expletives. "No time to argue!"


    Having regained his stature, Gabriel angrily charged after Cyrus. Cyrus, glancing behind him, cursed under his breath, grabbed Irene by her less damaged wrist, and began to run. "Now I''ve really done it!"


    After they had dashed up the stairs and started across the empty warehouse, Cyrus lurched to a stop. Against a crate lay a rifle. With a wide grin, Cyrus ran and hid behind one of the crates, and Irene followed suit, tripping over her own feet, feeling dizzy from the blood loss. Her bones ached as she hit the hard floor. She picked herself up, cradling her injured hand. She wearily opened her eyes, barely following the action.


    Cyrus grabbed the gun and checked if it was loaded. Trying to stifle laughter as Gabriel barged into the room, Cyrus took aim. Gabriel turned immediately to where Cyrus was hiding. BANG! Gabriel¡¯s thigh suddenly burst forth a disgusting amount of blood. BANG BANG! First a nick, second bullet dug right into the knee. Gabriel let out a string of uncivilized curses and toppled over. Cyrus scooped Irene into his arms. This time she did not fight, feeling a second wave of nausea. They fled, leaving Gabriel strand on a blown-out knee cap.


    Just as Cyrus emerged into the night, he was accosted by a man in black. He had blisters broken out all over his otherwise pale skin, and his hands were red, and bubbled in some spots. Both of them froze, staring at each other. Irene barely recognised him as the man who had abducted her. Irene wondered what happened to his skin, but was too faded to posit any theories. Cyrus glanced up, seeing a full moon, then back at the man, then roared with laughter. ¡°You must be new¡­ too young to play with the big boys during a full moon¡­¡± Cyrus mocked. The Matthew got angrier and flung himself at Cyrus. Cyrus easily side stepped him, hefted Irene up on one shoulder, and elbowed Matthew in the back. Cyrus laughed some more as he continued to run, calling over his shoulder. ¡°What do you think makes the moon so bright? It reflects the sun, moron.¡±

 Chapter 22 - Resilience

    It all kept sliding through her fingers, figuratively and literally. A stack of papers clattered to the floor as she tried to lift them out of her way while digging around her desk drawer. Irene glared at her bandaged hand and knelt down, picking up the mess of cards and slips. Then she paused, looking at one card in particular, reflecting back on the very vivid memory it evoked.


    ~~~


    ¡°The boys have an uneven amount of players. Anyone want to join them?" the girls'' grade eight PE teacher announced. Most of the girls stared like a deer caught in headlights, whilst others rolled their eyes and scoffed. However, Irene hesitantly raised her hand, catching the eye of the teacher.


    "I''ll go if no one else wants to..."


    Some girls snickered, but no one stepped forward. With a sigh, she put down her arm and walked over to the teacher.


    "Alright, come along. Thank you for volunteering. If any of the boys give you any trouble, just tell me," the teacher said as they walked into the gymnasium, leaving the rest of the girls behind on the field. Irene would do anything to escape the pack of piranhas in her PE class. Those girls could smell the wounds left from her sister''s death, and kept taking bites out of her.


    As they entered the gymnasium, young Irene was affronted by groans and mutters of complaint about her joining with them. No one wanted a mousy bookworm on their team.


    "Alright, Irene volunteered and I expect you to treat her with respect," the boy''s PE teacher said gruffly. The boys snickered, but nodded in false agreement. Irene was led to the team she was playing with, not giving any eye contact to those who glared at her.


    "Awe... why do WE have to have HER?" a boy complained loudly. Another boy laughed, elbowing his friend.


    "Bet she''ll be crying before the bell rings." Both the boys snickered. Irene continued to be quiet as she grabbed an old wooden hockey stick with a bright orange, plastic blade. The goalies got geared up and everyone got into their positions, waiting for the teacher to drop the orange ball into the center of the gym.


    Irene grasped the hockey stick tight in her hands; her eyes focused on the ball as one of her teammates managed to slap it away from the opposition. She hung back near the net, watching the other players closely. The ball exchanged between the teams a few times before her team got the first goal. Cries of victory and dismay rang out.


    Once again the ball was dropped between two players, facing each other with intense glares. This time the opposition got the ball rather quickly, and a swarm of boys ran towards the net. Irene leaned even lower, watching the ball for a breakaway. Her team managed to get it and began to drive it back to the other side, only to lose it. The ball came pelting towards the poorly guarded net and she sprung after it, gracelessly extending her stick. She felt it bump the blade of her stick, and was about to send it back into the crowd, but one of the opposing boys had reached her. With a grin on his face, he swung his stick hard at hers, catching the ball between their sticks. His eyes were impish, crescented by a mischievous smile. The boy''s blade ''accidentally'' slipped up her stick, smashing her fingers. It stung! Irene let go with a hiss.


    "Why don''t you just stay on the sidelines?" the boy taunted. Irene curled her lips in and resolutely picked up the hockey stick again. She glanced around for the teacher. He stood at the other end of the gym, having a quick chat with the custodian. Irene sighed and shook her head. She knew it wasn''t an accident, but had no grounds to prove it. While she recomposed herself, there was a holler. Her goalie moodily grabbed the ball out of their net.


    "You''re doing good!" called the PE teacher, returning from his brief conversation.


    Irene continued to endure a few more knuckle slaps, shoves, and hooking whenever the teacher was distracted. Each time she held firm to her stick, and did not leave her post as defense. These boys had not quite understood team strategy, and all wanted to be the stars. They hounded that ball like a pack of dogs, and left their goalie unprotected. Irene observed this and wasn''t going to make that mistake.


    Irene was sore, but she refused to show it. Within the last quarter of the block, a blonde boy with the critical slapshot had broken free from the swarm and was nearing the net. He gripped his hockey stick and swung it back. There was a loud SNAP sound as the blade of his stick slammed into the plastic orange ball, sending it through the air. Irene launched into the path, obstructing the ball. A hot sting and even deeper, robust pain reached her upper thigh. A series of groans followed, but among them was not Irene''s. She bit her lip and stared into the astounded hazel eyes of the boy whose shot she blocked. With the room stunned, Irene took the opportunity to whip the ball back towards the other side of the gym. It rolled and skipped along, until the whole gym burst back into activity.


    Irene remained standing, although shifting the brunt of her weight away from her sore leg. The rest of the game Irene hid the pain, running after the ball when it came near, although she could feel the spot on her thigh swelling. Finally the PE teacher sounded the whistle, and told them to put away the equipment and go change. Irene sighed with relief. The team she was on lost by two goals, but that didn''t matter; she had done her best and that''s all she wanted.


    As Irene carried her stick over to the large plastic barrel they were kept in, she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat beside her.


    "Excuse me..." the boy who had been the source of the welt in her thigh stood there, putting his own stick away.


    "Yes?" Irene asked coldly.


    "I, uh, sorry about your leg. Didn''t mean to hit you, most people just move out of the way," he shrugged as he glanced off to the side. Irene gave a faint nod as she dumped her stick into the bin.


    "I ran in front of it, so of course you weren''t trying to hit me," Irene said with some irritation seeping into her voice. Her thigh was really hurting, and all she wanted at the moment was some ice.


    "It must really hurt... um... oh... by the way, my name''s Jordan," he said, wiping his hand on his shirt before extending it out to her. Irene just glanced at his hand for a moment, and then took it, giving it one single shake and then withdrawing her hand gingerly.


    "Irene."


    "You know, I''m really impressed how you handled yourself. You''re pretty tough for a girl... I mean... not that girls aren''t tough, I just..." Jordan said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Irene just nodded to him impatiently until his words actually sunk in. She softened up a little.


    "Thank you." Irene gave a brief smile. "I need to get changed," Irene''s eyes flicked towards the clock on the wall, then back at him. He nodded and glanced at the doorway. She turned and headed across the gym, and Jordan followed her.


    "Well, um, would you like to sit with me at lunch?" he asked. Irene sighed as she briskly walked towards the change rooms.


    "I suppose." Irene entered girl''s change room, leaving Jordan standing there dumbly.


    ~~~


    Irene sat on the floor, re-reading a card Jordan had sent her. She didn''t trust him at first. However, her life had started to look up then. She had been fairly negative through middle school, but getting to know him made her a little more hopeful. Life did not, on any account, become easier, but more bearable. Irene sighed and set the card back into her drawer. It almost fumbled from her hand again. She needed to get to the hospital... but she was afraid.


    "What... what am I going to do?" Irene asked out loud, her stomach flopping as she looked at her bandaged hand again. She could try to clean the wound, but she felt squeamish every time she thought of unraveling those bandages and seeing it. But she couldn''t just ignore it.


    Irene padded barefoot down the hallway to the bathroom. She hesitantly untied the ends of the bandages and slowly unravelled them, her stomach churning, and her heart beating fast. A tickling sensation came into her gut as the bandages reached the end. Finally, she tore the rest of it off, and prepared herself for the horrible sight. Instead, she just saw a fleshy knob. Irene stared at her hand, moving it to look at the clean stub at all angles. The bandages were only mildly bloody.


    Irene caught a sight of herself in the mirror. She realized, with a bit of dismay, she looked a few years older. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her entire face was looking much more gaunt. Her hair, greasy and matted, hung limply on her head, sticking to itself in a mess of tangles, and her complexion wasn''t as consistent as it used to be. Irene brought up her hands, examining them. The veins were beginning to show. Irene raked her teeth over her chapped lips. Perhaps, after a shower, she wouldn''t look so fatigued.


    After a soothing hot shower, Irene stood in front of the steamy mirror, combing through her squeaky clean hair. She took a dry cloth and began to wipe away at the mirror so she could see herself in it. It took a while, but eventually there was a clear circle, with steam still lingering around the outside, creating a vignette effect. The shower brought some colour back into her face, but otherwise, she still looked unwell. Irene sighed and grabbed the blow dryer.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    When Irene returned to her room, she heard voices. She froze up outside the door, and slowly leaned closer to the door, putting her ear against it. After listening, she flushed with embarrassment. It was just her alarm clock radio going off. She stepped into her room and got changed, listening to the radio finish up with the weather report.


    "Thank you, Tom, for that report. Good to know the sun will be shining, especially in such dark times. The ongoing investigation of a missing girl in her late teens continues," the anchor said. Irene paused tucking in her shirt and glanced over at the radio. "...the only trace found of her was a single finger discovered in the basement of an old warehouse in the industrial district. Irene Locklyn has been missing since the report of her and-"


    "Oh... Merle!" Irene exclaimed. How could she have forgotten that her friend had been taken too? Irene leaned in closer to the radio, turning it up.


    "-Merle Crowe were reported kidnapped outside of the local Vice Cream when a man grabbed both of them at gunpoint. Miss Crowe has since been recovered, but no further details about her condition have been released. The suspect has not been spotted since the event. If anyone has any leads at all, please contact the local police department. There is an anonymous hotline that can be called to leave a tip." The radio then began to describe the suspect and the car he was driving.


    Irene turned off the radio. Merle had gotten out, but at what cost? If only she could see her, and tell her NOT to mention the vampires. What if she had already? Irene began pacing. The authorities knew she was missing a finger. How would she explain the rapid healing? Damn it, Cyrus! Even when you save me you make things difficult. Irene considered her options. She could immediately contact the police and show that she was fine, and tell them what happened except for the part where the offenders were vampires. She could hide for a while until she felt enough time had passed for her finger to have healed over. She could flee and never return, but that would leave her father believing that she was lost forever. Or she could go to the police, tell them there are vampires, and get evaluated for a psychiatric disorder she doesn''t have. She idly wondered to herself if she''d be safe from the vampires in the psyche ward of the hospital.


    Irene continued to pace in her room like a restless tiger in a cage. She could not think of a single option that did not cause her to shudder. All she saw were the tangles of problems that would crop up with almost every solution. She didn''t see her father much as it was, so would it really change his situation much? Merle and her were already drifting apart due the large gap of maturity and temperament between them, so why not just end it all? Why not just flee? Jordan''s parents would be relieved if she left. Jordan himself would be upset, but even he was on the verge of pushing her away. Sentiment aside, her largest practical concern was the lack of money. Another thought crept into her mind. Cyrus always had cash. What if she were to sneak in while he was out or sleeping and take some? Irene had never stolen anything since her preschool days. However, these were mitigating circumstances. Yet, could she really just leave the mess for others to clean up?


    Irene drew in a large breath. Perhaps, as much as she hated the idea, she really should ask Cyrus for his advice. She wouldn''t have to explain the situation to him as he WAS the situation. His attitudes and perspective appalled her, but she also supposed that he had a few lifetimes of experience..


    <hr>


    Irene stood hesitantly at the door that led into the basement. Every time she had a conversation with Cyrus, she usually left it with feelings of rage or anxiety. She had always been proud of the control she had over her emotions, but Cyrus had humbled her in that regard. He seemed to undo all the years of hard work of controlling her reactions to her emotions. Every time she left him, she felt mentally and emotionally exhausted. Irene took a deep breath and braced herself for the inevitable.


    Cyrus lay sprawled across the basement bed, sleeping. His pale complexion was even more jarring seeing the white skin flow along his entire torso. There were bruises and lacerations from the vicious fight, but they were already healing. Even marred by battle, his sculpted body brought to mind an image of Grecian statues. He certainly was as still as a statue. The effect was uncanny and disturbing.


    Irene stood up and turned away, changing her mind. Just as she took a step, she heard the springs in the old mattress. She turned her head and saw that he had propped himself up on his elbows. He stared at her intently, and though his lips did not stretch across his china white face, there was a smug twinkle in his eyes.


    ¡°How are you feeling¡­?¡±


    Irene stood and stared dumbly at him. There was no sly remark, no teasing, and no facetiousness to his tone. The inquiry actually sounded sincere. Irene stood for a moment, her eyes fixed on him. ¡°I¡­¡± she began to say. What would she say? She had trained herself to always tell people she was fine, but she knew there was no point in lying to him. She glanced down at where her finger had been. She was not fine. Irene coughed. ¡°I know it will take some getting used to."


    Cyrus¡¯s eyes swept over to her hand, and then glided up to her face again. ¡°You¡¯re resilient. I¡¯m sure it will soon feel normal.¡± Cyrus sat up, swinging his legs over the bed, and rested his bare elbows on his knees. ¡°Good to see you up and about. I was worried you¡¯d go into another long sulking period.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± Irene warned in a steely tone. Cyrus raised his fine black eyebrows at her and gave a short chuckle. Irene continued to fix a glare at him. So it was starting, then? Irene perched her hands on her waist, trying to look assertive.


    ¡°So what can I do for you today?¡± Cyrus asked without missing a beat. He tilted his head to the side, a smirk slowly climbing lazily up his right cheek.


    ¡°First, I¡¯d like to thank you for getting me home,¡± Irene said through gritted teeth. Once it was out, she felt a bit of relief sooth her burning chest. Cyrus seemed to enjoy her forced gratitude, and his smile broadened while his eyes narrowed.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. It¡¯s good to see you¡¯ve finally come around. Having a vampire on your side isn¡¯t such a bad thing after all, is it?¡± Cyrus''s words tumbled over her, and that small bit of gratitude she felt began to drown amidst it all. Irene began to think spiteful things and was in her right mind to take back her appreciation and leave¡­ but she was beginning to realize that her pride was misplaced. Taking in another deep breath, filling her lungs to their capacity, she let it out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She could feel her discontent heart thumping against her ribs.


    ¡°Do not get me wrong, Cyrus, I am not taking back everything I¡¯ve said about you. I just know I owe you gratitude for coming and¡­ and¡­ rescuing me. Now I just wish there was someone who could rescue me from you!¡± Irene blurted. Her eyes darted wildly about the room, and then laid upon Cyrus apprehensively. He had made it clear a few times already what he was capable of doing to her. However, there was no look of anger. Instead the comment rolled off of his back. He let out another one of his amused chuckles and slapped his knee.


    ¡°I guess I was getting ahead of myself. Alright, alright, you¡¯ve made your point,¡± Cyrus said. However, looking closer into his eyes, she could see that twinkle that usually lit up was not present. There was something tired and dull about them, and almost impatient. Irene raked the bumpy contours of her teeth against her chapped lip. She had said it, and was not going to take it back. Unkind words could never be taken back, and yet, kind words were all too easily exchanged for contempt.


    ¡°I do not want to be a part of this anymore,¡± Irene placed her hands upon her hips, trying to bulk up as much determination as she could. Yet the look in his eye made a hollow chill run through her. ¡°The kidnappings, the torture! I know it will only get worse until¡­ until¡­¡± Irene shook her head as tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, pursing her lips into a thin line. She glanced down at her hand again, and that was where she fell. She felt as though her spine turned to jelly, and she slid to the floor, sobbing heavily. It was as if the full realization of her situation had finally hit her. She knew it was a bad one, but the dark possibilities of what Gabriel or Cyrus may do to her flooded her mind. It was all real, and she felt trapped and afraid.


    ¡°Hey now don¡¯t fall apart on me!¡± came Cyrus¡¯s voice like a jackhammer, thundering through her veil of anguish. She glared up at him through puffy red eyes, anger building once again in her at the mere sight of him! Her lower lip stuck out, revealing her tightly clenched teeth. All she could see was violence being done to Cyrus, to see him, for once, the victim! To see him for once, afraid. To see him for once, trapped, and oppressed. These thoughts swirled in her mind, and she was unable to speak, for no words could properly express her feelings.


    Cyrus walked over and squatted in front of her. His eyebrows furrowed and the smile faded from his face. ¡°Listen to me Irene. It has been a long time since I¡¯ve been young, since I¡¯ve been mortal, since I¡¯ve been in a state like yours. You think I don¡¯t understand? Well, I don¡¯t." He paused for a moment, seeming to gauge her reaction - which was unchanged. "I¡¯ve been beaten down and stripped of everything but the barest shreds of humanity. I have always learned to cope with laughter¡­ though I don''t imagine you''d ever take that up. You are just too serious,¡± Cyrus said in a sober tone. Irene¡¯s eyes flashed at him. Too serious? Who wouldn¡¯t be serious in her situation? ¡°Look here, there is only one way to move, and that is forward. It will be hard, but you¡¯ll adapt. That is why I admire you. You are just a mortal girl, and yet, at the same time, you are no ordinary human. That said, you are only human. And there are vampires out there, and you''ve made an enemy of them. You need me.¡±


    Irene almost felt some tenderness from Cyrus, as he was offering her a heartfelt pep talk. But then it ended in the same place. ¡°You¡¯re just saying that!¡± Irene accused with her chin quivering. ¡°You are just saying that to keep me here! You are just saying that to make me afraid! You¡¯re the one who needs me! It¡¯s you who needs me!¡± Irene insisted, and even as part of her knew these were irrational words, they kept issuing forth from her mouth.


    ¡°Quite right. Been considering going insane for the last decade or so, but then I met you, and well, I figure it might be worth keeping my senses about me a bit longer,¡± Cyrus said in response to her accusations, his voice dripping with sarcasm.


    ¡°How long will you hound me? Until I am an old crazy woman with a house full of cats?¡±


    ¡°Better lay off the cats, they give me gas.¡±


    Silence. Irene was too affronted to speak. She remembered when he''d threatened to eat her cat, and was terrified he would harm Silver one day. Her hands shook with rage, and he had the gall to resume smirking at her. Finally Irene made a sound. No coherent word came from her blanched lips. Instead she issued a loud screech of frustration as she sprang to her feet and stormed across the basement floor.


    Cyrus called out to her. ¡°Remember my warning!¡±


    Irene heard him, but was too angry to even think of a coherent response. She kept going and stormed up the stairs.


    Irene stomped into her room and launched onto her bed. It groaned and squeaked under the sudden impact of her flung body. Irene grabbed her pillow and forced her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. She tried to remember what had possessed her to go down there in the first place. Then the memory of her previous plans had crept back to her. What was I doing asking him for help? She knew she¡¯d only leave angry, and she hated being this emotional.


    Sigh.


    Irene was still upset, but tiredness was now overpowering her emotion. Irene rolled onto her back, hugging her pillow tight. She wanted to believe he was just trying to scare her into staying, but perhaps it would be wise, until she could be more sure, not to leave. If he was telling the truth, then this problem would follow her everywhere. Dismally, she wondered if she¡¯d ever be free of her entanglement with vampires.

 Chapter 23 - Tightrope Walking Without a Net

    Irene paused outside of the police station. It was her intention to reveal herself, but staring at the old building with its stone steps and glass doors, her resolve crumbled. Now that she was faced with the reality of inevitable probing questions, she could not do it.


    With a brimming well of anxiety throbbing in her veins, Irene took flight. She didn¡¯t care where she was running; she just needed to flee. There wasn''t any sense to be made of her actions, and in her state of mind, rationality was as foreign as distant stars.


    Irene finally stopped and leaned over, placing her hands on her knees. There were no thoughts in her head. The only thing she was aware of was her panting and beating heart. Gradually, she lifted her head and stared at the large, brown building, with a large sign bearing a red cross. Another gust of anxiety hit her. Deep down she wanted to visit Jordan so he at least knew she was safe, but it was risky to go inside. Irene heaved a deep sigh. I might as well get it over with.


    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m here to see Jordan Fisher,¡± Irene stated as she went to grab the chained pen, knowing she¡¯d need to sign in. However, the lady to whom she spoke lifted her plump, red face and stared at her. Here it came, Irene thought to herself. There would be that look of recognition, and no doubt the woman would probe her with questions, and then phone the police. Irene had not anticipated that there was another reason for the woman''s consternation. It was¡­


    ¡°Jordan Fisher was transferred to another hospital last night. I''m afraid I can''t give you any more details than that.¡±


    Blood contracted from Irene''s extremities, rushing to her delayed heart. Her mouth became dry, and she tried to speak, but only interrupted syllables came out. Why would Jordan be transferred so suddenly? The only conclusion Irene could come to was that greater complications arose that the local hospital was not equipped to deal with. Irene looked around as though expecting to see someone walk over and correct the receptionist and inform her it was a clerical error. When no such person came, she stared down at the woman''s hands, which hovered over a keyboard.


    ¡°But they said he was getting better!¡± Irene finally managed to say. The woman just shook her head.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± was all that was said. Irene wanted to shake her and demand more information, but even in her distress, she knew the woman could not tell her. Irene hung her head, feeling her legs and hands trembling. Jordan was her last line of defense, her last bastion against the encroaching darkness. What if she never saw him again? Irene was so drawn into her own miserable worries that she did not hear the whispering all around her, nor did she notice people pointing and staring.


    ¡°Is that you, Ms. Locklyn?¡± like lightning piercing the sky, the voice struck through the darkness she had receded into. Irene shakily raised her head, staring at the people all around her. She cautiously nodded her head and instantly the whole room became animated. There were voices and faces, but Irene could not focus on them. They were fussing over her; her missing finger was a matter of inquiry. Irene just nodded or shook her head reflexively to questions and instructions. Everything was a blur right up until there were police speaking with her. She wasn¡¯t really sure when they arrived, but she was so deep in herself that it hardly mattered.


    Irene didn¡¯t really awaken to everything around her until she was being led into a private hospital room. ¡°We just need to ask you a few questions in a more private place¡­ and process you, alright? There¡¯s a good girl, just come along,¡± a middle aged man said. His arms were thick and looked fairly strong, although he guided her gently towards a bed. A nurse and his younger partner accompanied him. Irene remained quiet as the two officers said a few things among themselves. The younger man glanced at Irene, and then walked out of the room.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± the man asked. Irene nodded dismally. Wasn¡¯t this what she had fled from? However, she had no desire to run anymore. She just sat there, trying to digest the alarming news. Irene always tried to not need Jordan, but now with him gone when she needed him most, she realized she was only fooling herself.  What if he dies not knowing how much she really cared? What if he thinks I am dead?


    "As I said before, I''m Sergeant Emmerson from the MCU." He then gestured to the swarthy nurse accompanying him. "This is Marci Simmons, she is a forensic nurse. She''ll collect personal evidence and make a record of your injuries."


    "We''ll need your clothes for evidence. If you could please take them off and put them into this paper bag and then put on this gown?" the nurse Simmons instructed. Irene closed the screen and quickly removed her clothes. It didn''t occur to her to tell them she''d already showered and changed clothes since the incident. She just followed instructions while her brain continued to process.


    During the processing another woman entered the room who was too sharply dressed to be hospital staff. She was middle-aged with her dirty-blonde hair twisted into a bun and carried a briefcase. "You couldn''t wait for me to arrive?" She looked at the sergeant and nurse both critically. She then turned to Irene, forcing on a smile. "Hello Miss Locklyn, my name is Mrs. Gloria Evans. I am a social worker, and will be acting in your interests since we have been unable to reach your father. If at any point you become uncomfortable, let me know."


    "Alright," Irene intoned. What evidence would they find? Irene recalled that Merle was fond of crime mysteries, but Irene didn''t watch a lot of them. Irene groaned inwardly as her thoughts turned to Merle.


    "Is something the matter?" Mrs. Evans asked. Irene''s shook her head ''no''.


    "Could you tell me what happened to your finger?" The questions had begun. Irene didn''t mind them collecting evidence, but the questions made her insides churn. She was silent for a moment, but the officer stood there patiently.


    "It was removed¡­" Irene muttered. Emerson pulled up a chair at the foot of her bed and leaned closer while Simmons was taking some photographs.


    "By who?" Emerson prompted. Irene sighed, looking at her hand with the missing finger. The wrists were still bruised. She hated the sight of it, and quickly put it down, a shiver going down her spine.


    Gently, Nurse Simmons asked her to hold out her hands palms up, then palms down, taking pictures of both positions. Irene chewed her lower lip. Emerson never took his eyes off of her. Mrs. Evans kept circulating glances between Irene, Marci, and the detective, but she remained silent and took notes. "It¡­ I can''t¡­ telling you is pointless."


    "No it isn''t. We''ll find whoever did this, and we''ll make sure it doesn''t happen to anyone else," Emmerson said softly, his eyes glancing over at Marci. She glanced up and nodded, giving a reassuring smile. She was back at her kit, grabbing some small paper envelopes.


    "Don''t push her. She doesn''t have to tell you everything if she isn''t ready," Gloria cautioned.


    Emmerson sighed and nodded.


    "How long ago did this happen?" Marci looked over the scar tissue where Irene''s finger had been with evident confusion on her face.


    "¡­I¡­. Um¡­ I''m not sure..." Irene stammered. Time had become immaterial and immeasurable in these last weeks.


    "How about we focus on when you and your friend were taken from the Vice Cream," Emmerson requested in as pleasant a tone he could muster considering the circumstances. That was a point of reference that Irene could work with.


    "Okay." Irene paused, lowering her chin and eyes darting about as she organised her thoughts. "Merle and I walked to the Vice Cream after school," Irene began. Marci quietly requested her hands again, and began to scrape beneath Irene''s fingernails. "We argued and I left. Merle followed me. As I was leaving I heard a gunshot. I saw a man with a rifle, and he fired again, I think. I know he fired a couple of times, but I don''t think he hit anyone. He ordered Merle and I into the car; Merle first, then me."


    It amazed Irene how she could talk about the encounter so calmly. Pressure was felt on her shoulder; Gloria was patting her shoulder reassuringly. At first, Irene wanted to slap her hand away, but she let it be. Irene watched as Nurse Simmons sealed and put away the trace that she collected.


    Detective Emerson rubbed his chin. "Could you describe the man?"


    "He had dark wavy hair. Caucasian male. He wore a black trench coat and a shirt with a skull on it. I remember him being called Matthew." Irene said. Emerson leaned forward, seeming excited to find a lead.


    "Matthew? Any last name? And who called him that?" Emerson asked eagerly. Irene put out her hands.


    "Just a moment¡­ I''ll get to that¡­" Irene said. She looked at her hands as she held them out, and watched them shake. She bit her lip for a moment, trying to get back to where she was. "We were taken to an empty church parking lot. I''m sorry, but I don''t remember which one, but I think it was one of the ones on First Avenue. Then we were blindfolded and forced into a different car. It was something sporty with four doors and a dark red paint, but I don''t really know much about cars. I didn''t get a license plate number, either. We then were led into some sort of warehouse. I remember hearing the way footsteps echoed, and how the air felt so cold and damp. We were led down some stairs into a warmer room. That is where I heard his name," Irene recounted. She was starting to finally feel the anxiety as she brought herself to the part of the story that Gabriel was introduced.


    "Thus far that matches your friend''s description. But, her account isn''t entirely¡­"


    "She''s not crazy, sir," Irene interrupted.


    Emmerson straightened up, raising his eyebrows again. "She told us that vampires kidnapped her."


    "Don''t distress her, Sergeant," Gloria interceded.


    Detective Emerson leaned forward. "We don''t think she''s crazy, we just in shock. Please, continue," he urged. Irene gave him a baleful stare.


    "Fine. I recognized the other man''s voice. Our blindfolds were lifted," she paused, chewing on her lip again. The thoughts of Gabriel still sent shivers down her spine. If they didn''t, then she''d begin to worry that she was the crazy one. "He¡­ he was the one who¡­ who was responsible for the deaths of the other girls¡­"


    "The other girls?" the officer asked. Irene looked away while Emerson and Simmons exchanged glances. "What other girls?"


    "Katie, Tina, and Ashley! I was there, but I was too afraid to say anything," Irene said bitterly.


    Emerson cleared his throat. "Miss Locklyn, Tina overdosed, and Katie drowned. But anything you might know about Ashley..."


    "No! All four of us were abducted earlier this fall. They staged their deaths!" Irene insisted.


    "Who are they? Who did this?" Emerson asked, leaning forward. Gloria shook her head, shooting him a warning look, and he straightened up, giving Irene space.


    "I''m not really sure how to describe the men. I didn''t actually see what happened to them - the other girls I mean. But I heard them screaming while I was brought to their boss¡­"


    "Boss¡­? Why don''t you tell me about this boss," Emerson asked.


    "His name is Gabriel. I don''t have a last name."


    "Why don''t you describe him to us?"


    "I''ll do my best. Let''s see." As nerve wracking as it was, Irene conjured the image of Gabriel in her mind, her heart racing. She took some deep breaths until her heart began to slow back down. "He is tall. Definitely over six feet. He has a squarish jaw and pale skin. Clean shaven. His hair is long and blonde and straight, it reaches past the shoulders. His eyes are very pale blue. He has broad shoulders. He speaks with a hint of an accent and I''ve heard him say some phrases in French. At least, I think it''s French. I never took French past grade eight," Irene derailed herself.


    "That''s a fairly good description; it will be very helpful. So how about we back track to when you, Tina, Katie, and Ashley were kidnapped," Emerson requested. Irene sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, not caring that she was only wearing a hospital gown. They had shaken her tree, and she just let the information tumble out.


    "I was on my way home. I was walking along Sleepy Hollow, uh I can''t think which cross street. It was dark and overcast. A man grabbed me and..." Irene reached to her neck, remembering the vice-like grip he had. "He knocked me out. I didn''t get a good look at him. I woke up in a room with Tina, Ashley, and Katie. We all realized that we lived in the same area. Later, we were led into a room and told to get into a line. I was singled out from the rest of the girls and brought into another room, and interrogated about things¡­ things I didn''t know anything about. He cut me and left me bleeding. I passed out and awoke in the hospital¡­" Irene recounted in a tone bereft of expression. How could she work Cyrus into that story without telling them that he is a vampire? Irene rubbed her arms. "I... I lied to the doctor about how I got the knife wound, because I was scared. I said it was a drunken accident with some of my friends."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "So, were you interrogated again by this Gabriel? Is that how you lost your finger?" Emerson asked.


    "Yes," Irene simply said, preferring to keep it simple. Emerson leaned back.


    "Irene¡­ if there is something you are into, it''s alright to tell us. If this is about a gang, or drugs, we won''t charge you if you give us more information," Emerson said. Irene shook her head.


    "Now hold on. Before that line of questioning goes any further, Irene needs proper legal representation," Gloria butted in.


    "Hey, if she wants to talk, it''d do all of us some good," Emerson responded, looking irritated.


    "If this leads back to any organized crime, I don''t want her name on record anywhere! She is vulnerable and I won''t put her at any further risk!" Gloria insisted in a voice like a whip.


    "No, it''s fine, I''ll answer. I''m not on drugs or in a gang. The only thing I did wrong was be in the wrong place at the wrong time," Irene responded, unfolding herself slowly. "I can''t say anything more¡­ I just can''t. Please just leave me alone now."


    "Are you sure you don''t have anything else to-"


    "She said she is done, sergeant. And you will respect her wishes and NOT bully her." Gloria cut in.


    "I''m not bullying her! I''m just doing my job," Emmerson responded defensively.


    "As am I. Now, would you please excuse yourselves?" Gloria stood up.


    "Alright already. Ms. Simmons will run a few tests and check a few more things out, alright? Speaking of which," he turned and caught Marci''s eye. There was a look of understanding between them and Emerson snapped his notebook shut, tucking it away in his pocket. "I''ll leave you ladies alone." Emerson gave everyone a respectful nod before departing.


    Nurse Simmons glanced at Gloria, then looked tenderly at Irene. "I understand you are getting tired, and this is emotional for you, but is there anything else that has been done to you?"


    Irene stared at her blankly. She folded her arms over her chest, glancing away. "¡­No, I don''t think so. Nothing other than what I already told you¡­"


    "I see¡­ even if that''s all, would you still consent if I took a look for any other wounds?" Nurse. Simmons asked. "I''d need you to remove your robe, and would need to photograph and document any..."


    "No!" Irene said forcefully, shaking her head. Simmons seemed slightly startled by her abrupt refusal. Before she could say anything, Irene glanced up and looked her in the eye. "I don''t consent!"


    "Irene¡­ I understand it''s frightening, but it would be best if we were to examine you, to help catch the offender, and for your own health," Simmons said, trying to keep a balance of firmness and tenderness in her tone. Irene shook her head again.


    "This is enough. You asked for her consent, and she has refused" Gloria chimed in, looking at Ms. Simmons crossly.


    "It IS frightening!" Irene exclaimed. "These men have stripped away my sense of security, my dignity, and my hope! I was treated like some animal. I don''t need people gawking at me like a puzzle to solve, taking notes, taking pictures! What I need is my privacy back! My boundaries!"


    Nurse Simmons gave Irene a sad nod. Irene covered her eyes with her hand, feeling exposed and vulnerable and hating every moment of it. "It''s all right now, Irene. You are safe." Gloria reassured.


    "I want to go home!" Irene said loudly. "I can''t deal with any of this, please let me go home!"


    Gloria stood up and went behind Irene, placing her hands protectively on her shoulders. Irene really wished she wouldn''t touch her, but didn''t say anything. After a moment or two, Simmons sighed. "I''m sorry. The doctor does need to see you before we can discharge you, though." Simmons passed Irene a card. "If you think of anything, call this number. And this here is your case-file ID. Make sure you keep it in a safe place."


    Irene nodded and took the card. She had little choice but to sit there and await a doctor''s decision. Gloria loosened her gargoyle-like grip and sat down on a chair by Irene, while the nurse took the regular gamut of vitals before leaving. Irene looked uneasily at Gloria. Irene just wanted to be alone.


    "I''m sorry that was so hard on you Irene." Gloria took Irene''s hands in her own, frowning sympathetically. Irene didn''t like the feeling of her hands, they were cool and a bit clammy. "As soon as the doctor has seen you, I''ll drive you to your house. I understand your father is out of town. We can''t let you stay home alone in these circumstances..."


    Irene did not like where this was going. Forgetting about what dwelt in her basement, she wanted to be home. She wanted to be alone. Why did she have to come to the hospital? Why? "My father will be home in a few days. I can take care of myself."


    "I''m sorry, but for everyone''s sake I must follow protocol." Gloria said, rubbing the back of Irene''s hand. Irene winced, and Gloria quickly let go. Her wrists were still raw from the shackles. "This is what will happen. I will personally take you to your house. There, you can gather some clothes and other personal items. Then I will take you to a safehouse for youth, where you will stay until your father comes and collects you. Victim Services will be in contact with you, providing counseling and legal support." Gloria explained. Irene''s countenance fell into despondency. Perhaps this safehouse would keep her out of Gabriel''s reach for a time. Maybe it was best. But there were other concerns weighing heavily upon Irene.


    "Is Merle also in a safehouse?" Irene asked. Gloria looked uncomfortable as she shook her head.


    "I can''t divulge another minor''s details. I''m sorry," Gloria responded.


    Irene dug her teeth into her lower lip. "Please. For my own sake, I need to know that she is safe," Irene pressed.


    "Merle is safe," Gloria reassured. Irene squinted, not satisfied with that statement.


    "I need to see her myself. Is she at home? Can you take me there before we go to the safehouse?" Irene was tired of letting things go. She was going to get her answers, and she was going to make sure her friend was taken care of.


    "I''m sorry but I can''t-"


    "Well then I''ll phone her mother and ask. NURSE!" Irene cut Mrs. Evans off, standing up.


    "Irene, please! It won''t do you any good, her mother won''t answer!" Gloria blurted out. Irene sat down again, looking attentively at Gloria.


    "What do you mean, her mother won''t answer?" Irene asked guardedly. Gloria sighed.


    "You didn''t hear it from me, but Merle is in Surrey, getting specialized care," Gloria reluctantly shared. Mrs. Evans'' brown eyes darted side to side, her thin red lips tugging down into a frown. "Now, please settle down Irene. Both of you are going to be taken care of."


    Everyone was being sent away. Her father left on a sudden business trip. Jordan was transferred to another facility, likely in Vancouver. And now Merle had been taken to Surrey. All of this seemed too much to just be a coincidence. Irene eyed Gloria suspiciously. Did Gabriel have connections to the police? To the medical industry? Even in social services? Is that how he''d managed to break his own rules about who he fed on? Just how connected was Gabriel? Irene began to shake. Was she being led into another trap?


    But what could she do? She couldn''t just run off. No. Not without somewhere to run to. What if she broke the truth open so widely, that it couldn''t be ignored or explained away? Irene sat back down on the bed, searching Gloria''s face for guilt or doubt. Seeing that searching look, Gloria raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.


    "Are we okay, now, Irene?" Gloria asked. Irene nodded mechanically as the gears began to turn.


    "Yes. But I have a request. Could you go see if that nurse... um... Simmons was it? Could you see if she is still here? I want to talk to her," Irene asked, watching Gloria''s face very carefully.


    Gloria''s eyes widened briefly, and she saw a flash of lines on her forehead before she smoothed her face out. "I don''t think that''d be a very good idea just now, Irene. You still seem agitated," Gloria said calmly.


    Irene shook her head. "I''ll be agitated until I can get this off my chest," Irene snapped.


    "Then you can tell me, Irene. You can trust me," Gloria insisted. "And if I think Sgt. Emerson ought to know, I will forward it along."


    Irene shook her head vehemently. "No. I want to talk to her. Her specifically."


    Gloria sighed. For just a moment, Irene thought she saw fear in the woman''s eyes. Fear? But Gloria smiled, resigned as she nodded. "I''ll go see..."


    Irene stood up and walked past Gloria. "No, I''ll go..."


    "Irene, you need to wait for the doctor!" Gloria insisted. Irene stepped out into the hall, looking around.


    "Nurse? Nurse! Hi. Sorry, can you see if Nurse Simmons is still here? I need to talk to her! It''s important!" The nurse looked like a deer caught in headlights, as if not quite sure what she should do. She could see her looking beyond her, and Irene looked over at her shoulder, where Gloria was shaking her head. Another nurse who was in the hall smiled at Irene.


    "I''ll go and fetch her," the second nurse said obligingly. Gloria couldn''t stop her, and the first nurse just shook her head in exasperation and continued about her job. Irene strode back into the examination room she was in, readjusting the ties on her hospital gown before sitting back down. Gloria stood by the door, arms crossed, expression pensive.


    "What have they threatened you with?" Irene asked bluntly.


    "I''m sorry, what?" Gloria asked, startled by Irene''s question.


    "You''re scared, and you have been trying to keep me from talking too much. So what are you being threatened with?" Irene asked. Gloria stared at Irene a while longer. She saw a few dimples form in her chin and a quiver of the woman''s lower lip before she regained control. Her eyebrows raised, but her eyes were half lidded.


    "I don''t know what you are implying, Irene. I am just protecting you from a system that will steamroll anyone to get their answers. Minors are too often taken advantage of," Gloria insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "You''re the one who is in danger, Irene, not me."


    Irene stared at Gloria a while longer. The woman tried to look disarming, but as Irene''s gaze remained on her, her face hardened. "Alright," Irene relented. "I guess I''m just seeing dangers that aren''t there..." Irene said, casting a glance to the side.


    "That''s normal. Just tell me how I can better reassure you, Irene," Gloria said as tenderly as she could, but there was a small catch in her voice. Irene didn''t look at her. Gloria Evans had something to hide, of that Irene was certain.


    "I don''t know," Irene responded blandly as she tugged at her gown to make sure it covered her knees.


    Soon, Nurse Simmons returned, peering curiously at Irene. "You asked for me to come back?"


    "Yes!" Irene''s demeanour towards the forensic nurse improved significantly. She held up her hand where the finger was missing. "The finger that they found in the warehouse, it''s fresh, right?"


    Marci Simmons looked uncomfortable. Gloria quickly looked down, her hands clasping together tightly over her briefcase handle. Marci cleared her throat. "That''s what I heard, but I''m not an investigator, just a forensic nurse."


    "How long would it take for a wound like that to heal?" Irene asked.


    "Two to six weeks, depending on various factors," Marci answered in a matter-of-fact tone.


    "So I can''t have lost my finger recently. In all the samples you took, you have my DNA, right?" Irene further asked.


    "Yes," Marci responded, waiting for Irene to get to her point.


    "Irene, you really shouldn''t be wasting Nurse Simmons'' time. She already told you she''s doesn''t have all the details of the case," Gloria warned, an edge creeping into her voice. Irene gave her a sideglance, but then focused back on Marci. Marci put up a hand.


    "It''s fine. Go on, Irene."


    "The finger will match my DNA," Irene said confidently. Marci and Gloria looked at each other. Gloria laughed and Marci looked uncomfortable.


    "Oh, I''m sorry, that was inappropriate of me," Gloria said, covering her mouth with her hand. "But that''s impossible, isn''t it, Nurse?"


    "It is." Marci frowned.


    "Irene, I know you''ve been through a lot. If you were abducted a previous time, it''s very possible you are conflating the two incidents, and your finger was removed earlier," Marci said, worry lines etched upon her brown brow.


    "I was admitted here with septicemia after my last abduction. I had all of my fingers then," Irene refuted.


    Gloria drew in a sharp breath. "Perhaps we should get her evaluated, nurse. She''s not making sense," Gloria said quietly, eyeing Irene.


    "I''m not crazy."


    "No, of course you aren''t, but you''ve been through a lot," Gloria said soothingly.


    "Yes, I have, and none of you have any idea just all that''s happened." Irene sighed and looked around, her hands folded in her lap. "Meet us at my house, Nurse. There''s some evidence there I think you should collect."


    Marci''s almond-shaped eyes shifted side to side as she chewed on her full lower lip. Gloria shook her head and rose to her feet. "This is highly irregular, Irene," Gloria chided.


    "Please, Nurse Simmons. I need you to visit me at my house before sundown before I can go to the safehouse. Time is of the essence," Irene urged.


    "Irene, this goes against protocol. She needs to call in a team and make arrangements, and I also need to stick to the plan. Nurse Simmons isn''t trained to collect evidence from a scene, only from victims," Gloria insisted. Her knuckles went pale as she gripped her briefcase handle even tighter.


    "No, no, I can radio the boys and let them know. If Irene has something to share, a forensic team can meet Irene-"


    "No. It has to be you, Nurse Simmons. It has to be you!" Irene insisted. Irene was taking a risk in trusting anyone, but Marci seemed interested enough in the truth without being too keen, suggesting to Irene that Marci wasn''t involved. She could not be sure about anyone else.


    "Irene..." Nurse Simmons sighed, her eyes dropping and brow furrowed. She appeared conflicted, but she finally nodded. "Alright, I can meet you at your house."


    Gloria frowned, but did not argue further. She stared out a window for a moment and then looked back at Irene and Marci. "Alright then. But you still need to wait for the doctor..."


    "Speak of the devil," Marci said as a man wearing gray scrubs walked in.


    "I''m a devil now, am I?" the doctor asked, breaking the tension with a charming smile.


    After rushing the gauntlet of medical questions, and a quick check up, the doctor was satisfied that Irene did not need to extend her stay and could be released into the custody of social services. He gave her a prescription for an ointment for her wrists, cautionary antibiotics, and discharged her.


    "Ready?" Gloria asked once Irene had changed into some scrubs she was given, since her clothes were in evidence. Irene looked at Marci, who nodded to her.


    "I''ll meet you there," Marci said. Irene then nodded to Gloria. And the three of them left the hospital.

 Chapter 24 - Glorious Tantrum

    The sun was just starting to set when Gloria and Irene arrived at her house. Gloria''s mannerisms left Irene feeling both uncomfortable and a bit perplexed. However, she just wanted to get inside and put her plan into action. Her stomach fluttered, as she knew she was escalating an already volatile situation. But she was tired of waiting.


    "Are you really sure you want to let these people into your home? You said you wanted your privacy back, and once you let them in, they take liberties," Gloria warned as Irene swung the car door open.


    "I won''t have any privacy at a safehouse, either," Irene muttered. She squinted at her front door. Some curiosity, and some vengeance, had fuelled her resolve. Pausing, standing with her hand on the car door, Irene watched as a white sedan pulled up behind them.


    "What did you want to show me?" Simmons asked as she stepped out of vehicle. Irene tilted her head towards the front door. Simmons hesitated, but then grabbed her cellphone. "I''m just updating Emmerson."


    Gloria crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows, staring off into the distance. The briefcase was left in the car, but now she had a large purse slung across her shoulder. Once Marci ended her call, Irene looked at her. "I guess it would be protocol to wait for him to arrive?" Irene asked, staring at the overcast sky. "It will be dark soon..."


    "It is¡­ but sometimes we need to be flexible for victims," Simmons responded, drawing her words out with some uncertainty. "Alright. Show me what you need to show me."


    As Irene fought with the lock, the two women waited, giving each other surreptitiously hostile glances. Am I doing the right thing? Irene shook off the thought. Agonizing over right and wrong no longer seemed relevant; she had little left to lose but her life. "I don''t know if he is there¡­ but he usually is¡­"


    "Who?" Simmons asked, a bit of alarm showing in her face. Irene looked at Simmons.


    "Irene, is there someone else living with you? It''s not on any of our records," Gloria asked, seeming equally concerned.


    "Do you wonder why I am still alive?" Irene asked. Simmons knitted her eyebrows together. Gloria''s lips parted, her teeth briefly showing, before she closed it again.


    "Perhaps I should come back later when you''ve had a rest," Simmons suggested.


    Irene shook her head adamantly."No! I am done resting and waiting for things to improve! I am tired of hiding because I''m afraid of being ostracized, ridiculed, or sent for ''specialised care''," Irene spat. Both of the women looked at each other, unnerved. Gloria held her purse close. Irene held out her hand, exposing the stump that used to be a finger. "I''ve already lost this. But so much more is at stake."


    "Irene, let''s just take this calmly..." Gloria cautioned.


    "Rationale all you want. I tried. I failed. I am not crazy," Irene swore.


    "I never said that you were, Irene," Gloria''s hand disappeared into her purse.


    "Neither is Merle. Vampires are behind this," Irene said, fixing her eyes firmly on Marci. Marci looked bemused. Gloria''s eyes widened and her eyebrows slowly spread up and away from her normally narrow eyes.


    "I am sure there is some scientific explanation for what you''ve seen," Marci assured resolutely.


    "Vampires, Irene, really. I think we''ve heard enough. Just get your things... I''m sorry about this Nurse Simmons," Gloria said, placing her hands out dismissively.


    "Work with me. A vampire has been living in my basement. I don''t want to put you in danger, but I need someone who isn''t a cop, someone who DOES understand science, to help me!"


    "The man who has been living with you?" Marci asked, folding her arms and drawing back her chin, worry lines creasing her forehead. Irene nodded her head gravely. Marci Simmons looked around alertly, and Gloria held her purse protectively.


    "Follow me to the basement. Stay behind me, and keep your back to a wall whenever possible," Irene instructed, walking towards the white door. Simmons began to follow Irene, but she stopped abruptly, staring at something on the floor. Irene followed her gaze to some blood she''d failed to clean.


    "No. Irene. We should bring in an officer if there is any risk to your safety, or ours. We aren''t trained to deal with dangerous situations," Gloria insisted.


    "No. Officers swarming the place will make matters worse. He won''t attack unless provoked, and if he sees me first, he will lower his guard. Please, trust me," Irene assured the women. Both Marci and Gloria shook their heads.


    "It''s our job to protect you, not the other way around, Irene," Marci spoke up. "And I don''t feel good about this."


    "But aren''t you curious? Curious about my hand? All the pieces will fall into place but we need to act fast," Irene insisted, looking at the sun, which had dropped down beneath the clouds, wedging itself in a narrow gap of clarity between two peaks.


    Irene swung her front door open and stepped in with a deliberate gait, not giving the other two women time to intervene. Both women quickly followed as Irene proceeded to the basement. This was the first in a long time that she had descended them with confidence. Irene glanced behind her, to make sure Marci was close behind. Taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves, she twisted the knob, and swung the door open. She''d almost expected Cyrus to be standing there, waiting angrily. However, her path was clear. Irene put her hand behind her, reminding the other two women to stay back.


    "Who''re your friends, Irene?" came his voice. It didn''t sound as playful as usual, which resulted in a flip-flop in Irene''s gut. Cyrus stood beside the bed, his dark eyes bearing down on her.


    "Cyrus, this has got to end now," Irene said with resolve. She held up a hand to silence the two women before they could speak. Irene and Cyrus locked gazes. Cyrus''s eyes eventually drifted over to Marci, then Gloria, and then his eyes shot back to Irene.


    "Do you think bringing¡­" he paused and gave the two women an appraising look, "...authorities in will stop this? Do you realize what you''ve done? You''ve brought these fine women to their doom. Shame on you, shame!" Cyrus condemned, wagging his finger at Irene with his usual theatrics. Irene heard a click as Marci flipped open her cellphone.


    "Back up is on its way - don''t move any closer," Marci commanded. Cyrus sighed and shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. Irene took a step back, spreading her arms out in front of Marci.


    "You''d have to go through me first, Cyrus," Irene declared. Marci whispered Irene to stand down, but Irene shook her head and didn''t budge.


    Cyrus slowly lowered his hand. "You realise that''d be very easy for me, right?" Irene remained where she was, keeping vigilant as usual when up against Cyrus''s threats. "I save you from Gabriel and this is how you repay me?" Cyrus questioned. At the mention of Gabriel, Marci''s eyes narrowed.


    "Merle''s sanity is in question because no one believes vampires attacked her! All I want is evidence," Irene said slowly.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Cyrus scratched his cheek. He then looked at Marci, who was dialing on her phone.


    "Evidence? I''ll give you evidence!" Cyrus snapped, his tone suddenly menacingly sharp. The moment Cyrus had finished speaking, Irene was being flung to the floor. CRASH! Marci''s cellphone hit the ground and shattered. To Irene''s shock she heard a loud bang, forcing Irene to cover her ears and shut her eyes. As fear and anxiety ripped through her, her abduction came back to her with riveting vividness. Ireme trembled on the floor, barely sensible of the commotion and clatter around her. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw blood droplets on the floor in front of her.


    With trepidation, Irene lifted her head. Her attention first settled upon a larger pool of blood and two pairs of feet, facing each other. Her view followed up the legs until she saw the whole picture. Cyrus had Marci pinned against the wall, both were spattered with blood. However, he was not looking at Marci. Irene traced his gaze to Gloria, who stood with a gun drawn and pointed at him.


    Irene scrambled to her feet and leapt at Cyrus


    "Stop!" Irene tugged at his arm desperately, but it was as immovable as ever. He turned his head to look at her, revealing a bullet hole in his cheek, just below his right eye.


    "So this is what it takes to get you to flock to me¡­ eh?" Cyrus said, his playful demeanor slowly returning - and as per usual, during a most inappropriate situation. Irene ignored the remark and looked over at Gloria, whose hands were shaking, but her fingers remained on the trigger.


    "Out of the way, Irene!" Gloria shouted. Cyrus grabbed Marci''s arm and swung her around, holding her from behind. His chin rested on her shoulder, blood dripping down onto Nurse Simmon''s white coat. Marci was biting her lip and taking deep, albeit shaky, breaths as her eyes rolled and strained to see Cyrus.


    "Cyrus, don''t! Let her go!" Irene demanded. Cyrus twisted Marci''s arm further, wrenching back her shoulder at an unnatural angle. Marci gasped in pain. His grin was hideous as he looked between Irene and Gloria. Irene couldn''t imagine how he could pull such expressions without wincing, staring at the deep, bloody wound in his cheek.


    "Listen up, ladies. I''ll spare your lives, but only under certain conditions," Cyrus proclaimed, bringing his face very close to Marci''s neck. She tensed, and glared at him, saying nothing in defiance of the tears that had welled up in her eyes. "First off, there''s no such thing as vampires."


    "Cyrus! I need vampires to be real! I need to save Merle!" Irene insisted, desperation creeping into her voice.


    Cyrus dropped his smirk, turning to Irene. "Don''t rush me, peaches, I''ll get to that." Gloria''s arms lowered, but she did not put her weapon away. Cyrus continued, "I don''t care how, but you''ll come up with some cover story that will explain that her friend was duped, but is of sound mind." Both women said nothing, each glaring at Cyrus. "Hey, am I talking to a wall?"


    "No¡­" Marci''s voice cracked. Irene could see that she had lost all of the colour in her face.


    "I''ve got this bullet in my chest, and one marring my pretty face; if I were human I''d be dead, right? Isn''t that what your science would tell you?


    Marci gulped and nodded her head. "I can easily tear out your throat, so how about some cooperation? Besides, if Irene''s friend gets thrown into a psych ward, she''s as good as dead," Cyrus said through grit teeth.


    "What do you mean?" Irene interrupted. Cyrus glanced back at Irene.


    "Psych wards are a vampire''s candy shop. And anyone babbling about vampires will be targeted."


    Irene''s arms dropped. "No¡­" Irene uttered, her lips barely moving.


    Cyrus shoved Marci forward. She stumbled towards Gloria, who shuffled her gun to one hand, using the other to steady Nurse Simmons. Mrs. Evans glared at Cyrus, raising the gun again, now that he''d given up his leverage.


    "You''re a madman!" Gloria said, her voice shaking. But Irene did not see fear in her face, she saw hatred.


    "You had ulterior motives in coming here, didn''t you?" Cyrus sneered. Marci gave him a questioning look. Gloria glanced at Marci, and then back to Cyrus. She shook the hand with the gun, and pointed it at him.


    "He''s insane! He''s a monster. You can''t believe a word these creatures say!" Gloria insisted.


    Irene had suspected something was off about Gloria, but had imagined she was in league with the vampires. But now she was seeing something different. She glanced at Cyrus, wondering if he already knew Gloria, or if he was only guessing.


    "You knew I was a vampire the moment you saw me. So what is your game?" Cyrus asked calmly, despite the gun pointed at him.


    "I..." Gloria worked her mouth, but was too angry to form words.


    "Whoever or whatever you are..." Marci interjected, "...I cannot let you get away with this!" Marci''s injured arm hung at her side, but she braced herself for another fight with Cyrus, sticking close to Gloria.


    "Let? You don''t have a choice. You can see with your own eyes these bullets don''t deter me. You felt me strength. With only one functional arm, do you really believe you have a chance against me?"


    "I¡­" Marci stammered.


    Irene took in a deep sigh, knowing she''d made a monumental mistake. Gloria curled in her lips and fired another shot at Cyrus. This time he turned aside and it only grazed his arm.


    Cyrus looked down at his sleeve and sighed. "...I''ve been going through so many shirts lately. And how are we going to explain the bullet holes to your father, Irene?"


    Gloria screamed in rage and went to fire again, but instead of a bang was a metallic click. She screamed even louder, pressing the trigger again. Marci grabbed her arm, forcing her to lower her weapon.


    "STOP IT! It''s jammed! You could get all of us hurt!" Marci snapped. Gloria began sobbing as Marci carefully took the gun away and put the safety on.


    "I''m sorry. I dragged you into this," Irene said apologetically.


    Marci looked at Irene, her expression softening. "Don''t be. I would do the same in your situation," Marci whispered, wincing again. "It''s unbelievable, but with the evidence facing me..." Marci trailed off. She turned her attention to Cyrus. "I accept your terms."


    Gloria looked up, eyes puffy. "I don''t! I don''t accept them!" She pointed a hand at Cyrus. "Vampires killed my husband! I know it was them! And you!" Gloria turned and pointed at Irene, causing Irene to jerk back.


    "What did I do?"


    "You... you were supposed to be the bait to lure them out. And then... then I was going to have my revenge! My revenge!" Gloria wailed as she sank down to her knees.


    Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and looked down at Gloria. "...Not with that thing, you weren''t." Irene was overwhelmed with the emotion in the room. But even with that, she still had room for irritation with Cyrus, which she expressed with a punch to his uninjured arm. He hardly seemed to notice. Gloria continued to heave and bawl, slamming her fist on the cold basement floor. Marci crouched down beside her, slinging an arm about her shoulders.


    Seeing the raw and utter despair Gloria displayed was hard for Irene. Many mixed feelings whirled within. She was angry that this woman was using her. She was sympathetic with the woman''s grief. And she felt oddly vindicated, seeing that an adult, who wasn''t working for Gabriel, knew what vampires were. And, lastly, there was the guilt. This woman was in the throes of agony, and Irene had brought her into this situation. But wasn''t this better? If she''d tried to shoot Gabriel or one of his men, she''d likely have been killed. Cyrus sounded as though he''d let them live. She hoped he would, at least.


    Irene''s thoughts were interrupted by Marci. "I will do as you say. I don''t know how to make sense of any of this..." Marci said, still holding Gloria with her good arm.


    "Good. Irene, why can''t you be as obliging?"


    Gloria''s crying continued, reaching a new pitch of desperation. Cyrus rolled back his head and gave an exasperated sigh. Slowly he looked at Marci. "I have one more condition."


    "What would that be?" Marci asked, her voice snapping like a whip as she placed Gloria''s gun into the purse.


    Cyrus grinned at her. "I''m impressed how well you are accepting this, actually. If you go back on your word, I''ll just kill you - if someone else doesn''t get to you first¡­ anyway, my last condition is blood."


    "Blood?" Marci echoed in dismay.


    "Yes, yes, blood! Well, I really don''t need to ask, but I thought I''d be polite. See, this crazy lazy shot me and wasted my reserves, and I request compensation." Cyrus smiled at her pleasantly, twiddling his thumbs.


    <hr>


    The sound of a car driving away roused Irene from the corner she had eventually shuffled into. She was alone in the basement. It really seemed strange now. She used to be alone in the basement frequently, either during hot spells, or to do her laundry. However, now it seemed almost eerie when it was empty.


    The stillness gave Irene time to reflect. Merle''s life was in danger because of her. A woman she didn''t even know might be in danger. Another woman had broken down on this very floor. Irene began to feel like some sort of malicious vacuum, sucking people into the nightmare she was living. Yet, even with them facing the danger, she still felt entirely alone amidst all of it.


    Swearing and shouting caused Irene to jump. Added into the mix was Silver''s growling. She heard the rapid thump of tiny feet on the floor above her, and the wobble of something, maybe a lamp, being disturbed. She braced herself for a crash but none came. Cyrus''s voice could be heard getting closer as he stomped down the basement steps. He sounded as though he was in pain. What could hurt more than being shot three times?


    Irene looked up as Cyrus entered, washed up and bandaged. She wondered why he needed the bandages. She doubted that vampires had to worry about infection, or bleeding to death. He was tossing a bullet into the air and catching it, occasionally wincing. Cyrus looked down at her with an expression she''d never seen him wear; he looked disappointed.


    "I thought you had more sense than to pull a stunt like that," Cyrus said in a very sober tone, his voice strained with pain. Irene hugged her knees, looking away. He stood there a moment, and then walked closer, squatting down to bring his face level with hers. "You aren''t broken, are you? No indignant response, no angry backlash¡­"


    "Leave me alone¡­" Irene said quietly. Cyrus shook his head and sighed. Slowly he rose back to his feet. He stood there a moment, but then walked away without another word.

 Chapter 25 - Cyrus Opens Up

    Irene had not been aware that she was crying. It wasn''t until the sensation of wet cloth next to her cheek and a mild earache roused her. As reality materialized around her, she became aware of a depression in the mattress by her feet.


    "Cyrus¡­ how did you get past the wards?" Irene asked wearily. She felt the mattress shift and heard the springs groan. She peered into the darkness with one eye, while the other was buried in the damp pillow.


    "It fell down and its remains are scattered all over the floor. I blame the cat," Cyrus whispered. Irene took in a deep breath, and let it shakily release. She remained still and continued to stare at nothing.


    "How many times have you come in here while I was asleep?" Irene asked, her voice crackling from a tired, sore throat. Every time she blinked to clear her eyes, her eyelashes stuck to each other.


    "Before the wards went up? Not often. You''re boring when you''re asleep," Cyrus joked, still keeping his voice hushed.


    "So you haven''t been drinking my blood or anything while I''ve been asleep?" Irene asked.


    "Obviously not. You would have noticed." Irene yawned and she felt the mattress shift again. "What happened?"


    "What do you mean?" Irene was too tired to feel little more than confusion.


    "You''ve been crying and going on about your guy," Cyrus responded. Irene sat up and leaned against the wall. She finally looked at Cyrus. She was confronted with a lot of his pale skin, albeit interrupted with bandages. His chest appeared like an eerie disembodied specter, for his legs disappeared into his black pants, which faded into the shadows.


    "Have I?" Irene wiped her eyes. Cyrus responded with a nod. Irene made herself as small as possible on the corner of her bed. Did she really want to tell him? Irene let her head droop. He probably already has his suspicions. "They took him away... and I''m afraid he might not make it¡­"


    "It''s not your fault," Cyrus said. Irene slowly lifted her head, knitting her eyebrows together, perplexed. She expected an insincere remark, or a wisecrack. His response caught her off guard. Cyrus caught her look of confusion, and smirked, then winced, his hand going to his injured cheek. "You blubbered something about it being your fault. I don''t think so. True, maybe the radio reports of you being missing did tip him over the edge, but you still aren''t to blame."


    "You can''t read minds, can you?" Irene asked. It was exactly what had crossed her mind.


    "No. I don''t think I''d like to read minds. I prefer just reading people," Cyrus responded thoughtfully. Irene''s head drooped again. "I mean it, though. Don''t blame yourself. It''s the worst thing you could do. Brace yourself, but don''t blame yourself."


    "You make it sound so simple," Irene said dismally. She didn''t have the energy to get angry nor afraid. Not yet. Irene mentally made bets with the different facets of her personality on how long before Cyrus could rouse her from despondency with sheer anger.


    "That is because it is. It isn''t easy, but it is simple. Then again, when you live as long as I do, you get over things quicker, because you get a lot of practice. I''m not saying being immortal removes all feeling from a person-"


    "All feeling from... Cyrus? What hurt you? After they left? You were in pain..." Irene asked, the question just drifting to her mind and out her mouth with a remarkable lack of resistance.


    "Oh... delayed reaction to the gun shots. They actually DO hurt. I can just block pain for a limited time. But it always comes back with a vengeance! Uh, don''t tell anyone, though. I like people thinking I''m impervious to pain," Cyrus responded, adding a wry chuckle. Irene''s gaze dropped, her damp eyelashes feeling prickly and disheveled. As silence stretched between them, Cyrus decided to populate it with more rambling. "Most people make life easier by becoming insensitive and callous, but it''s not a requirement. I still feel emotional pain, though. Not as often or as easily, but I still do¡­" Cyrus paused, bringing up a knee to rest his elbow on it. "I know you might not believe me, but I feel the pangs of loss when it happens to me."


    "You''re right, I don''t believe you," Irene muttered. "I just want to be left alone." Cyrus clicked his tongue and shook his head at her. He shifted over closer to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. This was the opposite of being left alone, but she was too tired to fight with him.


    "It wasn''t easy losing Layla," Cyrus continued. I could care less about your loss right now, Irene thought viciously. But she remained still and quiet, letting him continue. "I didn''t curl up in a corner and cry when I found her locket, though." Cyrus paused, and Irene just remained with her head against his bare chest, listening not just to his words, but his heartbeat. How odd it was. "I was angry at myself. When she told me some of the things going on with Gabriel and the rest of his posse, I didn''t take her seriously."


    "But weren''t you part of Gabriel''s posse?" Irene reminded him. Cyrus nodded.


    "Ye-es." Cyrus drew the monosyllabic response out as if he was chagrined to admit to it. "Which is why I thought she was misled, since if they were up to shenanigans, I would have been at the center of it. Although Layla never said it, I could tell she didn''t approve of our Roman Feasts. But to suggest in addition to that, Gabriel was hosting blood sports, pitting vampires against vampires was unbelievable." Cyrus looked at the window, moonlight framing the curtains.


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    "Roman Feasts?" Irene asked, a look of discomfort coming over her.


    "Ah... you don''t want to know. You really, really don''t want to know," Cyrus quickly warned.


    "I see¡­" Irene said sleepily.


    "Moving on with my character developing story, I felt a certain loyalty to Gabriel." Cyrus''s tone launched into air playfulness, which led to Irene grumbling. "Although we often fought for our dam''s favour, I was pretty much the tag-along little brother. We looked out for each other. Usually, it was him looking out for me and cleaning up my messes. And I made a lot of them."


    "You still are."


    "Of course! I had an enabler following behind me making everything right, so it''s not like I ever learned NOT to." Cyrus waved a hand in the air. "Anyway, I never questioned why Gabriel looked out for me. It just was. And I''m not sure I can say I was loyal to Gabriel, so much as I didn''t want to bite the hand that fed me. But Layla told me that Gabriel was running blood sports by putting frenzied vampires in a pit with a single mortal, and watching them brutalise each other for the prize. At first this was just done as a punishment, but eventually, done to outsiders or new vampires purely for entertainment. Or so Layla claimed. I laughed it off. I knew Gabriel was brutal, but I didn''t think he understood ''fun'' and would put that much effort into procuring it, even in a twisted way like that."


    "Like what Gabriel did to you¡­ the starving¡­" Irene responded.


    "Yes and no. See, what turned my laughing and scoffing to actually getting ngry with Layla was when she said he didn''t just starve them. He drank from them. With the exception of some situations, drinking from other vampires is risky and highly taboo. So when he tossed me in with you, I was just bled, not fed from. He''d never feed from me. And¡­ actually, let''s not talk about that. It was an unpleasant experience for both of us." Cyrus waved his pale hands in the air, banishing the recollection.


    "Why?"


    "Eh, it''s complicated." Cyrus evaded. He then continued on his verbal journey, dragging Irene along for the ride. "Anyway, I was upset hearing these things. When Layla told me these things were happening, I ordered her never to say those things again. Layla obeyed and said nothing more about Gabriel. However, this also included not telling me what Gabriel was doing to her. She was a master at hiding, especially her own wounds. Instead, Layla did something unlike her. She went behind my back and tried to expose Gabriel by collecting evidence that would speak for her. When I found this out, I stupidly took Gabriel''s side again, and told her to stop poking her nose where it didn''t belong. However, given a day or two to think things over, I had to admit this wasn''t like Layla. Layla was a woman of integrity, and she wouldn''t do anything so malicious as spread lies, especially ones that could endanger me. When I went to find her to apologize¡­ all I found was a note she left me¡­" Cyrus went silent.


    "She didn''t¡­"


    "No. It was a warning that Gabriel was going to kill her. She said she was ready to die if it opened my eyes. It did. I searched for her, but all I found was a scorch mark and her pendant¡­ " Cyrus shook his head. Irene lowered hers, soaking in the story, uncertain when she went from a tired and indifferent listener to actually finding herself invested in the tale. She wondered how much of it was embellished, or if any of it were true.


    "Later Flynn and Roan were shooting off their mouths about how they¡­ on second thought, you probably don''t want to hear that either." Cyrus paused again. "I was angry and picked a few fights. That wasn''t enough. I decided I was going to throw a coup! It was going to be glorious! But Gabriel found out my intentions. Shortly after, well, that''s when you and I met." Cyrus paused, and then she could physically feel him perk, as his voice pitched to a more light-hearted tone. "So, there''s my angsty sob story. It''s a requirement of being a vampire, you know."


    Irene made a half-hazard attempt to beat Cyrus on the chest with a lazy flail of one of her arms. "If you really felt pain¡­ you wouldn''t make jokes¡­"


    "Yes I would," Cyrus responded. "It''s what I do. We''ve been over this." Cyrus patted Irene on the head. "If you want me to continue to be morose, I can. I could tell you how much I felt for Layla, how much I wanted her, and how I couldn''t tell her. If you want me to be melancholy, I could tell you that, since she listened to everything I told her, I could have easily ordered her in bed with me, and she''d do it without hesitation. However, knowing she''d disembowel herself if I told her to, it wasn''t good enough. Maybe you could say I loved her. Maybe you could say I was just seeking a conquest, to get her to make the first move to slake my own vanity. You could say everything I''ve said so far is a lie, if it pleases you. It doesn''t matter, really, because she''s gone."


    "I''m surprised you weren''t all over her. You don''t keep your intentions hidden around me¡­" Irene mumbled. She was sinking into a deeper place. She''d never told Jordan how much she really loved him. Perhaps he could read her mind, and made that parallel just to dig into her. Or perhaps, he sincerely did understand how she felt. That was a troubling prospect. She did not want to understand a monster, nor be understood by one.


    "I hesitated for over a century. I''m not going to make that mistake twice," Cyrus responded. "So I''ve taken every opportunity to keep you informed. But it hasn''t really worked out for me this way either."


    "That''s because you are a pig. Why would she listen to everything you told her, anyway?" Irene asked.


    "Oh? I bought her at a slave auction. I was looking for a servant I didn''t need to hide the truth from. However, I couldn''t believe my luck to have the opportunity to buy an exotic dancer."


    "Exotic dancer? Right, you just wanted a servant..."


    "If you''d met Layla, you''d understand¡­" Cyrus tilted his head. "I suppose I could try to explain, but even I, loquacious as I am, lack the vocabulary to capture her essence. She had an alluring presence that pulled me in, but also kept me at bay. Truthfully, I could have mistreated her in any way I could imagine, and I bet she still would have taken the abuse with poise and dignity. Yet, she still had a way of not taking any nonsense; if she knew what was best for whomever she served, she did that without fail. I''m really reaching to try and describe how she was¡­ her humility and pride¡­ how it blended¡­ she bowed down low yet held her head high. I guess even as her master, I was in too much awe, perhaps even a bit intimidated." He paused, as if waiting for something. Irene was barely cognizant of the last sentence or two, the warm tingling of sleep pulling at her wandering mind. She was only vaguely aware of him gently easing her head back onto the pillow, and the relief of being alone in her bed again.

 Chapter 26 - Truly Alone

    The door shut behind her, the chills from outside making its last dash inside. Irene walked back to the kitchen, shuffling through the various envelopes in her hand. There wasn''t much she could think of to do. Her father was absent, her best friend was unreachable, and her boyfriend''s status was unknown. She had tried reading. She had tried going for a jog. Her hair dripped and clung to her face as her eyes scanned the letters. Most of them were bills, or otherwise for her father. She wouldn''t have even thought about the mail if the mailbox lid hadn''t been left flipped up. There was a postcard from her father. Irene flipped it over, reading the short message. The typical wish she was there, hope she''s doing well, and a playful reminder to eat more meat. It just compounded Irene''s loneliness.


    Some of the loneliness was Irene''s fault. With Cyrus gone, she''d resorted to hiding in the basement, afraid of vampires or their lackeys coming for her. It wasn''t just the vampires she was hiding from. She''d refused to open the door and stayed away from the windows when anyone dressed too smartly approached the door, afraid it would be a social worker. Before leaving, Marci had managed to calm Gloria down and the two women agreed to work to contain the damage. But Irene wasn''t entirely sure that Gloria wasn''t still a threat. And by extension, so were social and child intervention services. So were the police. So was everyone.


    Irene sighed and held the postcard to her heart. What had she become? She''d been rationing her food carefully to avoid having to go shopping. She''d only gone for jogs in the wooded area behind her house. She was shut off from the world. It was just her and her cat. She needed to get out. She needed to do something other than hide from the world.


    Just as Irene was about to turn and head back out the door, she heard the doorbell ring. Irene''s heart gave a start. Irene almost ran and hid. However, she was done with hiding. However, she remained cautious as she crept towards the door, hearing a muffled knock. Irene opened the door a crack and peered through. Her eyes were instantly drawn to someone short in a very large coat.


    "Are you Irene?" came a timid, quiet voice. Irene could barely hear her above the hammering of the rain. It didn''t help that she had a scarf obstructing her mouth. All over the girl was draped in oversized clothes. The sleeves on her coat went past her fingers, her pants were baggy, ratty, and probably wicked up half the puddles she walked through. Irene could barely make out her face, for what wasn''t covered by the scarf was obscured by the large tuque pulled down over her eyebrows. All she could really see were some dark brown eyes peering up at her. Irene hazarded that she was about twelve or thirteen.


    "Yes¡­" Irene responded suspiciously. "What do you want?" she asked. Her tone was abrupt and uninviting, but she wasn''t fond of strangers knowing her name.


    "My name is Amber. I have a message for you. I-It''s imp-p-portant¡­ and¡­" the girl trailed off as her eyes slowly slid to the right. She rocked on the balls of her feet, looking down for a moment. Irene patiently waited for her to finish her sentence. The girl tilted her head, still not looking up. "¡­it''s ab-bout¡­ things¡­ things you already sorta know. I was t-told you''d understand if I c-can''t tell you here¡­"


    Irene''s lips palled distally, but they didn''t quite make a smile. She slowly opened the door wider, but still blocked the entry. Things I should know about? Is she a vampire lacky? Can I trust her? "You could hide a lot in those coats. I''m sorry, but I can''t let you in."


    Amber looked up, lifting her red nose from the shelter of her scarf. "Oh¡­ b-but I¡­" she seemed at a loss for words, uncertain what to do. She slowly brought her sleeved hands together until they were in front of her chest. "I won''t - c-can''t - hurt you. I''m just a messenger¡­"


    Irene scrutinised the girl further. She looked so¡­ so pathetic. As much as that could be a trick, Irene also was curious about this message. After some consideration, Irene swung the door wider and stepped aside. "Alright, come in."


    "Thank you," came her girlish voice. Amber stepped in, dripping onto the linoleum of Irene''s small foyer. Irene closed the door behind her, watching her carefully.


    "Here, let me help you get those off and hang them to dry," Irene offered. However, the girl quickly darted away, her hands going frantically to her scarf, hiking it up. She shook her head, eyes wide and eyebrows pinched together.


    "No!" Amber protested. Irene raised an eyebrow reproachfully. The girl sighed, and took off the coat and tuque. However, she adamantly insisted keeping on the scarf. Irene wondered if she was protecting her neck. With the coat off, the girl was more of a twig than even Merle. It was a sickly, unhealthy scrawniness.


    "Would you like some tea?" Irene offered.


    "Sure¡­" Irene offered Amber a chair. She sat down and watched as Irene grabbed kettle and filled it with water.


    "Well, what is this important message?" Irene asked as she turned on one of the elements. She walked over and took a seat across from the peculiar girl.


    "I''m supposed to tell you that¡­. um¡­ Cyrus, I think the name was, is, uh, rallying up sup-pport from some others like him to stand up against Ga-Gabriel. K-keep t-to your house until you are c-contacted¡­" Amber recited nervously. Astonishment shone on Irene''s face. Amber looked down, her cheeks growing pink. "I, uh, that''s all¡­ and¡­ yeah."


    "Did Cyrus send you?" Irene asked louder than she had meant to. If he did, Irene couldn''t help but wonder if this girl was a recent acquisition. This girl was too young to be dragged into the world of vampires. The intensity in Irene''s voice made Amber slouch like a scolded puppy.


    "No¡­ I''ve never met this Cyrus guy," Amber claimed, sounding apologetic.


    Irene leaned forward, her eyes intense upon the smaller teenager. "Then who sent you?"


    Amber squirmed. "I-I can''t t-tell you. I can''t t-tell anyone! My¡­ er¡­ the p-person who sent me wants t-to remain unknown. They''ve b-been observing you and Cyrus." Irene''s eyebrows shot up, but then quickly plummeted down as her eyes narrowed. "Not in a b-bad way of course! Just t-to help!"


    "Help? Why hasn''t this mystery person stepped in and prevented¡­ all the things that have happened?" Irene demanded.


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    Amber lowered her head, putting her hands on her lap. "They are¡­ unwell. Getting b-better, though¡­ will be able to leave the hiding p-place in a few days. Then¡­ I get what I was p-promised."


    Irene put her hands down on the table forcefully and stood up. "Promised? Do you realize what you have gotten yourself into? The person who sent you, whoever he or she is, is a vampire, right? Don''t be foolish!" Irene chastised. She''s another fool, like Matthew. Ambers eyes watered, and she shook her head more and more violently as Irene spoke.


    "No! I mean, yes. I mean¡­ I d-d-don''t think it''s what you think¡­ um¡­ b-but I''m not a mind reader," the girl said, growing steadily more uneasy. Her eyes kept darting towards the door.


    Irene took in a deep sigh, her arms trembling. "You are working for a vampire for immortality, is that right?" Irene asked in a low, patient tone. At least, she tried to sound patient, but it was undeniable that she spoke through gritted teeth.


    "I am not. Idon''t think I''d make a very good vampire¡­ I don''t like the sight of b-b-blood," Amber responded.


    Irene sighed, relaxing a little. "Then what else could a vampire offer you?"


    "P-protection," Amber responded. "I-I don''t have any friends to p-protect me, and my family¡­ they don''t c-care for me." Amber looked away.


    Irene groaned inwardly. She tried to feel compassion in places of skeptical exasperation at this revelation. It worried Irene that she could barely maintain any tenderness towards the younger teenager, and instead felt vexation. Irene got up and went to check on the boiling water. What is wrong with me?


    "Protection from a vampire is only necessary because they endanger you. You''d be better off if you never got involved," Irene said coldly.


    "I didn''t get¡­ I just found¡­ this isn''t my fault! I felt¡­ felt¡­ someone hurt like me," Amber stammered.


    Irene shook her head as she poured up the boiling water into two mugs. She isn''t making any sense. "Alright¡­ while we drink tea, why don''t you tell me how you came to run messages for a vampire." Irene went on her tippy-toes to get down a box of teabags. She dropped one in each mug and brought them over to the table.


    "I guess it would b-be alright," Amber''s tense shoulders which were shurgged almost to her ears lowered and she clasped the warm mug. Irene got out some teaspoons and what remained of her creamed honey.


    "Well, then let''s hear it," Irene opened the faded plastic container, staring at the dull brown substance at the bottom. She sighed, scooping out as much of the honey as possible, offering it to the girl. Amber happily accepted the sweetener.


    "Um¡­ I was skipping morning class. I heard someone screaming. Usually I just mind my own b-b-business, since it''s b-better that way, right? Well, the screaming wasn''t¡­ I uh¡­ it was more like wailing or moaning, actually. I don''t know, maybe I was c-curious. Someone was on fire. I felt REALLY sick and¡­ and¡­ my first thought was to run and find a b-bathroom¡­ but then¡­ then¡­ I just thought¡­ maybe helping a someone might feel nice. No one else was around. So I ran over and threw my coat over the person¡­ I saw it on T.V. you see¡­ I mean, most p-people would throw water, right? I didn''t have any. They looked so big at first, you know, b-being on fire. I don''t know why it was so empty, but I g-guess it was just early," Amber rattled out, while dismally stirring her tea. She finally took a break, to try it. She smacked her lips, giving a somewhat startled look. She stirred it some more and looked at Irene. "This is actually good. I never liked t-t-tea¡­ so bitter and b-boring¡­"


    "It''s orange and spice," Irene took a moment to think over the story thus far. "Was the person on fire a vampire?"


    "Yes. ''Course I didn''t know that. I just realized that just b-because I saw nobody didn''t mean they weren''t there. I g-got real scared. Then I heard a whisper, t-t-telling me to get away. Yeah, I listened. I wasn''t going to do nothing more, though. I got to a pay phone and called 9-1-1 and stuff. I went back to see what happened. I didn''t know what else to d, you know? I just watched the p-person, all bundled, not move and stuff until the ambulance came. They screamed and tried to fight with them every time they t-tried to move the coat, screamin'' something about photos or something. I left real quick¡­" Amber continued occasionally pulling up a teaspoon and blowing on it, only to set it back into the mug.


    Irene had been calmly sipping tea the entire time. "Photosensitivity probably¡­ it is sort of like being allergic to light."


    "Oh¡­ you must be a straight A student¡­ I could never b-b-be that smart," Amber said wistfully. Irene was unconvinced, but decided to keep her opinions about Amber''s intelligence to herself.


    "Anyway¡­ I d-didn''t go b-back to school after that. I just couldn''t get it out of my head, you know?" Amber paused to take another sip. "Then I overheard the T.V. news from my b-bedroom. I heard a story about a burnt person who survived miraculously from fatal b-burns, and that disap-p-peared from the hospital. It made me feel¡­ weird deep d-down in my gut."


    "That''s understandable," Irene agreed. She stood up, taking the empty honey container with her and dumped it in the sink, turning the tap on. Amber watched her thoughtfully. Irene nodded to her. "Continue."


    "Well¡­ I sneaked out to get some air. You know I just couldn''t keep still in my room with that weirdness. After a while I felt something g-grab my foot and I screamed and t-t-t-tripped. When I looked at my leg, I saw a b-black hand coming out of the darkness, grabbing me. I was t-too freaked by then t-to scream. I got p-p-pulled in¡­" Amber shrunk again. Her hands trembled as she held the mug. "It¡­ oh¡­ I¡­ the things I saw¡­ there were t-t-two dead p-p-people with holes in their n-neck!"


    "Victims of the burnt vampire," Irene concluded. Amber nodded meekly. Her face had gone paler on the recounting of the story.


    "Yes. I guess the vampire recognized me, b-b-because, I heard a whispery voice t-t-t-tell me my life would be spared t-t-t-to rep-p-pay the debt. I didn''t care, I kept struggling t-t-trying to get free¡­. But I couldn''t. The vampire wouldn''t let me go," Amber shuddered. "I thought I was gonna d-die. Then¡­ the vampire t-told me things, and I had no choice b-but to listen¡­. I can''t tell you everything¡­ but eventually I calmed down. I was p-promised protection and favors if I did some things¡­ I, uh, well, once I really listened, there was just something¡­ I just felt something¡­ this vampire was a p-p-person, sort of. I can''t explain it, but it was almost like¡­ this vampire¡­ felt me in a way no one else even tried t-to. So I agreed¡­ and I''ve been doing whatever this vampire t-tells me since. Sometimes I want to stop, b-b-but¡­ that is¡­ b-b-bad things will happen without¡­ if I don''t listen to the vampire''s instructions, other vampires will get me¡­ and it''s scary to think about what¡­ what they''ll do to me!"


    "Oh, I know what they''ll do to you," Irene said, holding up her hand without the finger. Amber''s eyes instantly shot to where a finger ought to be. "See this?" Irene asked. Amber gave a slight nod, fascinated by the amputation. "This is barely a scratch compared to what they can, and will, do to you."


    "Why I c-can''t stop serving¡­. P-p-p-protection," Amber responded, her eyes still fixed on Irene''s hand. Irene put it back down, and Amber''s eyes shot down to her mug.


    "This vampire, do you know her name?" Irene asked idly.


    "Oh, she never told¡­ w-wait! How? How d-did you know she was a she?" Amber asked, her mouth agape.


    "It was a fifty-fifty guess. But since you were trying too hard to conceal her gender, I figured it was a woman." Irene explained with a faint smile. "You just confirmed it."


    "Oh¡­ you''re too smart for me¡­ I hope I won''t get in t-t-trouble for this¡­" Amber said, anxiety pouring into her eyes.


    "I doubt it," Irene responded. "I am sure there are plenty of female vampires out there."


    "Er¡­ I suppose, yes, there are¡­. Yeah¡­" Amber muttered, keeping her eyes on her mug. She finished her tea in a few big gulps, now that it was cool enough to do so. "Thank you for the t-t-tea¡­ b-but I should get going, now." Amber rose to her feet. She pulled up the scarf around her face and neck again, blushing.


    "Keep out of trouble," Irene helped her back into her coat and gave her one more farewell while Amber stepped back out into the rain. She was relieved to see her go. It was hard enough being in her situation, but seeing someone younger than herself in a similar predicament made it hard for Irene to stay in the girl''s presence much longer. Irene walked back into the kitchen, setting the mugs in the sink. "What now?"

 Chapter 27 - Closing In

    Irene lay on her couch, staring up at the ceiling, a book laying on her chest. Amber''s warning was redundant, Irene had already shut herself in. However, now she was not even daring to go for jogs. Irene rolled over onto her side, setting the book on the coffee table. A loud sigh relieved itself from Irene''s tight chest. She hoped that whatever was happening would hurry and happen.


    "But just what is happening?" Irene asked herself out loud. It wasn''t much of a habit of hers before, but there were a lot of firsts for Irene as of late. "And who is this mystery vampire?" Irene let her arm hang over the edge of the couch, her knuckles brushing against the carpet lightly. She had fancied that Amber''s vampire master was Cyrus''s creator, or dam as he''d say, watching her boys continue to fight. But as Irene mulled the idea over, she discarded it. She remembered that Cyrus had mentioned she was gone. All the same, Irene did not like that there was a third party entering into this whole mess. Amber implied that this vampire was looking out for Cyrus''s best interests, but what of her own?


    Feeling a need for some distraction, Irene got up and turned the radio on.


    "-they found officers Bateman and Kranvjak dead, with their throats torn out. Officer Tom Collins, first on the scene, was cited as saying that the "scene of the crime looked like a slaughterhouse." The death of these two officers is a grave matter, and all the stops are being pulled out to find answers. There were other remains at the scene, forensics are still determining if they are, in fact, human." Irene gasped and turned the radio up. Has it begun? "One other body besides the officers was found. Identity is currently being established. More updates will come at the six o''clock news. This is Jennifer Ha-" CLICK. Irene chewed on her lower lip uncomfortably after turning off the radio.


    Irene got up and began pacing. Irene wondered if the involvement of officers was carelessness, or an intentional escalation? Irene''s guts wrenched and squirmed with the ominous feeling that came over her. Everything was building up to something bigger than her troubles. How on Earth did Irene land herself in the middle of a vampire revolution?


    A knock at the door caused Irene to jump. Irene hesitated, but then finally made her way to the door. Trembling, she opened it a few inches to peer through the gap. Standing there was Amber. Although the weather had improved, she still wore an oversized coat and a scarf. Irene opened the door the rest of the way.


    Amber and Irene stared at each other. Amber did not make a move to come in. "You need t-t-to leave. Gabriel has some human followers that will b-b-be coming for you soon."


    "What? Where am I supposed to go?" Irene asked, cold chills running through her spine.


    "I''d let you stay with me, b-but my Dad, I don''t think, would b-b-be happy ab-b-bout that..." Amber replied ominously. Irene crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at Amber, but her expression softened when she looked down and saw Amber pulling her sleeves down over what appeared to be a cigarette burn.


    "What about your vampire ally? Did she have any suggestions?" Irene asked.


    Amber lowered her head. "She¡­ she didn''t have t-t-time to t-t-tell me much," Amber glanced around nervously. "Sorry b-but I b-better get going b-before they get here. Good luck," Amber quickly turned away, and began to speed walk down the driveway, although she appeared to have a slight limp. Irene sighed and shook her head; Amber clearly had her own problems, and Irene needn''t add to them. How will I know what places are safe? Irene angrily grabbed her shoes and shoved her feet into them, tying the laces with unnecessary force. Irene about to pack an overnight bag when she heard a shrill scream. Without a moment to think things through, she rushed out of the house.


    Irene didn''t get very far before she saw a tall woman holding Amber''s arms behind her back. Irene stalled. Amber let out a whimper as the hold tightened, twisting her arms in ways that ought not to be twisted.


    "Well that didn''t take long¡­"


    "Just let her go," Irene commanded, using her firmest tone.


    The woman arched a pencil thin eyebrow at Irene. "What will you do for your little friend here?"


    Irene shook her head. "She''s not my friend. It''s just disgusting to see you pick on someone half your size," Irene sneered. There were no guns, and this wasn''t a vampire. Irene felt she might have a chance against these odds.


    "Not your friend, huh?" Biting down on her red lower lip, the woman screwed her face up defiantly as she yanked down on Amber''s twisted arm. Amber shrieked and then sobbed.


    "I''m calling the cops," Irene knew the threat was empty, but it was the first thought that came to mind. Irene turned to head back into her house, but kept the woman in her peripheral vision.


    "Oh, going to run to the cops, are you? That won''t undo any damage I might do," the woman said, lifting her chin insolently.


    "Any damage you do will make your sentence worse," Irene countered. She could see the woman hesitate. In a quick movement, the woman shoved Amber away and charged at Irene. Irene dashed towards her front door, stumbling up the porch steps. Her fingertips just barely felt the door handle when she heard the stomp of feet on the wooden porch steps behind her. In moments, she was slamming into the door, arms about her waist from a full bodied tackle. Both women tumbled into a heap. Irene wriggled free enough to kick the woman in the face, who shrieked. Before Irene could get up, the enraged woman yanked Irene''s hair and dragged her away from the door. Irene fought until she felt something cold and sharp pressed to her neck.


    "I wouldn''t press your luck," the woman hissed in her ear. Irene held her breath as the woman guided her down the porch steps. Irene looked around, but could not see Amber anywhere. What concerned her more was the sun nestling in a crook between two peaks.


    "You work for Gabriel, don''t you?" Irene asked through clenched teeth. The sensation of the blade trailing down her shoulder to her back caused Irene to shiver. The woman slung her other arm across Irene''s shoulders to give the appearance of just two friends walking side by side to the unobservant.


    "Never met anyone named Gabriel."


    Irene raised her eyebrows in surprise, her eyes slowly sliding to try and get a look at the woman''s face. She saw the brunette woman smiling impishly.


    "Then why¡­?"


    "For the reward. Duh!" the woman said, maintaining her smile. It was a smile that didn''t have the gentle yet beautiful curve of the crescent of the moon, but a grin that curved like a saber, and just as deadly.


    "What sort of reward are you expecting?" Irene was growing weary of humans who became vampire lackeys.


    "Well, I could get my hide busted for pulling a stunt like this, so it''d better be good. Louis promised me I could get a reward beyond anything I could possibly imagine¡­" Irene screwed up her face as she heard the name. It sounded familiar. "¡­better than money even. I was skeptical at first, but hey, he said I could easily make a lot more money with it and - wait, never mind, you don''t need to know any of that!"


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    Irene shook her head. "No, not really," Irene muttered. She could scarcely believe this lady. She had neither sense nor scruples.


    The two of them continued to walk down the street, her empty-headed captor frequently reminding Irene not to even try anything funny, and wondering out loud what anyone wanted with her. Irene was annoyed by the prattle, and wondered if it weren''t unrealistic to hope to reason with the woman.


    "You must have done something to piss someone off. Ooooh, did you steal drugs?"


    "No,"


    "No? So you say you didn''t do anything to deserve this? Yeah, figured as much. Though, you do look like some sort of straight arrow type¡­ hey, you look like you''re still in highschool," the woman said. Several people they passed by disregarded the two, seeing it just as two people having a normal conversation. Irene didn''t blame them, the way this girl prattled on so casually.


    "What difference does it make what I did if you''re just doing it for a reward?"


    "Don''t go judging me. I''m pretty tired of running crap jobs to keep my ungrateful little brother fed. And I''m sick of hooking up with big jerks who promise me everything, but take it all instead. I need to be independent, right? You''re my ticket there," the girl responded.


    "Oh no, wouldn''t dream of judging someone who kidnaps innocent school girls," Irene said in a deadpan tone.


    "Yeah, right, innocent. I remember what it was like to be a teen. God, I''m so glad to be past that," the girl responded, nodding and smiling to an elderly lady as they passed by.


    "Somehow I don''t think you ever left highschool," Irene muttered. She got pinched painfully, and then the blade poked a little harder. Irene cringed but didn''t make a sound.


    "Oh shut up. Don''t think I won''t cut you up if you give me anymore sass," the woman threatened in her agitation.


    Irene tuned the woman out, hearing a sound off in the distance. It was a noise she''d often paid no attention to, but now it was made beautiful to her ears. Sirens wailed, and got closer and closer. Letting out a quick curse, Irene''s abductor jerked Irene off the sidewalk, looking for somewhere to run and hide.


    Irene stumbled to find ground for her feet to dig into. The two women tussled for a while, the brunette trying to drag Irene off to some trees, and Irene trying to break for the sidewalk. When the woman''s arm got too close to Irene''s face, she sunk her teeth into it viciously. The woman yelped and threw Irene down.


    "Screw it! I''m not getting busted for this¡­" she said, breaking away into a gallop. Irene stumbled onto the sidewalk, as the police car rolled to a stop. Irene squinted at it, the setting sun reflected off the windshield and into her eyes. A police man emerged, muttering something into his radio.


    "You okay there?" he asked. Irene just stared at him in disbelief. For once, some benevolent God heard her troubles, and sent an angel. An angel in blue, with a holster and hand radio.


    "Uh¡­" was all she managed to say.


    The cop pointed to her side. "That fresh?"


    Irene pulled at her shirt, surprised to see some red spots on it. Without even thinking about being in public, she lifted up the side of her shirt to inspect the laceration.


    The cop walked over to her. "Let''s get that cleaned up, and you can tell me what happened."


    "I¡­" Irene looked over at him, pulling her shirt back down. "A woman¡­ she¡­ she tried to..." Irene stammered in a daze. She was relieved for the help, but then she remembered she had been dodging the police since the incident with Gloria. Irene was paralysed with two conflicting imperatives.


    "Irene Locklyn?" The cop thrust his thumbs into his belt. "It''s okay, we''ve got you now. You''re safe." Irene stared at the man. Somehow, the cops knowing who she was, and the past trouble she''d been put through, made her suddenly anxious. Without a moment to evaluate the rationality of her decision, Irene''s feet took flight. She did not heed the officer''s command to halt. She tore across someone''s lawn, and turned down a narrow path between houses that led to a small playground. She heard footsteps hot behind her. Irene sped up until she reached a chain link fence. Without hesitation she scaled it, moving like a spider high on her adrenaline. She did everything she could to outpace her pursuers and eventually, she no longer heard the chorus of footsteps trailing her.


    Irene continued running until the sun had fully set, and she was out of breath. She''d ended up across the bridge, in a more urban neighbourhood. Her side was really stinging and aching now, and her hand went to it. She avoided the streetlights as they came on. Bloody attire would draw unwanted attention.


    Irene was quick to regret fleeing from the police. She should have gone with them and sought medical attention. Maybe they could protect her. But there was always the fear of corruption.


    In a clearer state of mind, Irene decided to correct her lapse in common sense, and set out towards the police department. She wasn''t exactly sure how to get there from where she was, but she knew once she had walked a while and got her bearings, she would find her way. As she walked through the fresh evening, she wondered about the cops arriving at just the right time. They had arrived with a purpose. They would not have stopped if they were responding to something urgent, unless they were looking for her. Did Amber call the cops?


    Motion. It started with the feeling of narrow points of impact on her shoulders, digging into the flesh above her clavicle. Following this sensation she was jerked off of her feet and brought back between two inactive buildings. Irene let out a sharp gasp as an arm barred her throat from behind. A hand covered her mouth as soon as she sucked in air to scream.


    "Girls shouldn''t be walking the streets alone after dark¡­" a low masculine voice whispered in her ear. Irene twisted and moved her head, trying to get away from the voice. She struggled, but the hold was firm. It was a familiar grip. It was like being held by a statue. Arms, legs, everything was immovable. A hand pressed on her side, right where her knife wound was. It stung and Irene let out a muffled gasp. "Don''t you know that sharks can smell blood?"


    Irene reached up and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was covering her mouth, tugging at it, until it lowered. She knew he chose to lower it. "If by sharks you mean vampires¡­ isn''t it a little early in the evening for hunting?"


    "Oh¡­ aren''t you a smart little lady. I knew there was a reason you caught my attention¡­ other than the smell of fresh blood," the voice said in a hushed voice. "I''ll make this as painless as possible."


    "Let me go," Irene said assertively. The vampire did not respond. She just felt his chin, or perhaps his cheek, brush against her neck, causing her to shrink. Irene closed her eyes, bracing herself.


    "What''s this?" came the vampire''s voice, and she felt his grip momentarily loosen, and then tense up again. Hope and confusion combatted for supremacy in her mind. Her shoulders shrugged involuntarily as a prickling sensation rode up the back of her neck. "Well isn''t this¡­ but maybe¡­ no, I''d better not risk it¡­" the vampire mumbled to himself.


    "What? What is it?" Irene asked. The vampire let her go, taking a step away from her. Irene spun around, but could not see the man very well.


    "Hmmm¡­ you''re branded," said the voice.


    Branded?


    The vampire stepped forward and hold out a laminated business card. Irene squinted at it, stepping closer to a source of light to see better. It showed a stenciled picture of a sun and some sort of creature, perhaps a Griffin, wearing a crown. Irene looked back up at the nondescript vampire imploringly. It meant nothing to her.


    "What is this?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck.


    "I can''t tell you here. You have the same picture on your neck. Come with me," he explained quietly. Irene stared at him, and then down at the card. It made her feel uncomfortable, and a little angry, that she was marked like property. However she wasn''t going to shoot the messenger. The more confusing matter was she would have noticed a tattoo on her neck, but never saw anything of the sort. But why would a random vampire make such a strange lie? Although the vampire ceased his hostility, she doubted she had a choice. If she ran, he could catch her.


    "Alright, I''ll come quietly," Irene relented. The vampire extended a hand, and she took it. She''d either be led to answers or a trap. Either way, she felt she had little choice. So she walked quietly with the hunter, letting him guide her to the other piece of the puzzle.

 Chapter 28 - Welcome to Babylon

    Winding through the night, Irene followed the unknown vampire. Irene''s free hand rested awkwardly on her side, where the cut still stung. She knew it wasn''t deep, but it still smarted with every step. She''d felt worse, true, but right now it was taking the center stage of sensations, having no other wounds to contend with.


    The vampire was very quiet. When passing through a better illuminated area, Irene got a better look but found him unremarkable in appearance. From his short cropped brown hair to t-shirt and jeans, he failed to stand out. He wasn''t even particularly pale. If it hadn''t been for his grip, she would not have known he was anything beyond human.


    While walking down a small one-way street, the vampire halted. His face bespoke of a growing agitation and uncertainty. The night had been overcast, but even Irene could see that it was clearing up. To confirm this, the vampire snorted. "Crap¡­ it''s beginning to clear up. I knew I shouldn''t have hunted so far from¡­" he muttered a few more things under his breath that Irene could not make out. Irene let out an uncertain gasp as she felt herself being hefted up on his shoulders in a fireman hold. Her following protests were shaken into warbles as the vampire broke into a sprint. Panicked by the acceleration, Irene clutched tightly to his shirt.


    "W-Why are you running?" Irene managed to ask after catching her breath from being startled. No response. Knowing better than to needlessly pester a vampire, she didn''t press the question further.


    Finally, they arrived at the back door of a coffee shop. He set her down gently, bending over to catch his breath in a narrow hallway. Irene was also catching hers, but glanced over at the man and his noisy ventilating.


    "Is that really necessary? You''re a vampire."


    He stopped, looking up at her, suddenly going quiet. "Habit," he responded sheepishly. Still he took a few deep breaths, placing a hand on his chest.


    Irene raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "You haven''t been a vampire long, have you?" she asked.


    "You can tell?" There was no attempt to mask his astonishment.


    Irene let herself relax a little. Somehow knowing that it wasn''t long ago that he was human allowed her to ease some of her anxiety. "If it''s still a habit to catch your breath, you haven''t been a vampire long¡­" Irene responded matter-of-factly.


    "I don''t know about that. I still need to breathe to talk."


    "Of course you do. But you won''t die if you don''t breathe, will you?" Irene asked.


    "I don''t know. Maybe not. It''s not like I''ve tried to not breathe. How do you know so much, anyway?" he asked in a hushed voice as he led her down a narrow hallway. There were doors to their left, and Irene could hear the clinking of glass other noises of a kitchen from the other side of the wall.


    "Knowledge was kind of forced on me," Irene said bitingly.


    The vampire rolled a shoulder, then glanced at her with a lifted eyebrow. "It isn''t right, you know. Normally, I should kill anyone who identifies me, but¡­ I''m too new to risk any blunders. We''ll see what the leader wants done with you."


    Stairs creaked beneath their feet as they ascended to the second storey. Some of Irene''s anxieties were beginning to subside. The place was too cosy, and a bit too shabby, to be one of Gabriel''s dens. Only one other vampire has had access to her neck.


    At the top of the stairs there was another door, and the vampire knocked on it. A voice was heard from the other side.


    "Password," it demanded in a dry voice.


    "Babylon."


    There was a metallic ''clunk'' and the door swung open. Irene saw another hallway, and a pale sentry standing aside to allow the two to enter.


    "Wait, Cody, what''s with the girl? Supplies go in the basement, you should know that by now," the wiry, pale man said. He peered at Irene with a hungry look in his deep, hawk-like eyes, and then arched an eyebrow questioningly.


    "She has the sign," Cody explained.


    "So?"


    "On her neck," Cody added.


    The gruffer vampire glanced over at Irene. Irene was getting tired of having her chin grabbed and her head turned, and this other vampire was far from gentle.


    "I see. I wasn''t informed of any girls with griffins on their neck. I''ll take her, you get back out hunting - we need rations for all of us, you dimwit," the sentry sneered.


    Cody scowled. "The sky cleared up! Send someone older!"


    "Not my place to send anyone! Go find a replacement, or go hunting! Either way, get lost," snapped the cantankerous watchman. The door slammed shut, and Irene could hear Cody storm noisily down the stairs. The sentry let out an exasperated sigh, and then looked nastily at Irene.


    "Come on girl, this way," he growled. Irene sighed uneasily and followed. She was going to ask about Cyrus and see what reaction she got, but she was muted by the overbearing surliness of this terrier faced man. While passing another vampire, the ornery vampire made a sharp whistle and a snap to get their attention, and then pointed to the door with his thumb. Wordlessly, the other vampire sidled past them and took over the sentry''s post.


    The two of them came to a door with the same stenciled griffin and sun on it. The sentry rapped on the door sharply, and then opened the door without waiting for a response. "Boss!"


    Irene instantly regretted peering over the man''s shoulder into the room. The room itself was fine. It looked like a comfortably furnished office. It was the scene the sentry had opened into.


    "Unless it''s an emergency, it can wait. I''m busy," spoke a very familiar voice. Sure enough, as were her suspicions, Cyrus was connected to all of this. She hadn''t imagined him to be the actual leader, though - as she imagined he couldn''t lead a fish to water.


    As for being busy, Irene had a few chiding remarks in sotre, once she got over her embarrassment. She did not see Cyrus right away, but instead saw a woman''s bare back, visible past the desk. The hand on the back of her neck was assumedly Cyrus''s. Irene quickly turned away and took a step down the hallway, but her arm was grabbed by the sentry, yanking her into the room with him.


    "Listen here you two-bit sewer squid," the sentry barked. "We have a breach!" This startled Irene a little, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway, looking at her feet. However, a surreptitious smile spread across her lips at the sentry''s accurate description of Cyrus.


    "A what?" Cyrus exclaimed. Irene heard a moment of silence, that is, other than her own heartbeat, as her ears got suddenly very hot. She had a feeling she was not supposed to be there, and it made her uneasy. Still she kept her eyes down on her feet. There was nothing offensive or embarrassing about her shoes. Unlike the profanity that Cyrus gasped. "How''d she get in here?"


    Irene coughed, keeping her eyes pointedly on the floor. She heard the sound of clumsy shuffling and the slither and rustle of cloth, and finally the sharp and distinct sound of a zipper. There was a feminine scoff somewhere in there, and the tapping of the sentry''s foot.


    "Ugh. I hardly call some skinny teenage girl a breach¡­ why''d you bring her here and not just lock her in the cellar?" came the plaintive tones of a woman.


    "I''m sure our comrade, Cyrus, here knows why," the sentry responded. "He seems to recognize the waif."


    "Waif?" Irene parroted, rising her head to stare at the sentry. He just gave her a relentless glare, baring his fangs. Irene quickly looked back down at the carpet, deciding to notice what a lovely colour it was instead of getting offended.


    "Hey now, no need to be insulting the fairer sex. That''s beneath even a crotchety old badger like yourself, Kenny," Cyrus said in his usual slick tone. Irene heard the man next to her grumble.


    "How many times do I have to tell you, you oily upstart, it''s Kendrick, not Kenny, not Ken, not Rick or Ricky; it''s Kendrick," he corrected irately.


    "C''mon King, is she really so important? I was just getting started¡­" came the female voice again.


    "Sorry Cyn, we''ll finish this later. You should be off getting information now that the sun is down anyway," Cyrus responded. Irene shifted her weight, hearing a frustrated huff from the woman, and she could almost feel a glare directed at her. Irene did not want to start off making enemies of even more vampires. "Kendrick, my good man, why don''t you escort the lovely flower elsewhere. I need a moment alone with our little breach."


    "Come along Cynthia," came Kendrick''s gruff voice. Irene heard a plaintive sigh, and saw two black leather boots come into her view. She slowly looked up the long pair of legs until she saw all of Cynthia, who had more clothes on. She was the perfect picture of a vampire dame. She had a creamy pale complexion, with full painted lips set in a square jaw, almond-shaped blue eyes, and long, glossy, jet-black hair hanging past her shoulders. Shapely eyebrows arched as Cynthia fixed Irene with a very cross expression. Kendrick put his hand on her back, and gave her a firm reminder to keep moving. Soon enough, both of them were out of the room, closing the door behind them.


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    "Sorry about Kendrick''s mannerisms," Cyrus said with a relaxed smile.


    Irene was already irritated. He could at least act embarrassed, rather than stand there with his shirt half undone.


    "It''s not Kendrick''s manners I mind," Irene chided quietly. Cyrus laughed and walked over to his chair, plopping down. He leaned back, putting his feet up on his desk, gesturing towards a seat. Irene shook her head, preferring to stand.


    "So, how did you end up in the Persian HQ," Cyrus asked pleasantly, lacing his fingers together and setting them on his stomach. Irene stared at him blankly.


    "Persian HQ? What is all THIS?" Irene asked. Cyrus laughed again.


    "Oh come on Irene, I expected a conservative girl like yourself to be a history buff. It''s just a little joke," Cyrus kicked off of his desk to roll the chair back, and swung back forward, putting his feet on the ground. He now leaned forward, a keen eye on Irene. "Though I guess this is not really an empire, but just a gang of disgruntled vampires tired of Gabriel''s tyranny."


    "Empire?" Why was Irene not surprised at this self-aggrandizing escalation. "Did I interrupt? Or was there just something in your eye?"


    "Ho ho ho, that''s the lamest thing I''ve ever heard. No, my eyes are fine. We were definitely fooling around," Cyrus admitted blatantly, smiling in response to the aggravated noise that came out of Irene. Squeakily, Cyrus rolled his chair closer to the desk so he could put his elbows on it. "Back to my question, how''d you get in here?"


    Considering that there may be a long explanation forthcoming, Irene changed her mind and sat down. "A vampire named Cody brought me here. He was confused by a little picture on my neck, but not as confused as I am."


    "Oooh, yes, well, then it''s a good thing I put that there. Don''t worry, it will eventually fade," Cyrus responded. Irene continued to give a firm, yet imploring, look, encouraging him to continue. "You probably want to know when I got that on there without you noticing¡­" Cyrus wondered out loud. Irene nodded her head. "Aaah before I left, I gave you something to keep you asleep so you wouldn''t feel anything. Don''t give me that look, I didn''t hurt you. I just left you with a survival tool. It worked, didn''t it?"


    "Cyrus you¡­" Irene groped for a word, but couldn''t think of anything original.. "You keep telling me to trust you, but you make it VERY difficult!"


    "Now, now, no need to thank me. Anyway¡­" Cyrus opened a drawer and got something out. He walked around the desk to stand in front of her, one hand in his pocket. "¡­take off your shirt."


    "What?" Irene got to her feet, looking up at him angrily. "You''re¡­ just¡­ no!"


    "Do it!" Cyrus said a little firmer, whipping his hand out from his pocket, and pressing a small blade to her jaw. Irene froze up. She was having horrible luck with knives that day. Yet, as much as a nuisance Cyrus had been, he''d never pulled a weapon on her. She glanced at the pocketknife, then back up at Cyrus''s ambiguous face.


    There were many angry words in Irene''s head. However, there were only confused feelings. She always had a horrible opinion of Cyrus, but whenever she was beginning to acclimatize to him, even start to think he might not be quite so dangerous, he did something worse.


    "I hate you¡­" Irene mumbled quietly as she whipped off her top, immediately wincing from a sting in her side. The blood had begun to scab, but fibers from her shirt had enmeshed in the dried blood, and the sudden removal of her shirt had torn it back open. Irene quickly crossed her arms protectively over her chest.


    "I know," Cyrus said quietly, as he flipped the knife shut and put it in his pocket. His eyes darted to the small wound, and he slowly crouched down. Wordlessly, he reached into his other pocket, bringing out a cloth and a small hip flask. He tore off the cap with his teeth, and poured the strong smelling contents and dabbed around the cut. Irene knitted her eyebrows and clenched her teeth, glancing down at him.


    "If you wanted to see the cut, you could have said as much!" Irene said angrily.


    Cyrus chuckled. "Threatening you is a lot more fun. Now hold still and try not to swat at me."


    Once he had cleared away most of the dried blood he leaned his face close to it. Irene cringed, feeling nauseated as the slimy sensation of Cyrus tongue glided across the cut. She tried to move away, but Cyrus was quick to bring an arm around her back and catch the opposing hip, holding her in place. But she felt an odd tremor in his hand, whereas before he''d always been so firm. As soon as Cyrus let go and stood up, Irene dashed away from him, thoroughly disgusted. She looked down at the cut, and saw it closing right before her eyes.


    "It''s not fun for me¡­" Irene said, glancing around for her shirt.


    "Looking for this?" Cyrus asked, wagging her shirt in front of her. Irene made a grab for it, only for him to jerk it out of her reach.


    "No more games, give me back my shirt!" Irene furiously demanded.


    Cyrus put it behind his back. "Only if you kiss me," Cyrus dickered playfully.


    "You''re a pig!" Irene spat, stomping her foot.


    "You know, I take that as a compliment. Not only are pigs highly intelligent, they can sustain orgasms for up to an hour," Cyrus reflected gleefully. Irene scrunched up her face and remained with her arms crossed over her bosom, scowling at Cyrus. Cyrus chuckled and tossed her back her shirt. Irene caught it and hastily put it back on. She didn''t even notice the itch above her collarbone caused by the tag.


    "I was only playing. I want a genuine sign of affection from you, and that can''t be bought," Cyrus responded as he walked back over to his chair. "Well, Irene, I guess I ought to escort you home."


    "My home isn''t safe. Gabriel knows where I live, and has his mortal lackeys looking for me. That is how I got the cut in the first place," Irene explained glumly, remembering that she had nowhere else to go. Cyrus tapped the desktop, a physical sign of agitation passing over his face.


    "I suppose that was inevitable. He''s good at selling people what they think they want," Cyrus responded. He picked up a pen and idly began to click it as he thought.


    "I need to go find somewhere safe," Irene murmured.


    Cyrus ''hmmed'' and leaned his head into the palm of his hand. "I might be able to help you there, peaches. Or should I call you breaches, now? Although I am hard at work, trying to get back at Gabriel," Cyrus said, staring off beyond Irene.


    "I noticed. You were definitely hard at work when I arrived."


    Cyrus''s eyes snapped back to Irene. "I work hard, I get to play hard. It''s nice to be wanted," Cyrus responded with a plaintive sniff.


    "Indeed. I don''t know why you kept pursuing me when you had easier, prettier women ready to hop into your lap," Irene gibed.


    "Cynthia isn''t easy, I''m just really sexy," Cyrus proclaimed. "You''re simply impossible."


    "Glad you realized it¡­" Irene said slowly, slipping a little upon the thin ice of a backhanded compliment.


    "Then why aren''t you smiling?" Cyrus teased. "Just admit it, Irene, a small part of you that I managed to flatter is jealous."


    "That''s a very conceited assumption to make," Irene shrugged. "Well, you said yourself you''re busy, so I am going to go look for a place to crash." Irene approached the door and tried to turn the knob. When it didn''t turn, she tried pulling.


    "It''s locked, Irene," Cyrus informed her. Irene whipped around. "Our little chats almost always end in you storming off. Why don''t you sit down? He perfect solution is right at your feet; you can stay here."


    "It doesn''t look all that accommodating," Irene said moodily as she walked back to one of the chairs and plunked down.


    "No, I suppose not. The building is old, but there''s a decent enough suite up here¡­" Cyrus shrugged.


    "Like I said¡­" Irene began, only to get cut off by Cyrus.


    "Yes, but where else will you go?" Cyrus asked pointedly.


    "I don''t know - but I can''t stay here! It isn''t any safer here than at my house," Irene protested.


    "No, you''re much safer here because I am here," Cyrus corrected.


    "You aren''t safe," Irene retorted, rubbing her knee. The constant tension and scuffles were beginning to tell their tale, even on her young body.


    "If you leave here, I can''t protect you, and Gabriel will find you. People don''t usually escape his clutches, and even rarer is someone who has gotten free twice. You won''t survive your next encounter with him. We-ll¡­ he might leave you alive so he can revel in the damage he does to your body, mind, and soul." Cyrus paused dramatically. He then tapped his temple with his pen. "Stick with me, and you might live," Cyrus cautioned, letting his voice drop to almost a whisper.


    "Cyrus, as far as I''m concerned, you are using Gabriel as an excuse to keep me close," Irene accused tiredly.


    "Maybe. I may be exaggerating the extent of Gabriel''s reach. You might be safe in a hotel somewhere. Maybe you''d best just leave town. But you don''t have the street smarts to make it out there without any cash or a credit card, and I don''t give out loans without some collateral," Cyrus reminded. Irene drooped, thwarted by reality again. She couldn''t pay for a hotel, or transit out of town. Once she got out of town, she would have no place to go. She hated it when Cyrus was right, because he was usually right about how bad things were. Gabriel was more aggressive force. However, if Gabriel was Cyrus''s only hold on her, then there was only one solution.


    "I want to help get rid of Gabriel," Irene announced resolutely. Cyrus blinked a few times, bewildered. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. This repeated a few times as he looked Irene over with an expression of incredulity.


    "You can''t fight, you can''t hunt, and I doubt you can acquire weapons for us. I''d send you out in the day to keep an eye on things¡­ but you''re a target - and that makes for a horrible spy. The only thing you''d be good for in this conflict is bait or a snack bar." Cyrus walked around his desk, leaning against it. "If you want to help, then stay here and put my mind at rest."


    "I can do more than sit around," Irene insisted defensively.


    Cyrus shrugged his shoulders, hopping up to sit on his desk. "At any rate, I have enough troubles as it is, and I don''t need you storming off in a huff and getting yourself in danger. We''re heavily out matched. If I knew you''d be safe, I''d send you on recruitment missions, since you are SUCH an inspiring, warm, people-person. However, being mortal, you''d get bitten before anyone would listen," Cyrus explained.


    Irene leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. "You aren''t as alone as you think," Irene said cryptically.


    "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.


    Irene straightened up and smiled faintly. It was small, but it was still some small bit of power she finally had over him. "You have a benefactor."


    Cyrus continued to study Irene''s face carefully, his eyebrows knitting together in perplexity. "Is that so? How did you come across this¡­ discovery?"


    "I won''t say more than that. You''ll just have to take it in good faith."


    "You sure you aren''t being fed false information as part of some trap?" Cyrus asked skeptically.


    "I''ll just say I had to save my source from one of Gabriel''s goons. Said source later returned the favour," Irene recounted. Her mind flew to the mystery vampire that Amber spoke of. She felt there was something there that she should be making a connection to.


    "Sounds like you have an angel on your side," Cyrus responded thoughtfully. He then got to his feet. "It still may be a trap."


    "Maybe..." Irene responded, not giving away any more information. Irene rolled the information over in her mind as Cyrus shook his head. There was a female vampire with an interest in Cyrus and Irene''s welfare. Or if not their welfare, at least their movements. Furthermore, it was a vampire who suffered being left in the sun to burn. The secretive nature was the most suspicious element. Amber never said how long she had been serving the vampire. The pieces were starting to fall into place.


    "Enough," Cyrus said, seeming suddenly uneasy. He walked over to the door, pulling out a key to unlock it. Irene got to her feet, following Cyrus. For once, Irene was eager to see the outcome, rather than dreading the future. "Let''s get you settled in - by the way, your shirt is on backwards..."

 Chapter 29 - Violation

    "There''s a lock on the door," Cyrus demonstrated the privacy lock on the bedroom door. "That ought to help you relax a bit."


    Irene was not going to relax in a building full of vampires.


    "Ensuite with a shower over there," Cyrus pointed to a partially open sliding door to the left. "And leave the blackout curtains where they are, if you please," Cyrus added. The curtains had been taped and pinned at the edges, keeping natural light at bay. "You also might want to change out of that shirt."


    "I don''t have anything to change into. I didn''t have time to pack."


    Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. "I''d ask Cynthia to lend you something of hers, but she''d sooner swallow a wasp''s nest from the looks she was giving you. Also, her clothes probably wouldn''t fit," Cyrus walked over to an old fashioned wardrobe, pulling it open. A scooting noise attracted Irene''s attention as he moved some hangers around, then took down a short-sleeve shirt with a collar and tossed it to her. Irene caught it, staring at it a moment. It''d be a little baggy, but it would fit well enough. Wait. Wasn''t he wearing this when he was pretending to be her tutor?


    Irene squinted and wrinkled her nose. "Isn''t this yours?" Irene looked at the wardrobe. Lots of black, with a few clothes items of neutral colours, and one bright red shiny silky shirt.


    "Yes, but I assure you it''s clean," Cyrus responded with a shrug.


    Irene then looked around the room with greater scrutiny. "Is this... your room?"


    "I''ve told you before, I don''t mind sharing," Cyrus said with a chuckle.


    Irene dropped the shirt and turned around to leave, forgetting the door was locked. By the time she pushed in the knob and untwisted it, Cyrus was right behind her.


    "What''s the rush?"


    Irene did not bother responding. Cyrus knew very well what her rush was. She hurried out into the hall. Irene didn''t make it far before she came to a halt, seeing Cynthia haunting the end of the corridor. The vampiress crossed her arms and licked her lips with a predatory smile at Irene. How quickly Irene forgot she was in a building full of vampires. Irene stepped back into the room and slammed the door, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart.


    Cyrus picked up the discarded shirt and held it out to Irene. "Come now, it will be like when we shared the basement before. I''ll be out all night while you''re asleep. We can be mature adults about this."


    Irene snatched the shirt and squinted. "I''m not an adult, and you aren''t mature."


    "But between the two of us we can make one mature adult!" Cyrus chimed in merrily. Irene shook her head and walked past Cyrus, heading for the ensuite, sliding the door so forcefully it hit the edge and slid back open again. She sighed and slid it closed with less force, twisting the ineffectual lock.


    Irene filled the sink with cold water and tried to rinse her shirt out as best she could. Once again, she had thought she was rid of Cyrus. Once again, she was wrong. She was away from home. Her father would be back soon, but Irene was concerned about his safety. Irene just had to believe he would be alright so long as she led the danger elsewhere. Unfortunately, Irene was certain that he''d be distressed by her absence. Why hadn''t he come home yet? Did Gloria never actually get in contact with him? With all of these concerns in her mind, she stepped out, smoothing out the olive green shirt as she did so.


    "Cyrus, tomorrow I need to go back to my house to grab a few things and leave a note for my father," Irene said, still adjusting the shirt. It was a little loose, and the shoulders sat weird. But it covered what it needed to cover. Irene looked up when she didn''t hear a response.


    Cyrus was sitting on the bed, staring pensively at the door. After a moment, his gaze shifted to her. "Oh. Yes. Sure. I''ll arrange a ride for you."


    Cyrus slid off the bed and looked Irene in the eye. Irene tilted her head questioningly. By the time she remembered the danger of making prolonged eye contact with him, it was too late. She felt that odd sense of things slowing down, and an inability to look away. "Come here, Irene." First one foot, then the other, and Irene felt herself moving closer. She wasn''t even aware there was anything unusual about obeying such a simple, innocent command.


    "What is it?" She had noticed his expression prior to their locking gazes. Something was on his mind. Cyrus stared at her silently for a moment. Irene waited patiently, her thoughts seeming to congeal into a lethargic sludge, rather than the usual rapid cycling she experienced.


    "Let''s talk. Here. Sit," Cyrus said, patting the bed. Irene shrugged. Again, the request was innocent enough. Mild curiosity tickled her brain, just barely parting the sea of indifferent serenity. She did want him to go away, but she could be patient. Cyrus remained standing, keeping his eyes on her as she sat upon the edge of the bed.


    "I''m listening," Irene prompted. While at the same time things felt thick and heavy, her mind also felt light and airy, as if it had risen far, far above the deep thoughts that kept her grounded.


    "I have this little theory about something, but I''ll get to that in a moment. Humour me. I know you don''t like it when I prod into your personal life..."


    "I don''t like it," Irene confirmed in a matter-of-fact tone. Indeed, she did not like it. Yet the usual urge to get up and leave in a huff was bound and suppressed, leaving her with just her most surface thoughts and impressions, letting the situation pass like leaves on a stream.


    "I know you were concerned about Jordan."


    Irene flinched. The deep feelings that writhed in her core were venting, disrupting the air balloon Irene''s conscious mind floated upon. But it wasn''t enough to bring it down. She furrowed her eyebrows, but did not tear her gaze away. She said nothing, and just gave a slight nod.


    Cyrus continued, his tone lacking its usual animated cadence. "So it may be painful, but I''d like you to focus on him for a moment. Think of his face, his voice, how he makes you feel. Conjure him up. Imagine he was here."


    At this suggestion, it was hard not to think about Jordan. And it was painful. Irene''s eyes watered. "I miss him..." Irene said, completely unguarded. "I wish he were here." Cyrus nodded, keeping his face unusually devoid of expression. Irene thought of Jordan, weakened, frightened, and battered. No. That''s not how she wanted to remember him. She thought of him as healthy, athletic, and confident! She thought of the warm smile he greeted her with, or the cocky grin he wore when he was resolved. She thought of his hazel eyes, not brown, not quite green, but freely passing off as either on a whim. She remembered his laugh, and found herself laughing with him.


    "Close your eyes, keep that thought," Cyrus instructed in a calm, soothing voice. Irene hesitated. Cyrus''s voice did not belong. His presence did not belong. But eventually, her eyes fluttered and then closed. She didn''t want to see Cyrus anyway. Irene surrendered herself to happy memories of Jordan, but they were tinged with sadness and a fear of impending loss. There was pressure on her shoulder; a reassuring hand. In her altered state of consciousness, she didn''t connect it with Cyrus. She freely covered the hand with her own.


    "I''m sorry, Jordan. I never meant to burden you; I should have kept it to myself until you were better," Irene said remorsefully, squeezing the hand. She heard a shushing noise and she drew in a deep breath. The illusion her mind had created was so real to her. She relaxed, wrapping herself in the false sense of security, as strong arms wrapped around her. She wanted to believe it was Jordan, although there was still a part of her that knew it was impossible. It was a dream. A daydream. But it was a pleasant escape.


    "Don''t worry about that..." came a whisper. Irene wrapped her arms about Jordan. No. It wasn''t Jordan. Who else could it be? No... no... Hands rubbed her back, and it was slow and soothing. She needed comfort. More importantly, she needed to allow herself to need comfort. Irene dipped her chin and rested her forehead against a clavicle, feeling safe. But something didn''t feel right. Just as the illusion was wavering, she felt a hand on her bare skin, just below her navel. A mote of irritation arose among other uncomfortable feelings.


    "No... we talked about this." Irene muttered. Wait. We who? Jordan and I? Or...


    Irene''s eyes burst open and she froze. Dark fabric. She tilted her head up, seeing Cyrus''s face. There wasn''t the leer she was expecting, but a searching, analytical expression. No... no! Irene shook her head, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing away. He didn''t move, and instead she ended up pushing herself back, causing her to flop back onto the bed. She quickly backed away from him, knees up, ready to kick him if he approached. He did not.


    "What is wrong with you!?" Irene screeched.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Ah ah ah!" Cyrus wagged a finger, his seeking expression giving way to smug epiphany. "No, my dear Irene, it''s not what is wrong with me, but what''s wrong with you!" Cyrus then clapped his hands together, seeming absolutely delighted about something. Irene sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed.


    "That was... that was low, even for you! How could you?!" Irene vented, the anger that had been waiting in the wings finally coming out to play. Probing into her feelings about Jordan and using them in such a way was a new level of violation. Irene stood up quickly and slapped Cyrus. Or tried. An inch away from his cheek, her hand was halted, a tight grip on her wrist. She winced as he squeezed.


    "Remember what I said about slapping me," Cyrus said, pointing his finger at her with his free hand, the merriment dropping from his demeanour. "I will put up with a lot of abuse, but not that."


    Irene took in three sharp breaths, each one coming out in a heavy vent. What about the abuse I''ve been enduring? On the fourth, she drew in a long, steadying breath, letting it out slowly as she pushed the rage away. It could only get her into trouble. The grip on her wrist grew slack, and she slipped it free, massaging the now sore joint with her other hand.


    "Yes, that was terrible of me. But it got me another piece of the puzzle, and a picture is finally forming," Cyrus said, his previous excitement returning.


    "What are you talking about?" Irene blurted before she realized she didn''t really want to know. But it was too late. Cyrus began to pace in front of her, hands neatly clasped behind his back.


    "I am a moderately powerful vampire in my own right. I don''t stack up to Gabriel in terms of raw power, but I have my own talents. And lately, after the horrible beat down I got, I''d begun to worry that my powers were..." Cyrus held up a hand, wobbling it, "...slipping."


    Irene crossed her arms, cradling her sore wrist as she watched him. She would leave, but she was, as usual, his captive audience. She just had to ride this out.


    "I tried to control you on several occasions. But you kept breaking free. And it was draining me. Then when going toe to toe with your father, he was starting to break free from my grasp as well. I had to use up my reserves, which is why I needed blood so desperately after. And I was horrified. That was it. I was finished. I couldn''t take on Gabriel if I was past my prime..." Cyrus lifted up his hands to the ceiling and shook his head. He let them fall and returned to pacing. "I gave myself time, made sure I was well fed, meditated even! I tried again to just relax you. Have a little fun..."


    Irene made a sound of disgust and turned her head to the side. But she still watched Cyrus out of the corner of her eye, wary lest he were to make any more moves she did not like. "Get to the point."


    "I''m getting there, Breaches." Cyrus stopped pacing, standing in front of Irene. She wanted to step back, but the bed obstructed her. "Something occurred to me while we were talking after my shower. I mean, who could see this naked bod and NOT want it?" Irene narrowed her eyes. "You, of course. No, no, hear me out. I detected a sort of... detachment from you. And something clicked. Of course, I had to troubleshoot a little. You don''t want me. You don''t love me. But you do love Jordan."


    "I am losing my patience..." Irene warned. Although there wasn''t much she could do, it felt good to go through the motions.


    "I wasn''t weakened. You were just... well, you! And as for your father, my confidence had already been undermined by you. But after my paradigm shift, after I began to think it might not be me, I found I was quite capable of influencing the minds of those two women. I realized that the trouble was I was always trying to capitalize on sexual desires in others, which has worked well for me in the past." Cyrus was very animated as he spoke. "And just now, I could feel it. I was blowing on cold coals. You have no ember, no spark!"


    "What are you implying?" Irene asked crossly.


    "That it''s not me, it''s you!" Cyrus grabbed Irene''s head and kissed her. Before Irene could protest he put a finger to her lips. "Just to be clear, that was an epiphany kiss, not a lustful kiss." Cyrus said before letting go and stepping back. Irene wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still scowling.


    "What, are you saying that I''m gay? Just because a woman isn''t into you doesn''t mean-"


    "Irene, please. You are far from gay. Much too crabby and dour." Irene''s eye twitched. "Listen. Okay. If I pinch you, you''ll feel pain. Maybe you will scream, or say ow, or something. Or maybe you won''t react at all, trying to be tough. But you''d still FEEL the pain." Irene shook her head, exasperated.


    "I am lost. Just speak plainly!" Irene said in frustration.


    "Well, even if you hate my guts, your body doesn''t always know that. Still, I considered your disgust may have prevented you from feeling anything but fear from my touch. But if you felt safe and loved, then a little stimulation ought to get your heart racing, but I felt no change in your blood flow - at least not the sort I was looking for. Maybe you love Jordan, but you don''t want him, do you?"


    Irene stared at Cyrus. "Of course I want him!" Irene snapped angrily. But this was a different anger. Not the roiling, combustive anger she often felt. Not the vexed anger. But a terrified, prickly anger. Her stomach lurched and she protested. But the seed of doubt was sown. "I..."


    "You don''t have to answer me, but be honest with yourself. Have you ever felt sexually attracted to him? To anyone?" Cyrus asked.


    Irene''s brow furrowed. "That''s none of your-"


    "I said you didn''t have to answer." Cyrus took a few more steps back, putting his hands out. "Because I already have my answers. And it''s a relief to me. What you choose to do with this revelation, or feel about it, is between you, and you alone. But I am going to say... poor Jordan."


    Irene gasped, and held back the urge to shriek at Cyrus. It would not do any good. She did not want to attract the curiosity of any vampires. Irene took in a series of rapid breaths as she tried to contain herself. She finally managed to spit out, "Screw you."


    "I''d love that, but... I think that ship has sailed." Irene grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He chuckled, raising his arm and blocking it. It fell with a less than satisfying ''flumpf''. But as the mercurial vampire was prone to do, he quickly shifted from playful to serious. "I''m sorry if this revelation is painful to you. But I needed to restore confidence in myself rather than rely on my usual false bravado. I can''t fight the good fight if I have any doubts."


    Irene did not respond. She just focused on breathing. Deep breaths. Calm breaths. The scrutiny of her deepest vulnerabilities was a searing pain, and she felt over-exposed and shamed. Irene had been hiding from herself a long time. She wanted Jordan. She wanted him by her side. But she had never desired him. She kept rationalizing that she wasn''t ready. That she was a late bloomer. But by her final year in highschool, having spent years overhearing other student''s sexual exploits and excitement on the topic, she still had not felt anything. And now she had to face the hardest truth. She knew she and Jordan would never marry. Or if they did, it''d be on false pretenses and end in disappointment and resentment. So when Jordan said that they would either move forward or break up, Irene knew there was only one choice for her. To let him go. There it was. Irene had been selfish. She had been forcing someone she loved to wait for something that may never happen. Irene was forced to accept that she was different.


    But there was one silver lining in this. "...Does this mean you will finally leave me alone?"


    Cyrus tapped his chin, looking Irene over. "...Probably not but..." Cyrus rolled back his shoulders. "I can adjust my expectations." That was not the response Irene hoped for, but it didn''t surprise her. She fell onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her rage quieted down very quickly, and she just felt tired.


    "Why bother?" Irene asked, laying her hands on her stomach. She saw a shadow pass over her. The mattress bounced and creaked as Cyrus plopped down beside her.


    "I like you, Irene. But I''ve spent a long time around rather depraved individuals. I''m no saint myself. Anyway, joking and flirting is how I express myself," Cyrus explained.


    Irene continued to stare at the ceiling. "You do more than joke and flirt. You aren''t harmless. You''ve hurt me," Irene said in a tone devoid of feeling, despite the groundswell of emotion.


    Irene heard Cyrus click his tongue. "Okay. Fine. I''ll admit I''ve been rough with you. But you keep persevering. You keep looking at everything falling apart around you, and yes, you get angry and scream and cry, but then you get on your feet and try to salvage it. It''s admirable, but also sad to see a young person who is so composed." Cyrus''s words of praise did little to lighten Irene''s current burden. Nor did it endear him much to her.


    "A few kind words aren''t going to undo everything you''ve done to me, Cyrus," Irene intoned.


    "I know. The affection is all one-sided. But, even if it doesn''t change your opinion of me, just let me say, what I like most about you is that you know what you are worth. You know you don''t deserve to be treated the way I''ve treated you." Irene closed her eyes. How could this monster stand there, admit to his abuse, and still act like everything was okay? She was too tired to scream. Too trapped to run. And he carried on like everything was normal. This was not normal. "Anyway, it''s refreshing to be held accountable. Uncomfortable, at times, but refreshing." Irene felt the mattress shift again.


    "Don''t you have work to do?" Irene asked tiredly.


    "Right, yes." There was a sharp squeak and she depression next to her vanished. "I have to round up what few people I have, explain a few things, and together we''ll throw ourselves into perilous danger against all odds. Hopefully THIS time there won''t be any cops."


    "You do that¡­" Irene said as she poked at the mattress of the large bed. Irene also hoped there wouldn''t be anymore officers. She hoped there wouldn''t be more innocent blood shed, that the monsters could just cull each other and leave the rest of the population in peace. Leave her in peace. Irene heard the door open and close. On that cue, she got up and locked the door, testing it to make sure it was secure, then crawled back into bed. The emotional upheaval and self revelation left her exhausted and numb.

 Chapter 30 - Gaslight

    Bewilderment danced around Irene''s head as she awoke in an unfamiliar place. Sitting up with a jerk, Irene cast an alarmed glance around the dark room. Easing her breath, Irene recollected the previous day. She was once again in Cyrus''s clutches. Anger swelled in Irene''s bosom as she remembered the nasty trick Cyrus had played on her mind and heart, all for his own gratification.


    Irene tried to push the thoughts to the background and get her bearings. She wondered how long she had been asleep. The room was dark, and no illuminated alarm clock waited to inform her of the time.


    Irene shuffled around in her bare feet, groping along the wall for a switch. Finally her hands discovered it, and she closed her eyes tight before flicking on the light. The surge of pain didn''t shoot into her brain as she had expected. She peeked her eyes open at the dimly lit room. Irene wandered back to the bed, and walked around to the other side, where a small nightstand was. She opened the drawer and peered inside. There were several torn envelopes and letters. Irene shuffled through them, uninterested in what was written on them. Finding nothing but paper, Irene closed the drawer and tried the next one. Inside were some knick-knacks and miscellaneous objects. It seemed like a promising place to find a timepiece.


    Close to giving up the search, a chain snagged Irene''s hand. As she tried to free her fingers, her attention was drawn to a small bronze key, tainted with patina. What is this key for? On the same chain was a gold-plated locket. Curiously she held it up to the light and opened it. Inside was a small portrait of a woman. There was something austere about the woman''s countenance that Irene found strangely fascinating. Irene turned it; the other side of the locket had an ornate ''L'' engraved into it. Irene had no trouble guessing what the ''L'' stood for. "This must be Layla¡­"


    Irene closed the drawer, still holding the locket delicately in her hand as she got back onto the bed. She piled all of the pillows together and leaned against them, dangling the locket in front of her. "So you were the one brave enough to stand up against a brute like Gabriel. If this portrait is just like you, then I can see why. You look very strong¡­" Irene said to the locket. "Why did you have to die? I would never have met Cyrus, if it weren''t for you. Or did you somehow fake your death to get away from all of them? I wouldn''t blame you." Irene sighed, letting her arms rest. "Why am I talking to a piece of jewelry?"


    "Because you''re lonely."


    Irene froze. She remained rigid in perfect silence for a moment. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit room but found no one. Every nook and cranny warranted investigation, and Irene was soon busy checking each and every one. She peered into the en suite, pulling back the shower curtain. Seeing no one there, she headed back to the bed, getting onto her hands and knees and peering underneath. All she saw were some boxes and miscellaneous clutter. Rising to her feet again, Irene mentally shook herself.


    "I must be losing it¡­" Irene muttered.


    "You are."


    "Who is there!?" Irene jumped away from the bed and bumped into the closet bifold door. Silence greeted her. "This isn''t funny¡­ I know someone is there!" The familiarity of the voice was haunting.


    "No one is there. You know that."


    "Please, whoever you are, stop this." Irene waited for a moment. No response came. Shaking, Irene approached the bed where she had dropped the locket. She felt around the folds of the disturbed blankets until her hands closed around it. She inspected it closely, and then put it back in the drawer. Irene got back onto the bed, curling up tightly, but keeping an alert eye around the room.


    "Too bad Cyrus isn''t here. Then you''d have him to criticize, and could spare yourself your harsh judgment."


    "Stop it!" Irene cried, throwing her hands over her ears.


    "I already told you that you were losing it," came the voice as clear as ever. Irene blinked a few times, her heart skipping a beat. She realized why the voice was so familiar. It sounded like her own.


    "I''m not¡­ talking to myself am I?"


    "You are. You''re the only one in this room. Who else is there to talk to but yourself?"


    "No¡­ this isn''t right¡­ why would I respond to myself? This is some sort of trick¡­" Irene rationalized.


    "You''ve rationalized your way this far, but I''m afraid it isn''t enough anymore. The very notion of being hunted down and fought over by vampires is ludicrous."


    "But I''m not crazy. This can''t be a hallucination," Irene continued to try and reason.


    "What would you know? You hardly qualify as an expert on hallucinations."


    "If you are me, then you wouldn''t ask me what I know," Irene insisted.


    "I do it all the time. "


    "I''ve had enough of this! Whoever you are, this stops NOW!" Irene shrieked. All fell silent. Irene waited for another retort. Nothing. Irene continued to wait, and the minutes stretched into an hour. She remained in vigilant silence, waiting for the voice to dare try and convince her that she was crazy. It never returned.


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    The door swung open and Irene jumped, bringing the blankets up around herself. Cyrus poked his head in, a red smudge barely visible near his temple, his hair looking wet and matted.


    "Oh good you''re already awake."


    Irene sighed in relief, then questioned that very relief. Her tension returned as Cyrus closed the door behind him and strode across the room. "There are clean towels in the chest to the right of the wardrobe for when you decide to freshen up," Cyrus mentioned as he tugged a towel off of a hook by the bathroom door. "When you are ready, go down to the kitchen and ask for Rory. He''ll arrange to have you taken to your house to pick up your things, feed your cat, whatever you need to do." Cyrus held the towel over his arm. "But first I am going to pop into the shower and clean off."


    "Ask for Rory," Irene repeated Cyrus nodded before heading into the ensuite, sliding the door closed behind him.


    Irene rubbed her face, listening to the sound of running water. What happened? Irene held firm in her conviction that she was entirely sane. But something was going on. The questions of what, how, and why kept running through her mind, but there were too many variables for her to piece together any reasonable scenario.


    Irene went and looked in the chest. As promised, appropriate towels of different sizes were laid out, smelling fresh and clean. The laundry must have been done recently as she could still smell the dryer sheets. She didn''t question why, for just one suite, he had so many towels. She also saw in the same chest some spare bed sheets. She glanced at the bed she had slept on. If she wasn''t so tired last night she would have changed them before going to sleep. She was determined, this evening, to do so. Thoughts on how to make the next few days as comfortable as possible kept her from pondering too much on the danger she found herself plunged into.


    Once Cyrus was out, he hung up his towel, hair still messy from a rushed fluffing. "I''ve got some paperwork to do, then it''ll be lights out for me. If you need anything, I''ll be in my office. And don''t worry about the other vampires. I''ve briefed them," Cyrus explained. Irene found herself nodding as he spoke, but only paying partial attention. She held the towels she''d selected tightly to her chest, eyes wandering to the blacked out window. "No one will bite you. I can''t promise they will be civil, though."


    "Hmm..." Irene responded indifferently as she shrugged her shoulders. Cyrus watched her for a moment until she looked over at him. "Well? Go on, I''m fine here."


    "Right-o!" Cyrus flourished a salute before turning and heading out, running fingers through his damp hair. Once Cyrus was gone, Irene locked the door


    Irene''s shower was very brief. She was not comfortable in the small stall, which felt even smaller due to the dark brown backsplash and navy curtain. Her scrutinizing eyes caught dark stains in the tile grout, which she assumed to be dried blood. She searched all over to look for a fresh bar of soap, as she was not going to rub anything on her body that had touched Cyrus, finally finding one in a pack under the sink. She eyed a generic pump bottle with the word ''shampoo'' hand written in permanent marker and gave it a sniff. It smelled more like dish soap than shampoo. There was no conditioner and no moisturizer, and while she came out feeling exceptionally clean, upon toweling off, she felt dry and brittle.


    As ready as Irene could get, Irene tiptoed downstairs. She could hear the clatter of employees of the coffee shop. She shielded her eyes as she left the dim upper apartment and came into the brightly lit staff-only corridor. Following the sound of dishes clinking and the smell of brewing coffee, Irene found her way to the kitchen. At first, no one seemed to notice her. She felt uneasy at interrupting people at work, but she finally spoke up. "Hello? I am looking for someone named Rory?"


    CRASH. Irene cringed at the sound of a plate hitting the ground, smashing into three large pieces. The person who dropped it swore and knelt down, quickly picking up the pieces. Another employee, hair up in a net, peered at Irene with nervous curiousity before getting back to work. Finally a girthy man with a receding hairline and close-cropped beard caught Irene''s eye. "That''d be me. I''m Rory. You Irene?"


    "Yes." Irene stayed in the doorway, not wanting to be underfoot.


    Rory turned and shimmied past another employee at a bottleneck and walked over to Irene, gesturing back out into the hallway. Irene nodded and stepped back, Rory following close behind, shutting the door. "No one told me I''d be babysitting." Rory rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing somewhat. Irene stared at Rory for a moment or two.


    "Babysitting?" Irene wondered if rudeness was a requirement in this building. "All I need is a lift, then I''ll be out of your hair."


    "What''s left of it." Rory gave in with a mighty sigh. "Alright. Might as well get this over with. You ready to go now?"


    "Yes." Irene affirmed as she tucked some of her hair out of her eyes. Rory''s eyes widened and he stared at her hand, then looked away in embarrassment. Irene stared at where her finger used to be, and then quickly shoved her hand in her pocket. "Let''s go."


    <hr>


    Neither Rory nor Irene were talkative on the drive. Irene kept her remarks strictly to directions. Irene was quick to get inside and gather essentials, in addition to a few books and a deck of cards. She had a feeling she''d be alone and confined a lot in the near future. She refilled Silver''s food and water. Concerned, she put down another bowl of food, trusting Silver to eat responsibly. Lastly she grabbed some paper to write a note for her father. Many times she cursed as the pen slipped out of her grip, and it was painful to see how messy her writing had become. She read it and re-read a few times, trying to see it objectively. Was it clear? Was it legible? It would have to do. She heard the horn go off as Rory was clearly getting impatient. Irene sighed. Hopefully her father would obey the note to not contact the police, and to not search for her. Irene could only imagine the pain he would experience reading this, but it was all she could do.


    When Irene got back into the car, her hand slipped off the door handle as she tried to pull it shut. She pressed her lips together, holding in a vent of frustration and tried again, this time slower and more careful. Rory looked over at her, a thick eyebrow raised.


    "I take it that''s not an old, uh, injury," Rory commented. Irene looked straight ahead.


    "No."


    "Ah." Rory pulled out, and a tense silence remained between them. Her hands were placed primly on her lap, and she''d notice him eye her hands a few times when the road wasn''t demanding his full attention. But he never asked further. And when they returned to the coffee shop, Irene was relieved.


    "Have you had anything to eat?" Rory asked as they stepped out of his car. Irene shook her head. "Well, we''ve got some day-old danishes sitting in the kitchen that are up for grabs. If anyone gives you trouble just tell them you''re from upstairs."


    "Do you... know what is going on up there?" Irene asked hesitantly, speaking almost in a whisper as her and Rory walked in through the back door.


    "I know only what keeps me in business," Rory responded. Stroking his well-groomed whiskers, he gave Irene an evaluating look, before shaking his head. "Don''t know what your role in all that is, don''t want to. But take care."

 Chapter 31 - Peek in the Cellar

    The cards buzzed as Irene shuffled them, feeling each piece of cardboard slip past her fingers. Just as last time, her grip on them wavered and they began to shoot off in different directions. Frustrated, Irene gathered all of the cards up, picking up the ones which had tumbled to the floor. She counted up her deck and used the flat surface of the table to shape them into a neat stack, slipping the deck back into their box. Irene picked up the paper napkin and to-go coffee cup and walked over to the waste basket, dumping them in.


    Irene had free rein of the apartment above the coffee shop, but it wasn''t overly large. It consisted of a living area with a kitchenette, bathroom, and three bedrooms. However, one of the bedrooms had been converted into an office and the other into a sort of meeting room. The master bedroom was currently occupied by Cyrus, and for that reason, she was avoiding it. All windows were either boarded up, or had blackout curtains. To her disappointment, she could not find a laundry room.


    The confinement was draining on Irene. She wanted to be outside and see the sun. She wanted to feel the chill in the air, breathe it in and feel it cool her throat and lungs, warm up, and then be expelled. To run and feel the heat of her heart pumping. But here she was, afraid because neither day nor night was safe. She was frustrated to be stuck on the bench while others worked to end Gabriel''s regime. She didn''t care about what the vampires were doing to each other. She just cared that Gabriel would no longer be targeting her.


    Even if she could not go outside, Irene needed to be active. She began moving some of the furniture against the wall to give herself some space. It was clear no one had done a proper cleaning for some time, as a colony of dust bunnies had adopted the room as their home. Instead of the workout Irene had originally planned, she set out to find a broom and began sweeping the hardwood floor.


    Irene wasn''t sure when it started. She wasn''t even aware that she was thinking, much less feeling. But one tear fell, and then another, landing upon her hand as she continued to compile an impressive dust pile. She stared at that dust pile, seeing it as a metaphor for the future she had been planning. She tenderly swept it onto the tray and brought it to the bin, and hesitated before dumping it in. And like that, her future was no more. After all of this, she doubted her father would let her go away to college. And Jordan, if he even survived, would not want her if he knew the truth. If her father''s company failed and he lost the job, she''d likely have to get a low paying job to help pay the bills. Irene looked at her missing finger. And there was that. People learned to live with entire limbs removed, but Irene knew it took time. She wondered how long it would be before it stopped hurting.


    Irene wiped away her tears and continued cleaning. The only way to move was forward. Resentment continued to fester in her breast at feeling like she was stuck on a rollercoaster, rather than moving at her own pace.


    "Quite the domestic little miss," came that ever familiar voice. Irene gripped the broom handle hard. No. Don''t engage. She continued to work, only looking up briefly to see Cyrus walk over to the mini fridge. She had pointedly not looked inside when she was exploring earlier. Now she saw Cyrus pull out a plastic pouch filled with red liquid. Blood, no doubt. He took a straw out of a drawer and stabbed it into the bag, sucking the contents out. Irene tried not to let the slurping irritated her when he got down to the end of his blood pack. "I see you''ve already grabbed some of your things," Cyrus said, glancing at a corner where she''d stashed her bags. "You could have brought them into the bedroom. I''m a heavy sleeper."


    "Then why are you up? It''s only noon," Irene said as she pulled excess hairs off of the broom bristles, dumping them into the garbage.


    "Don''t you ever get up for a midnight snack?" Cyrus asked.


    "No, not really."


    "Well, no, I guess a slim girl like yourself wouldn''t. Not unless she threw-up right after," Cyrus said, walking over and tossing the empty bag in the trash. Irene wrinkled her nose.


    "You''re just going to toss that in the garbage? Without rinsing it first?"


    "Whaaaaaat? Women toss their-"


    "Nevermind!" Irene snapped slamming the garbage lid shut. Hopefully whatever Cyrus''s plans were, they''d move along swiftly and she would not have to stay here much longer.


    "Well I''m going to go back to bed. I need to be good and rested for tonight." Irene cocked her head to the side, a small ripple of relief passing through her at that news. She nodded to him and went to put the broom away. As she was walking she heard Cyrus voice chasing her. "If you ever need a break, feel free to come to bed." Even after last night, he was still at it. Once she heard the bedroom door shut, Irene smiled a rueful smile. As disgusted as she was with his behaviour, it was oddly reassuring. And that was as disturbing as it was comical.


    <hr>


    Life had been constant with the mix of relief and fear, and that evening was no exception. Irene feared the other vampires, that Cyrus may not be able to control them as well as he thought. But on the other hand, at least it was a break from the monotony. While she did not mind keeping her own company, she usually did so with a certain amount of personal freedom she currently lacked.


    Cyrus was up a little before sunset, but he went immediately to his office and locked it. Which Irene was fine with. She had been puzzling over what to feed herself. She''d bought lunch from the coffee shop below, but their menu had very light fare and not quite satiating for an evening meal. Admittedly, it was tempting to just buy a tower of desserts, but she knew she wouldn''t feel great after. And she didn''t have space to burn off the excess energy.


    To Irene''s surprise, however, while she was sitting and looking through menus in the Yellow Pages, she smelled a savoury aroma. She looked up and Cody, the young vampire approached her with a plastic bag.


    "Um, hello again," he said, putting it down. "I was told to pick you up some food. So... here''s some Chinese. It should be enough for leftovers for tomorrow," he said, placing the bag on the table. Irene stared at it, drinking in the delicious smell.


    "Thank you. Um... Cory was it?"


    "Cody," Cody corrected. "I uh should... gosh that smells so good... I miss Chinese food. I should go," Cody blushed and quickly excused himself. He seemed so awkward and strange, and yet the night when he''d snagged her, sounded just as sinister and dangerous as one thought a vampire ought. She began to wonder how he became a vampire. She also wondered if he''d be a viable source of information.


    "Wait!" Irene called out. Cody froze, looking almost as if she had stricken him. He looked over his shoulder, something sheepish on his face.


    "Yes...?" He asked, a nervous glance towards the doorway.


    "Please, come, talk," Irene invited, gesturing to the chair across from her.


    Cody glanced at the exit, then at Irene, then at the exit again. "Why?" He seemed oddly afraid of her, and that really made her wonder.


    "Why not?" Irene countered, tapping the table. It was strange to have someone behaving like that towards her.


    "Look... I... I don''t... I need to go feed, and Cyrus made it clear that if anyone but him bit you, he''d have our fangs." Despite his paleness, Irene saw a blush brighten the young vampire''s cheeks and ears before he shuffled off.


    It was worth a try. Irene shrugged and Irene eagerly opened the two take-out containers. To her surprised delight one had chop suey and the other deep fried prawns. Deep fried prawns were her favourite. Irene tried not to think about how any one of these vampires would know that.


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    The meal made her think of her father and how he might react to her note. Perhaps she could phone the house and let him know she was alright? No. It would be too risky. Irene tried to focus on enjoying her meal.


    As Irene was eating, she saw a few different vampires pass by the open archway which led into the hall. She recognized both Cynthia and Kendrick, but there were several individuals she didn''t know. Some of them glanced briefly at her in passing, but most ignored her presence. Which suited her just fine. A few times she heard murmurs or raised voices, but could not pick out enough words to know what their plans were. She was curious, but not curious enough to try and eavesdrop.


    As Irene was packing up her leftovers, she hesitated putting them in the fridge. She finally opened it, and saw a row of blood bags neatly stacked on the lower rack. If they were all tightly sealed, then it shouldn''t be actually dangerous to store her leftovers in there. Still, it made her feel queasy. She placed them back in the plastic bag they came in, and put them in, closing the door quickly. She''d try not to think about it.


    When Irene turned around, she saw Cyrus standing in the doorway. "We''re heading out." Irene just nodded to him. He half turned, then paused, and looked over at her, his eyebrows drawn together. Something was clearly on his mind, and on the tip of his tongue. Cyrus had not previously displayed a pattern of inhibition when it came to speaking his mind. Against Irene''s better judgment, it tickled her curiosity.


    Before Cyrus spoke what was on his mind, Cynthia walked into the room. She gave Irene a cold stare, but then smiled down at Cyrus. She was tall, for a woman, and Cyrus was short, for a man. This made the disparity between them almost comical. She placed her hands on his shoulders close to his neck, fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can celebrate."


    "Right-o!" Cyrus said, his eyes lighting up. Whatever he had intended to say was unceremoniously abandoned and the two turned to leave, his hand on Cynthia''s shapely posterior as they left. Irene rolled her eyes, unsure what Cynthia saw in Cyrus. But it wasn''t any of her business. Nonetheless, such encouragement of Cyrus''s boorish behaviour offended Irene.


    <hr>


    The lack of fresh air was causing Irene to feel sluggish. Exercise only helped a little. With everyone gone, she decided to sneak down and just step outside. It was not her plan to go far, just to open up the door and breathe in some of the cool night air. However, as Irene reached for the back door, Irene yelped as her arm was grabbed.


    "He said you might try and sneak off," came a gravelly voice.


    Irene turned and saw a pair of light brown, almost golden eyes glaring at her. "I..."


    "Don''t care," Kendrick cut her off as he swung her away from the door. She hit the wall of the corridor, her arm and shoulder jarred by the impact. "Get back upstairs."


    Irene rubbed her arm. While Kendrick was taller than Cyrus, he was still just under the average height, but with a broad, squat build to make up for it. If there was one word to describe him, it would be solid. As such, Irene did not feel she would have much luck in defying him. "I just need some fresh air."


    "Don''t care," Kendrick repeated, inclining his chin and pointing to the stairs.


    "I won''t go anywhere, I''ll stay back here, but could you please just open the door," Irene pleaded. Kendrick took a step towards her and she jumped back. He snorted at her, but then gave a shrug, opening the door but barring the exit. A burst of cool air flooded in, and Irene closed her eyes, breathing it in. It cleared her head nicely. But her sentry did not seem content to stand there indefinitely, and there was a woosh and a loud click as he shut the door again.


    "Now git," Kendrick said, pointing again.


    Irene did not wish to try this particular vampire''s patience. However, she also wanted other sources besides Cyrus to clarify a few matters. She''d tried to talk to Cody, but he was too nervous. Kendrick was not.


    "Kendrick, is it?" Kendrick did not nod or say anything. He slowly raised an eyebrow, as if questioning why she was still there. "Am I really safe here?"


    To this Kendrick snorted. "No," Kendrick responded, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his faded jeans. "Especially if you don''t do as you''re told."


    Irene was getting nowhere with him. She sighed and turned to leave, but just before she stepped onto the stairway, she paused, her hand on the banister. "Do you know what Cyrus has planned for me?"


    "No," Kendrick responded.


    Irene wanted answers, but she needed to figure out how. Irene rubbed her shoulder again. It ached. But she doubted Kendrick would seriously harm her. Perhaps she could push her luck just a little further. Irene looked at the door next to the stairs. They led down into a basement. Irene glanced at Kendrick, then she tried to open the door. It didn''t budge. She glanced at the deadbolt, turning it. This got Kendrick''s attention. "I wouldn''t go down there."


    Irene hesitated. She reasoned that if he was warning her, but not moving to stop her, it might not be worth her time. On the other hand, she needed to start somewhere. Irene curled in her lips and opened the door, peering down at the shady stairs. Prior mention of supplies in the cellar rattled through her recollection. As she descended, she got a whiff of a musky scent. It seemed vaguely familiar. The air got even stuffier as the smell got stronger. Earthy, yet grassy.... is that smoke? Irene opened the first door at the bottom, her eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room.


    Irene wasn''t sure what she was expecting. But now she realized why she recognized the smell. She immediately began fanning the air in front of her, her eyes watering. Through bleary eyes she saw a shabby looking man stretched out on a bed, staring at the ceiling. Sitting on the ground next to him, giggling, was a disheveled woman. She looked up when Irene entered, putting a joint to her lips and breathing in. Irene stood there, stunned. There were people hot boxing in the basement.


    Irene''s eye went to the woman''s bare, freckled arm. Track marks. Marijuana wasn''t the only vice of these two. The man on the bed languidly rolled over, one open eye lazily drifting to Irene before closing again. "You''re new. Come for a nibble?"


    Irene just stared as the woman tilted her head to the side, exposing her bruised neck. "Just promise you''ll be gentle..." the woman cooed, and then laughed.


    "No!" Irene stepped back into the small hallway at the bottom of the stairs. Irene hesitated as she considered whether she ought to leave these people or offer them help. They didn''t look like they wanted help. However, she felt it was at least her duty to ask. "Do you need help? Most of the vampires are out..." Except Kendrick was still upstairs. Perhaps if she distracted him, they could get out.


    "They''ll be back," the woman said with a shrug. She scratched her scalp, her fingers running through her short, dirty blond hair. "They''re, like, faster than fast." She lifted her hand, staring at it a moment in amazement. She waved her hand in front of the light, then looked back to Irene. "It''s mighty sweet of you to ask, though! Come here, have a hug, you sweet darling thing."


    Evidently they were too far gone to flee. Nonetheless, Irene was not going to forget this. "No thank you. I need to go now."


    When Irene emerged from the basement, Kendrick was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. His arms were crossed and he looked her over closely. He grabbed her arm brusquely and began to march up the stairs. Irene had little choice but to move along. Cyrus was strong, but Kendrick looked like he could break her in two.


    When they reached the top of the stairs, Kendrick threw her down. Irene hit the hardwood floor hard, a squeak erupting as her skin slid along the floor wax. She turned around to a sitting position and looked up at Kendrick. "Was that necessary?"


    "No," came Kendrick''s trademark response. He shrugged and turned to head back downstairs. How could she crack this nut? Irene bit her lip. This was going to be a long shot, and potentially risky.


    "You''re doing this for Layla, aren''t you?"


    That got a reaction. Kendrick stopped in his tracks. He remained still for a moment, facing away from her.


    Pain. Irene''s legs kicked as she struggled to breathe, her neck aching from the strain of her body''s weight tugging at it, as Kendrick lifted her by her throat. He held her aloft, a weighty glare from his hawk-like eyes. Just as Irene was starting to see spots, Kendrick lowered her until her feet touched ground, providing immediate relief. His grip on her throat lessened. "Don''t speak of things you don''t understand, you brassy gimlet."


    Irene fell back to the floor, gasping for air. She looked up at Kendrick, who looked down on her darkly. "Then help..." Irene''s voice caught, a pain burning throughout her throat. She brought up a hand to her chest and coughed, then cleared her throat. She let out a brief moan to test her vocal cords before trying to speak again. "Help me understand. Why am I here?"


    "Why would I know?" Kendrick snapped.


    "Why else would he trust you to protect me?" Irene asked as she got to her feet.


    "To prot-" Kendrick cut himself off sharply with a deep, throaty chuckle that made the back of Irene''s skull tingle. She rubbed her neck uncomfortably and then patted the dust off of her pants. "You call that protecting you?" Kendrick asked, gesturing to her sore arm.


    "You''re keeping people out as well as keeping me in, aren''t you?" Irene countered.


    "Hmph. I''ve got better things to do than babysit an entitled chew toy."


    "But that''s the thing! He doesn''t drink my blood." Irene insisted. Kendrick snorted, his broad, shapeless lips turning up in a cruel smirk, a knowing glint in his eye. Irene could tell that he knew more than he was letting on, and it frustrated her.


    "He will." Kendrick turned and strode off. Irene called to him, but he lifted a hand, flicking his hand at her as he continued to sink down the stairs. Irene sighed and rubbed her sore neck. There was pain, but no gain. With nothing left to do, Irene slunk to the bedroom. She still had sheets to change, but once that was done, she was ready for a rest.

 Chapter 32 - Monster Healer

    Warm sunlight. How she missed it. Irene gazed at her bedroom ceiling, striped with sunlight which invaded through the blinds. The effect enveloped her in a tickling sense of nostalgia, especially since it had been ages since she had blinds in her room. Irene wondered what time it was and attempted to see the time on her alarm clock, but to her confusion she could not move. She could not even turn her eyes away from that one view of the ceiling. A freezing panic flooded her nerves, the lines of the ceiling burning into her eyes. It was bright. Too bright. It hurt but she could not look away.


    Darkness. Irene awoke, heaving, and sweaty. Where am I? That''s right, she was in the bedroom above the coffee shop. She had no idea what time it was. Her fingers tingled, her heart raced. She listened for signs of anyone being back. Silence. Irene was still tired, and wanted to roll over to get back to sleep. She felt an odd nausea in her stomach whenever she tried to move. But she could not. What was pinning her? Irene tried to lift her arms, but they would not budge. Again, a pang of nausea caused her to wretch. She felt a presence in the room with her. She tried to ask who was there, but she had no voice.


    Irene awoke again. She was cold with perspiration. There was just the slightest bit of light coming in from under the door. She squinted, holding her breath despite her racing heart, trying to listen. She saw shadows. Feet? There were voices. Wait. She recognized one of those voices. Father? What is he doing here? How did he find me? Irene tried to stand, but again, she could not move. She tried to call out to her father, to beg him to come help her. All she could manage was a weak whimper. "Fa... Da... Dad... come... help..." but her voice wasn''t strong enough.


    Irene pushed with all of her might to get away from the bed. She felt herself stumble out, purged from the embrace of slimy sheets. She laid on the floor for a moment. All she could see was the door. But she wasn''t facing the door anymore. Why was she still seeing it? She moved her head, moved her eyes, but all she saw was the light-framed door. She crawled blind across the floor towards it, except she wasn''t sure if she was getting any closer, as it never appeared any closer. Irene screamed.


    Irene''s eyes opened to the dim lit room. She was exhausted. Reality by then had become so mixed up that Irene could not tell if she were truly awake or not. She was afraid to try and move. But she needed to go to the bathroom, badly. Reluctantly, she tried to sit up, but to no avail. The panic came flooding back. She squirmed and writhed, trying so hard to get up, trying so hard to break free from this never ending cycle. She began to despair that she''d never wake up again. Am I dead? Irene didn''t believe in an afterlife, so surely not. She felt a heavy pressure, as if an invisible entity were pushing her down. She heard heavy breathing, almost feeling breath in her ear. "Irene... Irene..." She felt pain in her lower abdomen, and it traveled with alarming speed up and down. She needed to get out of this bed! Her bladder felt as though it was going to burst. If she were dead, she wouldn''t need to relieve herself. It must be a nightmare. Wake up. WAKE UP!


    Irene screamed as she lurched into a sitting position. Immediately, she felt hands on her shoulder. She screamed again and flailed out, feeling contact with something. Someone.


    "Irene! What, hey calm down!" Hands gripped her shoulders more firmly and she struggled in the dark.


    "Let go! LET GO!" Irene was able to finally use her voice. Her gut was in pain and there was too much pressure and panic.


    "Calm down!"


    "I HAVE TO PEE!"


    That was effective. Cyrus''s grip vanished and Irene hopped out of bed and hastily stumbled in the dark until she felt her hand on the wooden sliding door to the en suite. She went inside, slid the door shut and turned on the light. The brightness seared her eyes and she squinted as she fumbled her way to the toilet. There she sat and sobbed. She''d had nightmares before, but never anything like that. After a few minutes she heard a soft tapping on the door.


    "GO AWAY!" Irene screamed. I can''t even use the bathroom in peace. Not that there was anything peaceful about the thoughts going through her mind.  Was that just a nightmare? Or was it something more? Was it connected to the voices I heard? Who or what is doing this to me?


    As Irene washed her hands, she looked up at her reflection. To her surprise, she saw blood smears on the shoulders of her top. Irene furrowed her eyebrows. After washing her hands she hesitantly slid the bathroom door open to see if Cyrus was still out there.


    The light was on in the bedroom, and Cyrus was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, in front of a full length mirror. He had his shirt off and one arm raised so he could see the dorsal aspect of his upper arm in the mirror. Another piece of vampire lore that wasn''t true; he had a reflection. There was a long bloody streak running down his arm, and that was not the only wound he had. There were blisters and red and black scores across his back, a deep gash in his gut, and smaller nicks and scratches scattered about his flesh.


    If it had been anyone but Cyrus, Irene may have winced and felt compassion. Instead, she felt nothing. She didn''t even feel queasy at the sight of such grievous wounds.


    Cyrus saw her reflection in the mirror and stared at it. For a moment, their reflections locked gazes. Irene quickly looked away. She didn''t know if his powers to mesmerize could work through mirrors, or if like the gorgons, it nullified the curse. However, she did not wish to take chances.


    "This isn''t going to heal in time without help..." Cyrus muttered, wincing as he dropped his arm. Lines etched his face, detailing it with pain as he tried to get to his feet. He made it halfway then he went down again. It reminded her of when they had first met.


    "Why don''t you just lick yourself like the dog you are," Irene asked, crossing her arms. Cyrus chuckled, but then cut himself short, as a hand went to his abdominal wound.


    "It''s unkind... to make me laugh... in my current state..." Cyrus growled, although he grinned. "Come here, Irene."


    "No."


    "Okay... don''t. Are you... okay? You gave me... a scare, I thought you... were... were having a seizure or something," Cyrus pressed down on the wound, wincing.


    Irene folded her arms, thumbs reaching up and pressing against the sides of her elbows. "...What... was I doing?"


    "Your eyes were slightly open... but darting around and... you were... twitching... and making odd... noises in your throat." Cyrus responded as he shifted and tried to make himself more comfortable. "Your heart... racing."


    "Cyrus..." Irene rubbed the bridge of her nose as she grabbed a clean shirt from her duffel bag. "...I think someone is doing something to my mind."


    There was a protracted silence. Irene glanced up from her bag to Cyrus. He had moved over to the wall beside the mirror and was leaning against it, holding his side. "It''s possible. But... it might not be... intentional." Cyrus said in broken speech between grunts. "Sometimes... vampires... just..." Cyrus gave a unilateral shrug, "...have effects on people."


    Irene stood up, a shirt folded over her arm. "Do you have bandages somewhere? No sense bleeding all over your floor. You are making a mess, and if I am going to stay here, I don''t want to clean up more than I need to."


    Cyrus laughed, then coughed. "Box, under the desk... but..."


    "But...?"


    "...Nevermind."


    Irene decided not to change until she''d done something about Cyrus''s wounds. She grabbed the box, popping the lid and peering in. Sure enough there were rolled up bandages and other medical supplies. Considering the rate he healed, she was surprised he kept such things on hand. She walked over and knelt beside him, getting another flash of the first time they met.


    Without any tape, Irene had to wrap the bandages around Cyrus''s torso and arm to get the worst cuts covered. She packed them with extra gauze over the wound, and then looked at the burns on his back. "Can you not heal yourself?"


    "I can''t lick myself. Doesn''t work that way," Cyrus explained.


    "Then how did your wounds heal before?" Irene asked as she began daubing some of the smaller cuts to clean them up.


    "Vampires heal fast. Drinking blood... heals faster."


    "Should I get you a blood pack from the fridge?" Irene asked, rising to her feet. A hand was suddenly in hers and she looked down at Cyrus. He looked up at her, his grip unusually gentle. It put her in mind of a child grabbing onto a parent''s hand before crossing the street.


    "No... I mean... yes," Cyrus said. Something in his expression looked unguarded and open, almost confused. A chill ran down Irene''s spine. It reminded her of when he demanded blood, and she brought him the drunken man. Sickness stirred in Irene''s gut at the haunting recollection. Irene let go of his hand, but his arm remained in the air a moment, and he watched her go with wide eyes.


    Irene saw bloody smears and tracks out in the hall. There was a vampire lying on the couch, sipping a blood pack and nursing a head wound. Another laid on the floor, while a second vampire was stuffing his entrails back into his abdomen and stitching him up. Irene''s hand went to her mouth as she tried not to gag. They looked at her hungrily and Irene hurried to get a blood pack. Except... there were none left. Once Irene saw there were not any to spare, she nearly broke into a run to get back to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.


    Cyrus was sitting with his knees up. Irene, put a hand to her stomach, feeling the butterflies swirling around. She took in some deep breaths and walked back over to Cyrus and knelt down. "I''m sorry... there aren''t any blood packs left."


    Cyrus looked her over, and then shrugged a little. "Ungrateful... greedy... ah well, snooze, you lose," Cyrus said, sounding more like himself again.


    "What did you guys DO?" Irene asked. Cyrus lifted up a bloody hand, a single finger extended.


    "Later, Breaches... later..." His hand fell and his head lolled to the side tiredly. "Help me, Irene..."


    "What more can I do?" Irene asked. As much as she found Cyrus distasteful, it was him between her and the other vampires. If he fell, no one would protect her.


    "Let me feed..."


    Irene shook her head. "No." Irene''s mind went to the people in the cellar. Were they still alive, or did a bunch of ravenous vampires, eager to heal, drink them dry? Could she fetch one of them?


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    No. She promised she would not bring another person to their doom again. She would not do what she did to Robin ever again. She looked back at Cyrus. "...Fine." Irene moved closer to Cyrus. She began to move her hair out of the way, but instead he took hold of one of her hands. "A wrist will... be better."


    "Why...?" Irene asked. Cyrus looked at her. He touched her neck, and she winced.


    "Who did that?" he asked. Irene wasn''t sure whether to tell him she was poking around, and Kendrick taught her a lesson. But it was time to stop hiding the truth when people hurt her.


    "Kendrick," Irene responded. Cyrus just nodded and brought her wrist to his lips. He looked up at her, hesitating a moment.


    "Brace yourself. This will hurt."


    <hr>


    It amazed Irene how quickly the smaller scratches on Cyrus vanished. She held her wrist, which was no longer feeling sore after Cyrus had licked the wound, but it still felt strange. Stiff. Yet, limp. They were both sitting on the bed, Cyrus cross legged, and Irene with her back against a stack of pillows.


    "Aaaaaaaaah, that''s much better! You really are a treat, breaches," Cyrus said, patting his stomach appreciatively. Irene frowned and looked away. "Come, it''s a compliment."


    "Kendrick said you''d end up feeding on me," Irene said, somewhat irritated.


    "It''s kind of an obvious guess. I''m a vampire. You''re full of blood. Of course I am going to feed on you. That is, when it won''t..."


    "Hurt me? But it does! It hurts!" Irene said, tightening the grip she had on her wrist.


    "But then I kiss it better!"


    "That doesn''t make it any less dreadful! You can''t slap a puppy, then feed it a treat, and call that a net average!" Irene grumbled.


    "No, but I can give a child a lollipop after giving them an injection," Cyrus countered.


    "Your biting me isn''t helping me, though, it is only helping you! Giving a child medicine helps the child," Irene argued. She wasn''t sure why she was arguing. Cyrus was going to do what Cyrus was going to do. Still, she could not help but try and carve out some boundaries.


    "Hmm. Fair point. So. Kendrick. He hurt you. Want to talk about it?" Cyrus asked, toying with the bandaging on his arm. He winced a little - clearly that cut had not quite healed yet.


    "Not really. Ask him for his side of the story," Irene said, rubbing her neck. It was still sore, and she could feel a knot forming right behind her sternocleidomastoid.


    "Then I will, but you might not like what he has to say. Still, I told him to keep you safe, not to turn you into a giraffe." Cyrus clicked his tongue.


    "Cyrus... I know about the people in the basement. And the drugs," Irene said, grasping a handful of the top blanket to twist in her hands.


    "Hmm... I thought you said you don''t poke around?" Cyrus stretched and grunted, resting his hands on his knees. He did not seem at all alarmed or ashamed that she knew.


    "Well..." Irene stuttered. She paused. "I..." Irene''s eyebrows drew close together. "That''s not the point! It''s human trafficking!"


    "Uh... yeah! Obviously!" Cyrus retorted with a snort. "The drugs keep them compliant. They aren''t happy, but they are docile."


    "It''s... it''s..."


    "Wrong?"


    "Yes!"


    "I know," Cyrus reached back, pressing two fingers along the back of his shoulder, testing if the burn there was still hurting. Evidently not by the relief which followed the anticipation of pain in his face.


    "Then why do you do it?" Irene asked.


    "Oh Irene, I know you aren''t that naive. Why did you bring me that drunken man?"


    Irene went silent. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. Irene was not going to answer that.


    "Exactly." Cyrus rolled his shoulders back. "Irene... do you honestly believe I do these things because I don''t know any better?"


    Irene shook her head, shoulders rising and falling with a large, full-bodied sigh. "I don''t know. Maybe you heard these things are wrong on paper, but never really experienced how wrong they are. Maybe..." Irene drew her eyebrows together. "Maybe I''m just so scared, Cyrus, but because I don''t have the physical strength to fight you, I try to fight you on the moral ground."


    "Well... you don''t have the strength there, either. The endurance maybe, but not the strength." Cyrus scratched the back of his neck, letting out a hiss of a sigh. "You aren''t the first girl to try to redeem me. But you are the first girl to continuously reject me while trying. That''s new. If I were to turn over a new leaf, would you..."


    "No. Not a chance. Not in hell. Even if you became a saint." Irene said flatly. Cyrus laughed, slapping his thigh.


    "Damn, woman, that''s why I love you."


    "You don''t though. What you have is lust."


    "Okay, well, whatever it is, you amuse me and I want to be near you. I won''t argue semantics here." Cyrus moved a bit closer to Irene, and she shifted away, perching precariously on the edge of the bed. "I do know the things I do are wrong. They hurt people, not just physically. I leave scars that can''t be seen. It doesn''t fill me with pride. I just..."


    "Don''t care?" Irene filled in.


    "Most of the time, no. I don''t. But..." Cyrus''s forehead creased as he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and putting his legs out straight. "I started to."


    "Let me guess, since you met me?" Irene asked sarcastically. "And suddenly, you want to be a better person because of my inner beauty."


    Cyrus let out a few unsavoury syllables before laughing. "Not at all! You aren''t beautiful on the inside Irene. You''re self righteous, angry, sarcastic, and proud. Yet, I do see that you want to ease the suffering in others, when you are forced to look at it, that is. Your anger is the glue that holds you together, and I think if you learn how to channel that anger, you could do amazing things. But you are stumped by empty morals that you don''t explore fully, just accept them as right and wrong and condemn everyone around you when they don''t comply."


    Irene balled her fists. Having her morality called out by a murdering, thieving, lying, rapist stung somewhere deep, just under her ribs. It was a physical pain and Irene had to steady herself. She lifted her gaze, glare fixed and dreadful. But why was she angry? If it wasn''t true she could just shrug it off. Irene looked away. "I know I''m not perfect."


    "Neither am I," Cyrus responded, "I know, I know, hard to believe I admitted that. But there it is. I''m not perfect."


    Irene frowned deeper. It seemed her imperfection was understandable. Human. But Cyrus was a monster. A monster she had nursed. Irene looked longingly at the door. A monster whose protection she was forced to rely upon. "But I at least try!"


    "Do you?" Cyrus asked.


    "Yes! And I won''t have you trying to make me feel ashamed, when I know I am... I''m better than you," Irene said, fighting the tears that were threatening to come. She felt that heat behind her eyes and steeled herself.


    "You are, Irene. I never said you weren''t." Cyrus shook his head. "Never was my intention to shame you for having morals, breaches. It''s good to have them, especially when you are young. But you need to put them all on trial once in a while and figure out which ones are truly yours. And then do it again later in life."


    Irene looked over at Cyrus, lifting an eyebrow. It made her nervous whenever he became serious and philosophical. It usually preceded something bad happening. When he was joking around, she wanted him to be serious. And when he was serious, she was nervous until he joked. No matter what, he made her tense. "And what are your morals, Cyrus?"


    Cyrus smirked. "My morals... ha ha ha. I said there''s nothing wrong with having your own morals, but it doesn''t mean I want them. They complicate things." Cyrus rubbed the side of his head. "I just go with what feels good or right. Or avoid what feels wrong."


    "...So hedonism."


    "Damn straight." Cyrus brought up his knees and leaned forward. "I know I''ve hinted at the sorts of things Gabriel and his gang got up to." Cyrus squinted, picking a piece of lint off of the blanket and flicking it to the side.


    "Yes..." Irene said, a queasy feeling in her stomach.


    "Well... some of the things I did to try and stay in Gabriel''s good graces... felt wrong, but his respect felt good. But at some point, the bad feelings outweighed the good ones." Cyrus gave that carefree shrug Irene knew him for. "Oversimplifying, yes, but I am changing. Slowly. And it started before I met you. You just happened to come across me in my awkward transition phase. Poor you!"


    "...Why do you tell me these things? Why are you trying to convince me that you can change? Why do you even keep me around?" Irene was growing impatient with trying to figure out what all of this was for, and why she was at the center of it all.


    "I''ve told you over and over. I like you. You''re a fun foil. You''re serious, I''m silly, you''re moral, I''m amoral, you''re angry, I''m jovial, you''re thoughtful, I''m impetuous, you''re a prude, and I''m a sex addict. It''s fun! And I needed some fun after the torments I''ve endured."


    "I''m not convinced. I sense there''s another reason you aren''t telling me," Irene said, watching Cyrus carefully. He shrugged and smirked and carried on in a perfectly Cyrus fashion.


    "Okay, fine, I will tell you my other reason if you try not to do the whole ''Aha I knew you were lying about liking me because it''s really this other reason'' thing. It does get rather old. It''s as if people can''t have multiple, equally valid reasons for doing anything," Irene studied Cyrus for a moment or two, feeling eerily called out. The moment he said ''fine'' she was getting ready to pounce on him for the real reason. And then he preempted her. Irene chewed on her lower lip, but then finally nodded to Cyrus, to urge him to go on. "That whole blood chalice thing I said didn''t exist that Gabriel was going on about? I was lying. If you were to step out there and take a look at the other vampires'' wounds, who gobbled up all my spare blood packs, you will see their wounds have not healed nearly as fast as mine."


    Irene glanced at the door. She then glanced at Cyrus. He began to unravel the bandages on his arm, revealing just a thin pink line where the cut was. "But... I thought healing that fast was normal for you..."


    "Go on, step out there, take a look," Cyrus urged her. Irene hesitated, but then finally padded across the floor, hesitating at the door. Irene did not want to go far from the safety of the bedroom. She didn''t need to. The three wounded vampires were dozing in the living area, despite the insufficient amount of furniture. Their wounds had scabbed over and looked like they had a healthy start, but they were still there. Irene dashed back into the bedroom, closing the door.


    What did this mean? That her blood could heal vampires? What sort of sick cosmic joke was that? Irene looked over to Cyrus, who was by then standing and crossing his arms. And did he ever look smug, even for him. Smug, possessive, greedy. He was proud of his trophy.


    "Of course, if you don''t want everyone trying to get a piece of you, you''ll keep this to yourself," Cyrus warned.


    "That''s why you stopped Gabriel from biting me. You didn''t want him to discover he was right!" It all made sense now. What had seemed like an uncharacteristically heroic rescue was Cyrus just protecting his commodities. Yet he never lied about that. He called her an investment. He called her ''the goods''. But what Irene wanted to know was...


    "How long did you know!?"


    "Well, obviously, the first time I bit you. I could taste it. It was a shock, the power I felt. Especially since I''d given up looking for any such rarity." Cyrus fanned himself. "But Blood Chalices are supposed to be weak to vampire influences, so that they are easy to control. It took me off guard when you kept breaking out of my gaze. I began to question whether I just imagined it, or if the tales were wrong. Then it turns out you just are wired differently. I''m not sure if that''s because of your unique blood, or if it''s a coincidence, though."


    "So what does this mean for me?" Heart thumping, Irene was unsure if she''d be ready for the answer.


    "Eh... it means you are the ace up my sleeve against Gabriel." Cyrus gave Irene a side glance. "Pun intended." Cyrus cleared his throat. "But once I get my revenge, it depends on whether the other vampires decide to try and finish me off as well. In which case, as long as I feel I am in danger, I will keep you close. When I feel safe, well, then... then..." Cyrus winced, pressing his lips together as if really struggling with something. "Then... then... I''ll leave you to... pick up the pieces of your life and carry on."


    "I don''t believe you''ll ever let me go," Irene said quietly.


    "I don''t know if I believe it either. I''d like to think I love you enough to let you go, but I am not sure, when the time comes, that I will."


    Irene was quiet. She crossed her arms and looked away. It always felt like he was teasing her, that he was dirtying the word then he spoke of loving her. It was lust. Lust on multiple levels. Lust for power. Lust for forbidden fruit. But for the first time, she almost believed him. Almost. But it didn''t change her feelings for him, which remained contempt. "You don''t love me. You barely know me."


    "Oh but I feel I know you quite well. But... maybe you are right. Maybe I''m in love with an idea of you. Ah well." Cyrus stretched his arms and walked over to the bed, falling onto it.


    "I suppose... all that''s left is for me to wait for you to defeat Gabriel. But I hate the idea of waiting."


    "Charged up on your blood... it shouldn''t be long," Cyrus said with a broad grin. "Anyway, it IS daytime and I am getting sleepy. Chances are the vampires out there will be stuck here for the day as well."


    Irene groaned. She was trapped. With the revelation that her blood was a precious commodity to vampires, she was even more afraid of the others defying Cyrus and biting her. Especially if they were injured. But staying in the room would be awkward with Cyrus there. After trying to think of a way around it, it seemed the only thing for Irene to do was to take out a book and read. She''d have to spend the day cooped up until Cyrus left and she could sleep. So Irene sat on the floor, with her back to the bed, while Cyrus got his rest.


    At least vampires don''t snore.

 Chapter 33 - One Bullet Can Ruin Your Day

    "Alright, Breaches. Last night we raided one of Gabriel''s warehouses. He''s got more followers than I realized. But they are mostly young and inexperienced." Irene looked up from the desk in the bedroom, a game of solitaire underway. With her middle finger missing, it was still hard to shuffle, but she was finding other ways around it. "We''ve got intel on a house that Gabriel owns. Which surprised me as I thought I knew most of his holdings," Cyrus remarked as he stood in front of the mirror, looking at the pink mark left from the previous fight.


    "How credible is the source?" Irene was more invested in the mission than she realised.


    "Eeeeeh... I''m not entirely sure. But once the report of how badly we were trounced reaches Gabriel, he won''t expect us to keep up the offense. I''m switching out who I take with me, the rest are healing," Cyrus explained as he went over to his wardrobe.


    "And if it''s a trap?" Irene asked guardedly as she placed a card on one of the foundations. She went to pick up another but it slipped through her hand. She calmly picked it up with her left hand instead.


    "Well, then we spring it and he can''t use it against us later." Cyrus shrugged as he opened and closed a drawer or two.


    Irene glanced up, then quickly looked away. "Change in the bathroom!"


    "Hey, it''s my room. I can change where I want." Cyrus said as he tossed a pair of pants on the floor. "Gabriel only cut off your finger, he didn''t cut off your eyelids. Don''t like what you see..." off came the boxers, "...then don''t look."


    Irene sighed and closed her eyes. "Just tell me when you''re done."


    "I might be a while," Cyrus responded. Irene groaned and folded her arms and slumped over on the desk, burying her face in her sleeves. "Hmmm... tight black t-shirt to wear into battle, or classy button-up? Or maybe a slightly less tight black t-shirt. I do LOVE looking the part, but maybe it''s time for a change. A splash of colour that is more the new ''me''. The blood stains won''t show up too badly if I wear the red, but it''s such a nice material I wouldn''t want it to get ruined. Besides, I don''t want to show up at Gabriel''s doorstep looking TOO sexy. He hates being outshone."


    Irene started to say something, but her voice was muffled. She lifted her head, eyes still shut tight. "Wear something you don''t care about. Just pick something!" She then placed her head back down.


    "Fine, fine. Though really Irene, it''s not like you hadn''t seen me naked before. And unlike last time, I''m perfectly relaxed. Bodies needn''t be offensive, it just takes a change in attitude," Cyrus chided. Irene just shook her head, keeping her head down.


    "Maybe, but you are offensive," Irene retorted. Cyrus laughed. She heard the sound of a zipper and sighed with relief, but still did not open her eyes.


    "Alright, it''s safe to open thine virgin eyes!" Cyrus snickered. Irene peered one eye open, almost expecting it to be a trap. To her relief, he was standing in front of the mirror, fully clothed, running a comb through his hair. "Hey Irene?"


    "What?" Irene asked, still somewhat irritated as she began gathering up the cards.


    "This is going to sound REAL sappy but..." Irene said nothing as she slipped the cards into their box. "...I hope Jordan recovers."


    Irene''s hands shook. She gripped the box of cards tightly. "Me too," Irene said quietly. She did hope he recovered, even though she realized she''d lose him either way. "Why?"


    "Eh, your life has sucked lately. It''s about time something goes right for you," Cyrus said with a shrug as he ran his hand through his hair. "With what you''ve discovered about yourself, things might not be what you''d hoped. But if he''s managed to get your good opinion, he''s probably a decent guy. And a decent guy won''t ditch you for not sleeping with him."


    "Cyrus... please don''t talk about things you don''t understand," Irene said sullenly. "I get you''re trying to be nice, but... just... stay out of this."


    "Nice?" Cyrus chuckled, turning away from the mirror. "Hardly! I was just about to add ''and since I haven''t ditched you for not putting out, guess that makes me a decent guy too''!"


    Irene stared at Cyrus. She looked at the door. She looked back at Cyrus. Without a word, she left the bedroom, hearing his laughter until she shut it out with the slamming of the door.


    <hr>


    The Cozee Coffee Shop was a hub of activity as Cyrus''s faction prepared another assault. Irene did her best to not be under foot, but it wasn''t easy. She ate her leftover chinese food while sitting in a corner, watching the vampires all bustle around her. They were quite varied. Some looked very plain, like Cody, and dressed very casually. Some, like Cynthia, dressed up to look the part. Though Cynthia did not seem to be among their numbers that night.


    Just as Irene had tossed the disposable containers in the garbage, she was approached again by Cody.


    "Uh, I was told to get these for you..." Was he blushing? Irene wasn''t sure she wanted to know what was in the bag he handed her. He immediately turned and hastily shuffled off. Irene sighed and looked in. It was a pill bottle. She held it up and read the label. Iron pills. Why would he blush about that? Maybe it wasn''t the pills Cody was blushing about. Maybe... he was just blushing at her. Great. She didn''t need another vampire chasing her.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Irene turned the bottle over, checking to make sure it still had a seal and wasn''t being used to conceal something else. It seemed genuine. Naturally, Cyrus would make sure she could keep her blood healthy. She wasn''t sure whether to be irritated by this or not.


    Just as Irene was heading back to the bedroom, Cyrus stopped her in the hall. "What?"


    "We''re heading out now," Cyrus said, nodding to a few vampires walking past. "Wish me luck."


    "Take him down," Irene actually smiled. This was one thing she did want to encourage Cyrus in. Cyrus placed his hand on the back of her neck, and before she could look away he kissed her cheek.


    "Bye, Breaches," Irene blinked furiously as Cody and another vampire walked by. Cody was, again, looking unusually pink in the cheeks for a vampire and was trying to look away as he followed behind. Embarrassment flushed Irene''s cheeks and she turned away. She hated everyone thinking she belonged to Cyrus, and no doubt that kiss was less a sign of affection, and him marking his territory.


    Soon everything was quiet and still. Irene finally had the place to herself and could get some sleep. Several times throughout the day she''d had dizzy spells. So she took the iron pills as directed, changed into her pyjamas, and curled up in bed. To her surprise, sleep came to her easily, and peacefully.


    Alas. The serenity of sleep was shattered with a clatter. Irene sat up in bed, straining to listen Disorganized and clumsy, the noises continued below her, filling Irene with growing unease. Irene froze as she heard a crash followed by voices. She slipped out of bed and got down on her hands and knees to shuffle as noiselessly as possible to the door. At first the words were inaudible, but as they came closer, she could make them out.


    "-everywhere! Take back any mortals that are still alive, and let''s torch this place!" she heard someone order. Irene could hear her heartbeat throbbing. Irene was certain that these were Gabriel''s men, and she needed to calm her heart lest it lead them to her.


    "Think the girl took refuge here? You two, split up and search every room. There may be some of his lackeys still here. Kill them. If you find her, Gabriel wants her alive."


    Irene closed her eyes, hugging her knees tighter to her chest. She could hear people moving around down the hallway. Eventually, she heard a clicking at her door. Irene held her breath and watched, expecting it to burst open forcefully any second. Instead, there was grinding noise. The door swung open quietly. Audible footsteps could be heard, accompanied by the squeak of leather. Irene watched the shadow grow, before a physical form entered her field of view..


    "There you are¡­" came a feminine whisper. Irene stared at a pair of leather boots for a moment, before slowly ascending her gaze to a familiar face.


    "Cynthia?" Irene peeped. She felt very uneasy, uncertain whether to be relieved, or suspicious. Cynthia complacently put both of her arms behind her back and stepped towards Irene.


    "Awe¡­ what a frightened little duckling you are¡­ and I''d heard that you were feisty," Cynthia taunted.


    Irene rose and squared her shoulders. "Either you are here to evacuate anyone still around, or you are working for Gabriel. No games - which is it?" Irene demanded, trying to banish the shakiness from her voice.


    Wickedly, Cynthia smiled and bared her fangs. "That''s a little more like it, Irene. I had no idea who you were when Kendrick first brought you in - but now that I know, I must say, I expected someone a little less dull," Cynthia responded in a whisper. Irene heard a loud crash in the room next to them, causing her to jump.


    "No time for that. What is going on?" Irene asked firmly.


    Cynthia sighed, her eyes rolling away in a bored expression. "What a bore. I was hoping you''d be jumping at your own shadow by now. I suppose my ventriloquist act needs work¡­" Cynthia said, stifling a fake yawn. Irene''s eyes narrowed.


    "That was you¡­"


    "Yes. I''m quite talented aren''t I? Well, as you said, we don''t have a lot of time. If you get on your knees and beg, I won''t tell Gabriel''s men that you are here. How about it?" Cynthia smirked.


    Irene stared at Cynthia in abject disbelief. She wants me to beg? Why?


    "Well? Tick, tock, tick, tock." Cynthia urged impatiently.


    Irene had her pride, but she also had a life to preserve. Her own. Grudgingly Irene got down onto her knees, glaring at Cynthia the entire time. "Please¡­ don''t tell them¡­" Irene tried to keep the vitriol out of her voice with mixed success.


    "Hmph¡­ I suppose that will do¡­" Cynthia responded, looking disappointed. "Oh well, wish granted. I won''t tell Gabriel''s cronies where you are," Cynthia said dryly as she unfolded one arm from behind her back in a flowery gesture. Irene just glared at her, but then her eyebrows rose as Cynthia''s other hand revealed a gun. Before Irene could react, a loud BANG pierced her ears, while a bullet pierced her ribs.


    Irene fell back as the burning metal tunneled through her body. Irene didn''t feel herself hit the ground. She was only aware of the ceiling above her, as it began to spin, and a wet sensation began to envelop her body. Her body was motionless, and try as she to put a hand to the wound, she just laid there. She was as stunned as she was in that nightmare. Is this another nightmare? Beyond that, Irene could not hold onto a single thought, as the pain and shock denied her of coherence.


    Amidst the swimming, abstract sensations, something blurry hovered above her eyes. Tthere was heat all around her and the smell of smoke. Desperately, her eyes tried to focus. The form almost took shape, and she heard a voice - although it sounded ethereal and far away. The words were audible, but her mind was slow to recognize them, as she lay there hyperventilating shallow breaths. Just as her languishing mind was able to sort the syllables into words, the fire around her began roared and drowned them out.


    "¡­your life. I¡­ ¡­. ..ave¡­ ¡­ .ere¡­ sooner. ¡­ease ..rene ¡­ forgive me¡­"


    Irene moaned and closed her eyes, the strain from trying to see the blurry shapes too much. With one sense eliminated, her mind could once again form thoughts. She''d been hurt many times. She''d been tortured. She''d pulled through a lot. But this was different. I''m dying. Irene didn''t know how she knew this, but it felt more certain than anything else in her life. This prompted Irene to let out another moan as she felt numbness at the very core of the wound. Slowly, it spread from there on out. The last thing Irene remembered feeling was her head being lifted, and a salty metallic taste in her mouth. She opened her eyes again, seeing the face closer. Her eyes came into focus just moments before they rolled to the back of her head. She saw the face of a woman, with deep, dark eyes. Just as she recognised the woman, the black curtains of consciousness closed, and everything went dark.

 Chapter 34 - Transition

    "IRENE!"


    At the call of her name, Irene''s eyes thrust open. Her consciousness and coherent thought lagged behind, trailing cautiously back into being. There were no thoughts in her mind as she looked down at herself. Where there weren''t scorch marks on her shirt, there were dark red stains around a small hole. Her view trailed down to the floor, where blood stained the wood. Heat had caused it to bubble up, creating a sickening display. She heard feet rushing towards her, and she lifted her dry eyes.


    "Cyrus," her throat burned as she spoke, but the fact that she spoke almost surprised her. "I''m alive."


    Cyrus paused a moment, staring down at her, as though he was equally surprised, and even horrified. He hesitated, before kneeling down, and sliding his arms beneath her to lift her up. Irene watched as his eyebrows drew together in an expression she often hadn''t seen. Something was troubling him, and for once, he avoided eye contact. "No time to talk, we need to get out of here before this room collapses¡­"


    "I saw¡­" Irene began, uncertainty in her voice.


    "Shush," Cyrus said as he carried her over to a window. He threw back the curtains, tore down the sheet, and began to tear away at the wood planks. Finally when he''d made a large enough hole, he forced the window open. He glanced behind him, where some beams came tearing down only a few feet away. Irene looked out the window.


    "We''re jumping?" Irene asked, wrapping her arms around Cyrus''s neck tightly.


    "Yeah, I can hear them coming¡­" Cyrus said. Irene blinked. She could hear them too¡­ calling out for any survivors. She wasn''t sure why ''they'' were, though. Irene inhaled about to call out to them and announce herself, but Cyrus quickly covered her mouth. "Be quiet!" Irene hiccoughed, and blinked away moisture that was finally revitalising her burning eyes. Everything was confusing.


    Cyrus crawled onto the window sill, crouching awkwardly as he tried to manage Irene''s limp body. Irene suddenly realized that, except when she spoke, she felt no pain. She didn''t feel weary, or bruised, or sick, or choked. She also felt the cold air rushing up at her as Cyrus leapt down from the window, but no thrill or fear. She barely felt jarred when Cyrus landed on the pavement in a side alley. Irene frowned. Something was terribly wrong. Nothing felt real anymore. Life had been unbelievable as of late, but it always at least felt real. She always felt something.


    "We need to get far away first, then we can talk¡­" Cyrus said, looking around. He stepped into the shadows for a moment, as if expecting someone else to come lurking about. After scanning the area, Cyrus set Irene down on her feet, but kept a hand around her wrist. "You''re well enough to run," he said, as he stooped down, and grabbed a pack that had been lying on the ground. He slung it around his shoulder and peered both ways down the alley.


    "¡­I... I was shot¡­" Irene looked down, holding out the bottom of her shirt to better examine the bloody bullet hole as confirmation of her words. However, it still didn''t feel real to her.


    "Do you NOT feel well enough to run?"


    Irene looked down at her legs, and shifted her weight experimentally. "I¡­"


    "Let''s get going!" Cyrus jerked her into a gallop with him. Although Irene could feel the ground every time her feet struck it, she felt no pressure from the impact or the weight of her body as she ran. She''d never felt this sort of weightlessness when she was awake. Irene''s thoughts drifted to the face she saw moments before losing consciousness, or, as she had thought it was, dying. She''d lost consciousness a few times, accompanied with extreme pain and stress, but that last time felt different. It felt final. Why then was she running through these streets with Cyrus? That face¡­ was it real, or an apparition? The skin was pale, and yet, somehow looked bronzy. The hair was so black and thick, and the eyes were dark and piercing. It had to be her, but was she real?


    Cyrus slowed until he and Irene were finally brought to a stop. "Let''s head back to your place. There''ll be no reason for Gabriel''s men to watch it now."


    "If it isn''t burnt down too¡­" Irene responded dismally.


    Cyrus clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Such a pessimist¡­" Cyrus muttered, glancing off into the distance. Irene sniffed. She felt she had every right to be pessimistic, all things considered.


    Cyrus crept over to a car parked out on the curb, peering into the window. Cyrus knelt by the driver''s side door and dug something out of the pack he''d slung about his shoulder.


    "¡­What are you doing?" Irene asked.


    "Stealing a car. What does it look like?" Cyrus responded as he jammed a wire down the crevice by the window. Irene leaned against the hood of the car, watching him work at it for a moment. However, she lost interest fairly quickly and glanced around. It was dark. She knew it was dark. But everything seemed in such concise contrast. How odd. With a resounding pop the door swung open. "Get in."


    Irene didn''t condone being part of a car theft, but her state of mind left her apathetic towards commonplace principles. All she wanted was to figure out what had happened this time, and why she felt the way she did. As her mind trailed back to it, her stomach began to churn unpleasantly, and Irene let out a groan. Cyrus glanced over from fiddling with some wires. "You alright?"


    "I suddenly feel¡­ very nauseated¡­" Irene reported, her voice more of a whimper than she would have liked. She gently rubbed her hand over her upset belly, but a part of her felt better feeling SOMETHING.


    "It will pass," Cyrus said without moving his eyes from the task at hand. Finally there was a rumble as he got the engine started. Satisfied he sat up and shut the door. "Alright¡­ here we go."


    "I''m going to be sick¡­" Irene moaned as the car pulled out. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders at her. Irene began to feel several unpleasant sensations in her abdomen that were very unfamiliar to her. She curled up in her seat as best as she could.


    "Like I said, it will pass. When we get to your place, I''ll make you a warm drink to soothe your stomach," Cyrus reassured, keeping his eyes focused on the road in front of him. Irene glanced over at him. Seeing Cyrus drive a car struck a strange nerve in her. It seemed almost TOO normal for him. She slowly let her eyes drop and stare at her singed and blood-stained clothes. Without thinking about it, her hand went into her pants pocket. Her fingers closed around something warm and metal. She hesitated, but then brought it out. It was the locket and key. Her eyes slid over to Cyrus, whose eyes were, thankfully, still on the road. She quickly slipped it back into her pocket before he noticed. How did that get there? She remembered throwing it back into the drawer. Another ominous feeling came over her.


    Irene was relieved when the car rolled to a stop in her long driveway. Her house was still there. More importantly, her father''s car was not present. She did not want her father to see her like this. Relief swept over her as she shakily got out of the car. She hadn''t realized how much she was shaking until she tried to stand, and almost fell over. This felt right. This was normal. She should be weak. She felt Cyrus bring her arm over his shoulders to offer support. Slowly, the two of them walked towards the house. Irene''s eyes darted to the horizon, where the slightest hint of light was forming along the outline of the mountains. It felt so familiar, except this time she was the one who was injured, and it was Cyrus carrying her to the old porch. The sun would rise soon, and they had to be inside before it did. She felt unusually apprehensive.


    The door swung open as Cyrus lightly pushed on it. Irene felt alarmed at first, but then remembered she didn''t have time to lock the door when she ran out in response to hearing Amber scream. Once inside, however, her house showed signs that someone had been in there. The kitchen chairs and table were all moved to one side, and a small pillow, which was usually on her bed, was lying on the ground in front of the basement door. Irene paused, and she could feel Cyrus'' was just as disconcerted.


    "Did some rearranging, did you?"


    Irene shook her head. "No¡­ I didn''t do this¡­" she whispered, slipping away from Cyrus and kneeling down in front of the pillow. There was a vague dirty shoe print on it. Irene frowned and looked up, towards the hallway. Keeping one hand on the wall, she walked carefully towards her bedroom. Peering in, she saw that her bed had been removed, and her nightstand was across the room. Irene closed the door and stumbled into the kitchen. From there she could see Cyrus staring down at the basement steps. "Cyrus¡­ my bed is gone."


    "Strange thing to take," he said before descending. After a moment she heard him call up. "Found your bed."


    "What?" Clinging to the wall Irene hobbled down the steps, one at a time, only to have Cyrus come up and block her path. He took both of her hands and stared at her.


    "If you even think I had anything to do with this, which knowing you, you would, I didn''t. Look, I''ll help you to your bed, get you a drink, then we can exchange stories," Cyrus said. Irene nodded. Cyrus turned sideways, guiding Irene past him, and then followed her down into the basement. Irene stared at her bed, set right in the middle of the room. It was too bizarre. Who would do such a thing? Irene made her way to her bed, and crawled into it. Relief swept over her as she laid down, the familiar smells - HER smell - reaching her. She closed her eyes and curled up, thinking over what had happened to be sure that she could give a somewhat comprehensive account to Cyrus.


    Cyrus eventually came down with a mug and sat beside her. He held the mug in his hands, staring down into it with a sigh, and then looked at her. "Irene, sit up and drink this. Try to ignore the taste, I assure you that it will do you some good."


    Irene slowly sat up, knitting her eyebrows together, studying Cyrus. His warning made her a little unsure about drinking whatever was in the mug. There was a thick, dark, ugly looking liquid in it. It was almost black, leaving a residue on the sides of the mug that looked like some horrible colour TRYING to be purple, but failing somehow. She purposely did not sniff it, and tipped the mug to her lips, a little afraid of what the taste might be. When the substance finally greeted her tongue, it was pleasantly warm. The taste instantly made her hair stand on edge, and a tingling sensation to prickle along her jawbone. It was a familiar blend of salty and metallic. There was also a bitterness that was out of place. Still, she drank the entire cup, trying her best not to think about it.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Good." Cyrus took the mug from her as soon as it was empty. After analysing the flavour more, she realised she could also recognise the bitter taste. It was food colouring. Se just drank dyed blood. But the effects were almost instant, as she felt the shaking leave her, and most of the pain and discomfort fled.


    Irene lowered her head and glared at Cyrus. "What did you do to me?" she quietly accused.


    Cyrus shook his head, setting the mug on the ground. "I didn''t do it¡­" Cyrus insisted, bringing up his hands with the palms outwards. Irene continued to stare at him.


    Irene began feeling about her mouth. Something had been off, but she had been too distracted to identify it. She expected to feel long sharp fangs when she brushed her tongue along her canines, but instead felt gap and a fleshy mass there instead. But she became aware of a pressure on her palate as she applied pressure to the excess gum tissue. Irene stuck her finger in her mouth, palpating around until something triggered, and fangs which had been nestled against the roof of her mouth flicked forward on a hinge, catching her finger and making it bleed. This confirmed her suspicion.


    "Who else would do this to me?" Irene asked, aggression filling her voice. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders.


    "I don''t know Irene! But trust me, you''re no use to me like this!" Cyrus argued, holding up a finger in protest.


    "Oh yeah? Or maybe you would because it''d force me to obey you!" Irene accused, violently shoving Cyrus. He wasn''t the immovable statue he used to be, but he still offered her some resistance. He grabbed her hands and pushed her back, pinning her to her bed, baring his fangs at her.


    "Listen to me!" Cyrus snarled, his face inches away from hers. "I never wanted this!" He drew his head back, the folds in his face relaxing into a deadpan, but he remained on top of her. Irene struggled, and could feel that he was having to exert himself to keep her pinned. "Hey! HEY! Blood chalices lose their value when they become vampires!" He released her and drew back to a sitting position, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, the last thing I need is the IMMORTAL wrath of a scorned woman."


    Irene went quiet. As soon as he released her, she pulled away, knocking her pillows off the end of the bed. As angry as she felt, she knew, for once, there wasn''t any point of directing it towards Cyrus. She also knew, remembering Cody, that as a new vampire, she could not stack up against older ones like Cyrus, or Gabriel. Shivers ran through her spine. The only other person who knew she was there was Cynthia, but it was unfathomable to think Cynthia could be her dam. Irene brought her knees to her chest. She watched Cyrus as he sat with his arms crossed, sulking like a petulant child.


    "Let''s just compare stories. What happened with the raid?" Irene felt a change in topic was necessary.


    Cyrus unfolded his arms, instantly coming out of his sulky posture and his expression lightened up. The man changed demeanours like flipping channels on a television. "Well, as you know, I used my charms and winning personality to rally the remnants of my followers to go take out Gabriel in his den!"


    Irene''s face drooped at the sudden transformation. Whenever he changed tones so quickly, she often wondered how she could have taken him seriously.


    "We arrived at his nice little cabin in the woods. That was suspicious itself, as Gabriel was never one for rustic. We surrounded the place, expecting it to be a trap and there to be an ambush inside." Cyrus gestured to Irene. "It wasn''t a trap like you suspected," Cyrus said in an irritatingly smug tone. Irene found, however, she wasn''t as annoyed by this as she knew she ought to be. "But it was... complicated in a different direction."


    Irene picked up her pillows and burrowed under her blankets for comfort as Cyrus continued his story. "Complicated how?"


    "Gabriel wasn''t at the cabin. There were only a few vampires posted there, and we took them out really fast. Now a few of my vampires are very, uh, blood thirsty, and they get a certain momentum and it gets hard to stop them. When I stormed inside, expecting more opposition, I only found one more vampire.." Cyrus paused dramatically as his tone hushed, "...and a child."


    "Not a child vampire?" Irene was horrified by the concept, but reassured by that horror.


    "Oh. No. Heavens. No. Turning children has undesirable results. It isn''t done. It simply isn''t done." Cyrus sat down on the floor next to Irene''s bed, placing his elbows at the foot. "The woman put herself between my men and the child, and I had to put myself between her and my men. This caused them to believe I wasn''t as dedicated to the cause, and it got messy."


    "They turned on you?"


    "Yes. Some of them. The few that were actually loyal backed me up. But my priority became securing that child, because I knew what his presence meant."


    "What did it mean?" Irene asked, growing tense.


    "Gabriel has a fixation with children." Irene felt her stomach lurch, and she put a hand to her mouth. Seeing this, Cyrus shook his head. "Not in that way. Though sometimes I do tease him. No, no, he kidnaps them, spoils them rotten, then turns them into vampires when they come of age. Though that''s still horrifying, I suppose. Flynn and Roan were his, ah, adopted children. And there have been others, but you haven''t met them."


    Irene took this in. The idea of Gabriel raising children was highly disturbing. "So that''s what you meant by grooming. Preparing them to be vampires?"


    "Yes. Then he gets them to make more vampires to keep his numbers strong, but he''ll never turn someone he didn''t hand raise from childhood himself. It''s compulsive behaviour in him. I guess I can share with you most vampires develop some sort of obsession or compulsion," Cyrus looked at his own hands for a moment or two. "It started when he turned his biological son, but it didn''t turn out."


    "He had a son?" Irene asked, completely surprised. She never put any thought to who he may have been before he became a vampire.


    "Oh yes, Gabriel was married and had two children when Lysandra snatched him away and turned him into a vampire. But he was a troubled soul before he became a child of the night. He doted on his son, but pushed his daughter away and treated his wife abominably. He hated all the women in his family. He never confided in me the reason for this. But that''s irrelevant to the here and now. What is relevant is Gabriel needs to be stopped,"


    "Agreed."


    "Well, in the aftermath of the carnage we did capture the vampire and child. I instructed two of my vampires to make sure the child safely got to the authorities. A child raving about vampires isn''t going to cause as much of a ruckus. Psychologists will just assume that a child invented such fanciful stories to cope with trauma, so he wasn''t a threat to our identities. As for the woman..." Cyrus straightened up and rubbed his hands together. "...it was interrogation time."


    Irene wrinkled her nose. "Did you have to say that so... gleefully?"


    Cyrus put on a cheeky smile. "Yes, I think I did. I need to maintain my bad boy reputation. Now then, we learned that Gabriel, knowing we''d taken losses from the previous skirmish, had found OUR location and that an assault was underway. So I rushed back and found the place in flames. I wasn''t sure if you''d been kidnapped AGAIN or if you were inside. So I ran inside to search for you, and found you lying in a pool of blood. At first I thought you were dead, but then I realized something much more sinister was afoot. You had been turned into a vampire, which meant that I lost my secret weapon," Cyrus explained. Irene winced again at the words. While she was chewing on this difficult truth, she glanced up to his eyes. He gave a quick wag of his eyebrows and an open hand gesture towards her, prompting her to share her story.


    "Oh¡­" Irene fiddled with a pillow. "I was asleep. I woke up when I heard some crashes down below. I heard voices, and I knew they were looking for me¡­" Irene hesitated. "I hid behind the door. Then Cynthia forced her way in," Irene paused to watch Cyrus''s reaction. He was listening intently, but she only saw a mild reaction to Cynthia''s name. Irene frowned. "She mocked me, then demanded that I got onto my knees to beg her not to deliver me to Gabriel''s men."


    "I have a hard time imagining you beg for anything¡­" Cyrus murmured.


    Irene scowled and continued, "I got to my knees. I didn''t trust her, but I also didn''t want to end up in Gabriel''s clutches again¡­" Irene was embarrassed to admit that she was so compliant. Cyrus lifted an eyebrow at her, suddenly looking a lot more interested. Irene gave him an odd glance. "What?"


    "Oh nothing¡­ just go on¡­" Cyrus said airily.


    Irene eyed Cyrus warily, her next few words elongated. "She told me it was ''good enough''. For a moment I thought she really was going to let me go¡­ but then she took out a gun and shot me," Irene''s heart raced at the recollection, and her mouth became dry. She looked at the empty cup, longing for something to wet her lips. Cyrus''s eyebrows relaxed and he seemed somewhat disappointed. His reaction irritated Irene. "What now?"


    "Nothing¡­ I mean good! I mean¡­ oh drat. I was expecting this to go in a different direction." Irene remained unimpressed. "Really, it''s good she shot you, all things considered."


    "Why''s that a good thing?" Irene didn''t find it so great.


    "Well, for one, she didn''t give you over to Gabriel. It was a mercy kill¡­ which is unusually compassionate for Cynthia. To be frank, she''s pretty twisted herself. She got us a LOT of information on Gabriel, so I suspected she was playing both sides, looking for an opportunity for her own rise to power. I used her as much as she used me¡­ so I''m not terribly surprised or broken up," Cyrus rolled back his shoulders and picked some imaginary lint off of his shoulder. Irene threw out a balled hand and punched Cyrus in the side of his arm. He let out a small startled sound, and put his hand on his arm, rubbing it, and looking mortally wounded at her. "What?"


    "You are a pig¡­" Irene muttered.


    "Yeah, yeah I am," Cyrus admitted complacently.


    Irene tried to get her thoughts in order. She was shot. She was shot. That was one experience she was having a very difficult time coming to terms with. Irene fidgeted. "Anyway¡­ I thought I was dying¡­ and time was all mixed up. It seemed like an eternity before I realized there was fire, and yet, it seemed to go from a quiet, empty room, to a roaring inferno in a single second," Irene grappled with describing her experience. "Then¡­" Irene''s eyes became dull. "I saw¡­ a face¡­ and I vaguely heard a woman''s voice¡­" Irene shook her head. "I couldn''t make out everything she said¡­ but she did say ''forgive me'' before everything went black."


    Cyrus leaned forward, becoming keenly attentive. Irene''s eyes darted around, anywhere but to him. She didn''t know how to explain the rest. Irene dug her hand into the pocket, balling the locket and chain up in her fist. She hesitated, then let go. She wasn''t going to tell him. She knew it could have been a hallucination. Someone could be playing some mean trick. "I vaguely remembered my mouth being flooded with the taste of blood. Upon thinking back, it wasn''t rising from my lungs as I had first thought. Now that I really think about it, it entered through my lips."


    "That tracks... but no recollection of who was there? Do you remember seeing anyone at all?" The steady gaze Cyrus was giving her was not like the times he was trying to mesmerize her. He seemed to have his cautious suspicions about the identity of her sire, but was still seeking more information.


    "Sorry. It''s all blurry." Irene said. She wasn''t ready to reveal what she saw. Not until she knew for sure. "I suppose¡­ whoever it is¡­ came here and moved my bed into the basement¡­ knowing I''d return here."


    "Yeah¡­ someone who knows you live here¡­ and didn''t take you to Gabriel," Cyrus said skeptically. Irene lowered her head. She felt her gut begin to hurt again, and the rest of her just seemed to squirm on the inside. She felt as though her body contained a large bowl of spaghetti, and someone was slurping one tangled noodle out at a time. Cyrus looked over at her, noting her discomfort. "It''ll pass¡­ but your body is going through changes to properly adapt to your new diet. Other changes will happen, some slower than others will. It usually takes up to a year to fully evolve¡­"


    "It feels disgusting¡­" Irene muttered.


    Cyrus reached over and rubbed her back. "Yeah¡­ it won''t hurt like that the entire year¡­ these are just the changes that need to happen now. Some of your organs will shut down entirely, since they won''t be necessary anymore. Others rearrange themselves to serve a new purpose. You will only age for a year more¡­ so you''ll be immortally a very late teen or really young adult."


    "If I live that long¡­"


    "Don''t talk like that," Cyrus reprimanded firmly.


    "I don''t want to become a monster¡­ I don''t want to get used to hurting people¡­" Irene sniffed.


    Cyrus shook his head. "Sorry, breaches¡­ there is nothing I can do to change you back. All I can do now is help you through the transition," Cyrus sighed, continuing to rub her back. "Get some sleep. It''s the best thing to do right now. Want me to read you a bedtime story?" Cyrus got a pillow in the face and a discontent grumble in response. "I take that as a no."


    Irene had begun to feel too ill to even risk speaking. Instead she pulled the covers over her head, burying her face in the one large pillow she had left. Although she wouldn''t say it, even if she could, she wanted Cyrus to stay right there. She had finally ended up in his world now, and with no turning back, she knew she''d have to rely on his guidance. That is, if she wanted to even try to survive at all.

 Chapter 35 - Dinner Time

    Irene tossed and turned against her mental stress and emotional tension, like any other transition in life. Wrapped in her cocoon of bed sheets and a slimy layer of perspiration, Irene struggled with herself to emerge with grace, rather than to crawl out as some sort of monster. Nonetheless, such desires were not easily achieved, and they certainly were a trial when one is awoken to a twisted reality by the sound of sobbing.


    Irene stirred, not immediately aware that the noise was a real human being instead of an echo from a nightmare. However, hearing shuffling and stamping feet, Irene shot straight up. This, she immediately decided, was not a wise move, as it seemed all of her organs threw themselves against the inner wall of her abdomen. Retching with a few dry heaves, Irene was effectively paralyzed while she heard the noise come closer. Once Irene had suppressed her viscera from fleeing her body prematurely, she shakily turned her head towards the door.


    At that moment, a woman tumbled into the room. Bewildered eyes met a gaze of absolute terror. Time took a brief vacation as the two gazed at each other, each movement, each breath, and each sound passing in slow motion. The moment was glass, and promptly it was shattered by two tactless words.


    "Dinner time."


    Words were in short supply, as they usually were, for Irene to adequately express the dismay and disdain she felt towards a certain vampire. She looked beyond the trembling woman to Cyrus, who stood in the doorway. Irene''s lips became a thin line against a pale face as she rose steadily to her feet.


    "Do you think I can just¡­ just¡­" Irene threw up her arms, causing the woman to flinch. Cyrus calmly walked into the room and nudged the crouched woman with his foot, causing her to quickly scramble out of his way. There was a dreadful click as he locked the door.


    "I could coddle and bottle-feed you, but this is quicker. When you''re hungry enough, you''ll feed," Cyrus responded with a shrug.


    Irene stared at the woman, who remained crouched and quivering. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, which contrasted sharply against the rest of her blanched face. Tears streamed messily down her cheeks and down her red nose.


    "P-please don''t hurt me; I''ll do anything you say!" the woman croaked. Irene continued to stare at her in sullen silence. Her anger had burnt away quickly, and now she felt numb again. It wasn''t long ago that Irene had drowned in the fear of being victimised and hunted. Looking at this unfortunate lady was like looking into a rear-view mirror. She was expected to kill the person she once was. Irene bared her fangs and slowly turned her gaze towards Cyrus. Unflappable as ever, he raised an eyebrow. Flappable, the woman shrieked in response to seeing Irene''s fangs.


    "None of your mind games¡­" Irene spoke low, from her throat.


    Cyrus just tilted his head to the side, peering at her with his infuriating smug eyes. "Mind games? I don''t know what¡­ well, I suppose you have me there. Just drink the lady''s blood and get it over with. Discoursing upon the moral dilemma will just waste time and make you cranky."


    The woman shot a frightened glance at Cyrus. She stopped shaking, but her face expressed such hysterical shock that Irene was certain the woman would soon begin babbling in a desperate attempt to reason with the situation. It was either that or she would lock down completely.


    "This is cruel! I can''t kill someone so helpless and afraid! It wasn''t long ago I was in her position!" Irene spat, trying to keep her voice low.


    Cyrus waved his hand nonchalantly. "Just like you were; except you held it together," Cyrus pointed out, an old look of admiration lighting in his face.


    Irene stared down at the woman, who had curled her knees to her chest and hid her face. "Just because she is showing fear doesn''t make her deserve this. Hell, I don''t deserve this," Irene''s voice gradually drained of expression.


    Cyrus walked over to the woman and squatted down, poking her, only to get flailed at. "Ah, come on, you''ll have to get used to terrified victims. It will be a part of your existence."


    Irene approached the both of them and also knelt down. She glared at Cyrus, and then looked back at the woman. She tried to summon softness and compassion, but she just felt empty instead. That emptiness left her with only hunger.


    "I look at her and I see myself. I see Ashley, Katie, and Tina. I can''t dehumanize myself; I can''t be the monster I''ve been afraid of all this time," Irene intoned, staring hard at the woman. She believed what she was saying, but something in her felt so discordant. She almost doubted her own words, and that was more frightening.


    "Please..." the woman whimpered. Despite being the topic of discussion, her pleas were ignored.


    "You''re just going to drink her blood. You''re not going to torture her, are you?" Irene shook her head vehemently. "No, I didn''t think so."


    The woman dared to poke her head out of her arm nest and peer at the two vampires. The way the woman was staring at her made Irene uncomfortable. It was as if she did not see people, but just two mindless beasts.


    "I''m not going to hurt her, and that is final," Irene said firmly to Cyrus. Then she turned to the woman, reaching out a hand with the palm up. Cyrus arched an eyebrow and backed up to get a better look at the interaction. Irene''s hand was furiously slapped by the frightened woman. Irene withdrew her hand. "I''m not going to hurt you," Irene insisted.


    The woman stared at her in cold fear. "Get away from me!" she said in a low shaky voice. Irene tried to maintain her patience. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the woman. "Get away you monsters! GET AWAY!" The woman threw her hands over her head and began to sob again.


    "Listen!" Irene said sharply to break through the barrier of whimpers. "I am not a monster! I know what it''s like to be a victim. I won''t hurt you!" The woman didn''t respond right away, continuing to sob. Irene frowned, and then finally shot a glance over at Cyrus. "What did you do to her?"


    "What do you think? If I were just hunting for myself she''d be off in la-la land already."


    Irene sighed, looking back at the woman, who had moved her hand slightly and was peering out at Irene. "He''s terrible, I know. But I''m not like him. I won''t hurt you," Irene repeated.


    The woman stared at her for a moment, blinking away a few new tears. "W-why should I believe you? Y-your clothes are covered in blood¡­" Irene glanced down, realizing that she hadn''t changed before climbing into bed, "¡­and your t-teeth! I saw them¡­ they aren''t human!"


    "The blood is mine!" Irene exclaimed, beginning to become exasperated. The woman stared at her unconvinced.


    "I don''t believe you! You just want me to trust you! I won''t! Get away, demon!" accused the woman as she pointed a shaky finger at Irene. Irene quickly sprang to her feet, causing the woman to withdraw. Irene looked down at the woman, then over at Cyrus who had his usual smug expression.


    "Boy oh boy, now you know what it''s like," Cyrus teased. "Try to help someone, and explain to them you have no intention of really hurting them, and they shut you down and scream nasty insults like ''monster'' or ''demon''."


    "But YOU have every intention of hurting her!" Irene countered, her voice rising a few pitches in her frustration.


    "So? You don''t. That''s what matters. She doesn''t trust you. Instead she sticks to a negative label, and treats you accordingly, unwilling to truly listen," Cyrus responded.


    Irene perched her hands on her waist, glowering at Cyrus. "I thought you weren''t going to gloat over this!" Irene reprimanded.


    "Where did you get that silly idea? Even so, I''m not gloating. I''m sharing an experience with you. It''s frustrating, isn''t it?"


    "YOU are frustrating. You-" Irene cut her sentence short with a sharp gasp. Her hand went to her stomach as a sharp reminder shot through her abdomen. A gnawing echo of pain followed. She got down on her knees, curling up and leaning forward, cradling her afflicted body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the woman spring to action, lunging for the door. The attempt to flee was short lived, as it came to a sudden halt. The woman dangled, her toes just barely touching the ground as Cyrus held her up by the throat. Irene tried to say something, but a groan was all she could muster.


    Cyrus glanced away from the woman''s face to look at Irene. "You alright?" he asked. Irene shook her head. He looked back at the woman who struggled in his grip. "Irene, you have to learn that life is temporary, and it really doesn''t matter whether a person dies from natural causes, in an accident, or by murder. They die no matter what you do, so you might as well feed while they''re fresh," Cyrus explained while the woman gasped and flailed. He slowly lowered the victim so that her feet were flat against the ground. He furrowed his eyebrows, putting on a grim frown. "Brutality is necessary to survive." With that, he brought his other hand around to squeeze the back of her neck. Eventually her eyes rolled and she collapsed.


    Irene stared at the woman, who now lay there so still and quiet, but her heart was beating. Irene could feel it. The slowed throbbing of another fleeting life was filling every cavity of her mind and body.


    "You''ll feel better once you drink, so do it," Cyrus said firmly. Irene sighed tiredly, crawling over to the woman. She was beaten, and Irene knew that even if she refused, Cyrus would kill the woman. The woman saw too much, and Cyrus probably was also feeling the thirst. Irene stared at her neck. Nope. Can''t do it.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Cyrus caught Irene''s gaze and knelt down, picking up a limp arm. "Drink from her wrist," Cyrus offered helpfully.


    Irene reached over and took the hand. Am I really doing this? Irene stared at the exposed wrist. She slowly brought the it closer, shutting her eyes tight. She could not watch herself do it. The skin touched her lips. Irene shivered. Her mouth salivated and her stomach churned hungrily. Irene hesitated, then tore into the flesh, pulling it away to give her access to the life-giving blood inside. The warm liquid filled her mouth, and though the salty, metallic taste did not change, it suddenly tasted extremely satisfying. The warmth was soothing. Upon ingesting the woman''s blood, the relief was almost immediate. There wasn''t any use stopping now, and Irene sat there sucking more and more blood as the pulse became weak.


    "Save some for me. Morning is almost here; I don''t have time to hunt another," Cyrus complained.


    Hearing words, Irene shot back to reality and tore herself away from the wrist, dropping the arm as if it were a poisonous snake. She stared at the gashes in the wrist, unable to believe it was her own teeth that caused them. Irene backed away, bewildered but satiated. Cyrus clicked his tongue and grabbed the wrist Irene had thrown down and licked it, until the wound closed up. Irene blinked a few times, even more baffled. Cyrus caught her expression and smiled as he scooped the woman into his lap, so that she was leaning against him.


    "I don''t need blood leaking from the end you bit while I try and squeeze what I can from her neck," Cyrus explained.


    Irene was certain at any time before this she would have been disgusted. She still felt terrible that a woman had to die, but she didn''t place the blame on herself. Feeling guilty was getting old.


    Irene rose to her feet, looking down at her burnt and bloody clothes. She sighed, pulling at a bit of fabric and feeling it tear off with ease. "I''m going to go take a shower while it''s still dark," Irene decided.


    Cyrus, who had brought the unfortunate woman''s neck to a comfortable height just glanced up at her. He nodded, before biting the woman''s throat.


    After Irene took her shower, she peered out a window to gauge how much time she had before the sun rose. There was a hint of light at the horizon, causing Irene to go about her business in a hurried fashion. She went into her room and took out the drawers that had her clothes, stacking them on top of each other. She lifted them with ease and brought them down to the basement. She did not see Cyrus, nor the woman down there. Assuming he was disposing of the body, Irene put the drawers down, then went back upstairs.


    When Irene resurfaced, she was met by a growl. She turned to see Silver perched on a kitchen chair, back arched. All manner of spittle and hissing issued forth from the cat''s open maw, teeth bared, and ears flat against her skull. "Silver! Don''t you recognize me?" Irene asked, horrified at her pet''s reaction. She looked at the door, hopeful that Cyrus was returning and the source of her cat''s ire. But it remained shut. Irene then looked back at Silver, licking her lips. Slowly she approached, and Silver lowered her body, drawing her head back and squinting, letting out another warning growl from deep in her throat. "Silver?"


    Irene looked around. The cat bowl was empty, but the water bowl wasn''t. Without turning her back on her perturbed pet, Irene gave the yowling feline a wide berth as she scooted around the edge of the kitchen to where the cat food was kept. She got it down, all the while Silver protected her chair ferociously.


    "See? I''m not bad. It''s me, Irene." Irene knew her cat couldn''t understand her words, but she kept hoping the sound of her voice would hold some meaning for her little tabby. Irene knelt down, filling up Silver''s bowl. She then slowly backed away.


    Silver licked her chops, catching up the drool that had been dripping out while she was screaming threats at Irene. She rose again, keeping her back arched, and tail twice its size. She circled around a few times on the chair, but did not let Irene leave her sight. Irene saw her little throat strain and pulse as she let out another growl, but it then ended in a whimper. Her ears lifted up a moment, then went flat again.


    "Come on Silver. Don''t you abandon me, too. You''ve been my one true ally in all of this!"


    Her cat cautiously jumped down, but kept her back arched as she approached the food. If Irene wasn''t so distressed at the rejection by her pet, she would have found the growling noises endearing. Silver picked up a mouthful of kibble, backed away a few paces under a chair, and then dropped them on the floor to eat at her leisure, never taking her eyes off of Irene. "Oh Silver..."


    Irene admitted defeat. Sorrowful at yet another loss, Irene resumed her task of bringing down a few moveable items of furniture to make the basement more hospitable. She only managed to gather a card table, dining chair, and a nightstand. Her final act, before she felt too tired to continue, was to change Silver''s neglected litter box. Although Silver would not let her near, she was going to take care of her the best she could.


    Cyrus returned while Irene was arranging the various objects. He stood in the doorway watching her work with a smile. Irene was just finishing up when she told Cyrus, "It took you long enough. I could have used some help earlier."


    "Ah, well, I barely got back in time. The sun will be up over those mountains any minute. Staging bodies isn''t something one should rush," Cyrus responded coolly. Irene sighed, walking over to her bed, which she had moved from the center of the room against a wall.


    "This will have to do for now¡­"


    "I don¡¯t know. This may have been a wasted effort. We might not be able to stay here." Cyrus said, watching as Irene picked up a pillow and fluffed it. "Besides, when the sun goes down again, I need to regroup and do a headcount. Heck, the others are probably wondering if I''m still kicking. Or, uh, in town at least. I''m sure there was a pool going around wagering at what point I''d run off," Cyrus added, giving a lopsided smile.


    "I wouldn''t doubt it. Why do they follow you if they all know you''re a good for nothing, selfish, coward?" Irene asked casually, picking some lint off of her plaid pajama pants.


    Cyrus responded with a low whistle. "Ouch, Irene, ouch." Irene glanced up at him with a neutral expression. "I guess because they know that I know Gabriel the most. Maybe it''s also because most of them are just waiting to betray me when the opportunity strikes. I could care less, as long as Gabriel gets put in his place. Whether they trust, or even like me, they are there because they''re afraid or angry with Gabriel," Cyrus explained. He grabbed the wicker-back chair Irene had brought down from the kitchen, and sat at the white and red card table.


    "Maybe now I can help¡­ I don''t want Gabriel to victimize anyone ever again," Irene said. Cyrus yawned loudly, causing Irene to shoot him another one of her glares. She had gotten good at them since Cyrus had come into her life. "What?"


    "Admit it, you want him to go down in flames because of what he did to you; none of this noble ''for the sake of others'' crap. You may honestly not want it to happen to anyone else, but I doubt that''s your main concern."


    Irene rolled her head back, staring at the low ceiling for a moment. She then looked back at Cyrus. "Don''t gloat, but you''re right.'' Cyrus smirked triumphantly, much to Irene''s irritation. "But, my concern for others is a large part of it. It isn''t an after-thought. I''m not like you, nor will I ever be."


    "That''s fine by me. I''m not asking you to be like me. Heck, I wouldn''t like you if you were like me. All I ask is that you try to see things my way. It just might help you cope," Cyrus responded as he put his elbows on the table. "Anyway¡­ it''s going to be a long day. I''m too wound up to sleep. Don''t suppose you got a deck of cards?"


    Irene shook her head. "My only deck of cards was in the coffee shop..." Irene said with some regret. She could have used the distraction as well. Cyrus let out a noisy sigh. Irene glanced over at her collection of books. "You could always read a book."


    "Naw¡­ I''ve already read all of those, and they were all boring."


    Irene shook her head at him, pitying him for believing that. But it wasn''t going to stop her, and she ran her fingers along the spines of the books until she selected one.


    Cyrus drummed his fingers impatiently. "You know, I expected you to start groaning and cringing again by now." Irene glanced over at him from her paperback. "In fact, usually new vampires only get enough relief to get back to sleep. You were up and about, moving things. Now you are sitting and calmly reading a book."


    "So¡­?" Irene wasn''t trying to be flippant; she truly was curious. However, since she was dealing with Cyrus, a bit of attitude could carry her a long way. Cyrus stood up and walked over to her, sitting on the foot of her bed. This annoyed Irene. She still didn''t like it when he came that close.


    "So, it''s strange. Unusual," Cyrus suggested, trying to keep a calm, casual expression.


    Irene sighed and put her book down, knowing that she wouldn''t have the peace to enjoy it. "Maybe because I had special blood?"


    Cyrus leaned closer to her, staring her in the face, carefully searching her. Irene leaned back as a result, until she could move no further. Cyrus''s eyes seemed to grow darker, if that were physically possible. "No. I don''t think so. It''s familiar. Layla was the same way. She adapted very quickly," Cyrus said, his voice going flat. "There are so many parallels. You know, while Layla was mortal, she lost her twin sister. She had this wind-up key that belonged to her and she always kept it close. Didn''t you have a sister who died?" Cyrus asked.


    Irene''s still-mortal heart thumped hard at the mention of her sister. "Yes, an older sister. She died of cancer." Tension rapidly piled into her body. She did not want to hear this, or have this conversation. She didn''t want to talk about Monica. She wished Cyrus would withdraw, and stop asking questions.


    "Heh¡­" Cyrus said, examining Irene''s expression carefully. "Don''t worry, I believe in coincidences. Still¡­ it''s odd," Cyrus put a hand along Irene''s cheek. "Deep down, you''re a strong girl, and you''ll be alright once you get used to being a vampire," Cyrus said soothingly. Irene went stiff as his hand slid down her cheek, and continued along her neck. Perhaps his hand would have slid down to her shoulder, had it not snagged on a metal chain tucked under the collar of her long-sleeved pyjama top. Before Irene could say or do anything, he pulled the chain out from beneath her buttoned-up shirt, and held the key and pendant in his hand, a grim and perplexed expression on his face. "Where did you get this!?"


    "I-"


    Cyrus glared, repeating his question in a lower tone. Irene''s eyes darted around everywhere but at him. What do I say? That it magically appeared in my pocket? Irene hesitated. Perhaps, she should say just that. "I don''t know! It was in my pocket, so I put it on!"


    Cyrus looked skeptical as he rubbed his thumb over the tiny brass key. "Things don''t just magically appear in people''s pockets," Cyrus forcefully yanked the chain off. It stung, and Irene instantly put a hand to the back of her neck. He stared at Irene for a long, silent moment, and then opened the locket, peering at the small portrait inside. "If I know anything, you are square. You wouldn''t steal something then lie about it." Irene nodded eagerly. Cyrus knitted his dark eyebrows, slowly shifting his gaze from the small picture to Irene. "But I still know there''s a better explanation than the one you''re giving me."


    "I can''t give any better explanation. How can you expect me to? Everything is upside down, this world is a mess¡­ everything is¡­ I''m sorry, Cyrus, but there is nothing more I have to tell you!" Irene stumbled over her words with anxiety.


    Cyrus regarded her silently for a moment. Finally he fiddled with the clasp, carefully fondling it as if to be sure it didn''t break. Once getting it working he put the necklace around his own neck. "Someone is toying with me."


    Irene was uncomfortable. She had a theory as to who that was, but could not fathom why. And she didn''t want to agitate Cyrus any further at present. Cyrus paced a few times and then returned to the card table, pulling a chair around so that it''s back faced Irene and he sat in it.


    No doubt he is sulking.

 Chapter 36 - Strike While the Iron is Hot

    "It wasn''t a dream¡­" Irene muttered to herself, running her tongue along the pulpy muscles that controlled her fangs. She recalled that eerie apparition of Layla. There was no doubt she saw the woman from the locket. It wasn''t just seeing her, but simply knowing her in a way Irene could not explain. There was a disturbing familiarity about the vampire slave, and a haunting longing to be near her. Without Cyrus in the room, Irene felt she could finally explore these foreign thoughts and feelings.


    This is crazy, Irene kept telling herself. However, she had to acknowledge that everything since meeting Cyrus was crazy. She felt both distressed and empty. It was a slap in the face to be a vampire, the thing she''d come to loathe. But there was also a yearning ache she did not know how to soothe. She wanted something but was not sure what it was, and it made her restless.


    Irene paced, deep in thought, coming no closer to a workable theory or conclusion that made any sense. Her stupor was broken by the sound of a clatter on the floor above her. Irene''s mind was slow to catch up with her involuntary reflexes and inherent curiousity, feeling as though she didn''t decide to run up the stairs so much as something else decided for her. Her hand groped the side of the doorframe, and she looked on to see Cyrus holding a clutter of clothes. Somewhere, in there, she imagined there was a person.


    Cyrus lifted his head and turned his attention to Irene, who alertly stood in the access to the basement. He smiled his usual smirk, and then glanced down at the mess of scarf and overcoat. "Lookie what I found trying to break in," Cyrus said, a ringing of self praise in his voice.


    Irene narrowed her eyes then widened them in recognition. "Amber?"


    There was a muffled, albeit feminine, noise in response. Cyrus''s smile dropped and he looked down at his prized catch. He pulled down her hood and revealed the petite girl''s panicked face.


    "Amber, what are you doing here?"


    "I have information!" Amber blurted out hastily, shaking within Cyrus''s firm grasp. He continued to stare at her with suspicion, but Irene calmly approached, holding up a hand to signal Cyrus to hold back any hostility.


    "Go on," Irene prompted.


    Amber swallowed hard, seeming to struggle to speak. Irene shot a glance at Cyrus, and he loosened the hold on her somewhat, but his hands remained clutching her clothes.


    "So you two know each other?" Cyrus asked, still leering at Amber. It seemed to work quite effectively on her, as the younger teen shrank within herself.


    "She was the one who warned me Gabriel''s men were coming," Irene informed, keeping her tone level and clear while maintaining eye contact with Cyrus, although his eyes weren''t going to hers. His were more focused on the girl, particularly her covered neck.


    "Th-that''s right - I''m not the enemy!" Amber bobbed her head eagerly.


    Irene arched an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to look deadpan at Amber. "I never said you weren''t," Irene said coldly.


    "B-but I.. I..." Amber began, but then quickly stopped as Cyrus whipped her scarf off of her, causing her to grow pale and quickly try to cover her neck. Cyrus grabbed her again, and she looked upon him with pinpoint pupils.


    "What have you got to hide, dear?" Cyrus firmly placed his hand on her wrist. The two stared at each other, each very still, other than the rapid shallow breaths causing Amber''s chest to shudder. With her eyes still fixed on him, her hand was moved by Cyrus''s guiding grasp. The way they locked eyes, the way that Amber''s breathing slowed, and the way her wrist fell limp in his white hands were all Irene''s spies. Amber''s eyes grew glassy; Irene had seen that before.


    "Cyrus¡­ leave her be," Irene finally said. However, her intoned instruction was delayed, and Cyrus''s eyes broke the trance on Amber and she froze up. Cyrus was staring and examining the girl''s neck.


    "Aha. Vampire groupie, are you?" Cyrus shook his head. "I don''t understand the youth today," Cyrus muttered.


    "I¡­ b-but I wasn''t¡­" Amber stuttered, unable to get her point across and instead broke off into incoherent fragments and misplaced articles.


    Cyrus just clicked his tongue and glanced over at Irene. "This is no surprise to you is it? Is she your little angel?" Cyrus looked back at Amber with a huff. "Or is she just another pawn against us? Why do you, of all people, trust her? Is it because she seems so small and pathetic?"


    "Cyrus - enough!" Irene snapped coldly. She walked over to Amber, putting her hands on her trembling shoulders and gently turned her away from Cyrus, breathing out a soothing ''hush'' through her teeth. Irene looked over her shoulder at Cyrus. Cyrus crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows so that they vanished under the hood of his dark messy hair.


    "You are a wet blanket," Cyrus groused. Irene gave him her well-practiced evil eye and returned her attention to Amber, who was starting to calm, only if just a little. "If you loosened up a little you''d know I was just teasing her. Gabriel wouldn''t rely on a trembling doorstopper like her. He eats girls like her for breakfast¡­ no as a snack! Naw, she wouldn''t even be sufficient to pick his teeth!" Irene''s glare sharpened to a scowl. Cyrus lifted his eyebrows. "What? Oh, right, yes, I know, I''m horrible and insensitive, but is that new? Let''s hear what the runt has to say!"


    "Well maybe she could get a word in edgewise if you didn''t like the sound of your own voice so much!" Irene growled, baring her teeth. The squeak that followed did not even register as a human sound, but nonetheless Amber was the source.


    "So it''s true! How horrible!" Amber said, staring at Irene''s mouth. Irene threw her glare at Amber, which made her wince. Irene heard a ''snerk'' from Cyrus and whipped her head back at him to transfix him in her flaring abhorrence.


    "Well it wasn''t me¡­ wait. You know the vampire who did this, don''t you?" Cyrus asked, seizing Amber again. He drew his face very close to hers, their noses mere millimeters from touching. Amber''s eyes grew so large, and Cyrus'' so narrow that juxtaposed, they both looked like caricatures.


    Irene''s hands intervened. "That is enough you two. Cyrus, give her her space. Amber, just buckle up and tell us what you need to tell us!" Irene sternly commanded.


    Cyrus gave her a long side glance, but then hesitantly released Amber, who scuttled away from his arm''s reach, gasping for air which she''d withheld in pure terror.


    "A-alright," Amber''s throat flexed as she gulped down her evident fear. She took in a few more breaths to stable herself, and her eyes darted side to side. Finally she swallowed again and nodded her head with a certain air of finality. "You will b-be safe here for a few more d-days. Gabriel has b-been led to b-believe you''re hiding somewhere else. B-because of the attack, a lot of his guys are sticking close, so they won''t b-be snooping around for a little b-bit."


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "So we have a few nights to rest?" Irene asked hopefully. "That''s a very small relief, but one nonetheless."


    "I¡­ I am not d-done!" Amber insisted. Irene fell silent, and Cyrus, who had his mouth open to say something, shut it to listen. Irene and Cyrus waited impatiently, watching Amber''s lips moving as she prepared the next message. "Gabriel¡­" she said, elongating the last two syllables as her eyes went to one side, "¡­is in an old animal feed factory that is d-down for reno¡­renation¡­ for b-building more."


    "You mean renovations," Cyrus added helpfully.


    "Yeah, guess so. Anyway¡­" Amber continued, "¡­It''s b-by some t-train t-tracks and a t-tunnel. He is, um, resting too. He lost a lot of men. I am sup-p-posed to be t-telling you that tomorrow night you should attack, b-before he, uh, regroups," Amber said carefully, going over every syllable with care.


    Irene instantly turned to Cyrus. "You may think it''s a trap¡­" Irene tilted her head to the side, a confident expression dawning on her gaunt face, "¡­but tomorrow night is our opportunity to end this."


    Cyrus rolled both of his shoulders and cracked his neck. "It''s probably a trap, but what the hell. Why not be reckless? It might turn out well - although nothing has since¡­ oh¡­ well¡­ eternity. But I''m an optimist."


    "You certainly have reinforced my sense of confidence¡­" Irene muttered. Amber glanced between the two of them, and finally grabbed back her scarf. Cyrus let it go without much resistance.


    Cyrus rubbed his chin and squinted at Amber. "All the same, some caution won''t hurt. Itty-bitty, you''re staying here until tomorrow night as collateral."


    Both girls turned and exclaimed a ''what'' but with two very different tones.


    "No, that will not do!" exclaimed Irene. "We don¡¯t have the room for her!"


    "She can sleep in your father''s room."


    "My father¡­" Irene suddenly had a hypothetical light go on above her head, and her face was stricken with worry. "My father was supposed to be home already! I haven''t heard from him at all!" Irene rushed to the phone and picked up the receiver. There was dead air on the other side. Had they cut her off? Her father could pay bills from afar, so why wouldn''t he? "God¡­"


    "Oh¡­" Amber peeped. "I¡­ uh¡­ forgot to say I also had a message ab-bout your father¡­"


    "What?" Irene asked, this time being the one to seize Amber''s poor abused shoulders. "What about my father! TELL ME!"


    "He¡­ d-don''t worry¡­ he''s not in REAL d-danger¡­ he''s just been det-t-tained, p-p-pending investigation. That''s the message."


    "How do you KNOW this?" Irene demanded suspiciously.


    "I-I¡­ that is my master¡­ well¡­ someone set him up. My master knows who¡­ b-but I was told he wouldn''t b-be charged¡­ that the evidence to clear him would make its way to the¡­ uh¡­ p-police I g-guess," Amber babbled, but her gaze kept wandering to Cyrus while speaking, until Irene followed her gaze to him. For the entire last sentence she was staring at Cyrus, and his impeccably straight face. Irene raised an eyebrow at him, only for him to mirror this subtle action.


    "Would that person happen to be someone in this room?" Irene asked Amber while staring pointedly at Cyrus.


    "Well, I d-don''t know - only my master d-does," Amber squeaked. Irene continued to stare at Cyrus, who continued to stare back. All fell silent, other than a slight creaking from Amber shifting her weight nervously.


    After having enough, and neither saying anything, Irene threw her arms up in the air in frustration. "I''m going back to bed!" she said heatedly. She promptly pivoted on her heel and stormed down to the basement, slamming the door behind her.


    <hr>


    "Peaches, you-"


    "Somehow I don''t think the name fits anymore, so stop it!" Irene irately snapped. She sat wrapped up in a blanket with only her pale face peeking out of the textile cocoon. She eagerly glared at Cyrus, which had become a hobby for her.


    "Oh right, I forgot I changed it to Breaches!" Cyrus responded with his impish expression. However, this countenance soon dropped to one more grim. Unfazed, Irene maintained hers. "As I was saying, you need to stop storming off like that - nothing ever gets resolved when you wander off."


    "Nothing will get resolved as long as I''m angry enough to leave," Irene retorted petulantly.


    Cyrus cocked an eyebrow at her, but then continued forward. "Ahem! Your father is safer where he is. He''d be a likely target if he came back in the middle of this. Ever wonder why you never heard again about Merle?" Irene''s face blanched, her attention grabbed and her glare dropped. "I recently learned that Gloria was suspended before she could do anything for your friend."


    "What are you saying? Is Merle dead?" The words caused a strange sensation akin to fear, but tainted with a lack of shock. There was almost some new dimension to the word ''dead'', but she didn''t have the state of mind nor time to ponder upon it.


    "Not yet. But the place she is at can only hold her for a week before she''ll be brought back. She already blabbed about vampires. I don''t imagine she''ll make it home. Your father, however, is out of danger as long as he''s out of town. You are in this deep, Irene," Cyrus cautioned, not bothering with any tenderness. However, to Irene''s relief, he dispensed with the usual wisecracks.


    "¡­Fine." Irene lifted her eyes to regard Cyrus with a dull expression. "I didn''t want to be a part of this. But control over one''s life is an illusion. All I can do now is fix what I can," Irene said calmly. Irene had nothing more to say. Finally, after standing somewhat awkwardly, Cyrus sat beside the bundled up Irene.


    "That''s right. Glad we agree on something," Cyrus laced his fingers together and let them hang in his lap.


    "I''m tired all over, Cyrus." Irene said in a quiet, weary tone. "However, I won''t get any rest until I know I can afford the safety of my family and friends. I''ve been helpless and trapped this entire time despite how much I''ve fought. But¡­ I don''t think I can protect them. I never could, but I''m even less capable now. I feel weak, drained, empty, and lost. Is this how you felt during your transition?"


    Cyrus leaned his head back, a distant look to his usually keen eyes. "Oh¡­ no¡­ but my circumstances were different. I didn''t feel weak or drained, at least, not after the initial shock and sickness passed. Instead, I felt polluted. I never tried once to make contact with my caravan afterwards."


    "Caravan?" It came to Irene''s attention that she knew nothing about his mortal life. "Were you on a journey?"


    "More or less. I left my ''home'' and ran off with travelers - gypsies they were called then. As a mortal my skin was quite swarthy, so my adopted father didn''t even try to pretend I was not proper English stock. I figured I belonged with the outcasts more than I did in my own house. Ah¡­ but that is not important. I didn''t have time to feel lost or longing because I had Gabriel to rival with and Lysandra to please," Cyrus explained.


    Irene lowered her head, her pointed chin vanishing in the folds of the blanket. "I see¡­" she said, a small portion of disappointment in her tone. After carefully gnawing on her lip a little she looked back up at Cyrus. "You were¡­ a gypsy?"


    "Does that surprise you? Want me to tell your fortune?" Cyrus asked, letting his smirk return. Irene tilted her head.


    "No."


    "Good, because I don''t know how. We weren''t fortune tellers like everyone believed. Like I said, we were called Gypsies, but we weren''t. We were just itinerant."


    "You said home as if it weren''t a home... were you in an orphanage?" Irene might be stuck with Cyrus for a long time, now. She might as well learn about him.


    "No, no, I was never in an orphanage. I was raised by a scholar. Funny¡­ I don''t really remember his face anymore. I was just a toddler I think when I was taken from my heathen parents to be raised as a right and proper Christian. So of course my name had to be changed, though I didn''t take on their family name. No, no. My guardian made sure to give me a Biblical name, but being a bit eccentric, I ended up being named Cyrus. I''m grateful for his wife''s intercession, because originally he wanted to name me Methuselah. Although now that''d be apropos since I do plan on reaching one thousand years," Cyrus wore a wry smile as he reminisced. However he was suddenly brought out of his stupor as his eyes lit up with alertness. "Ahh we don''t have time to bother about my past! We need to make a decision for sure on whether to check out this factory or not!"


    "You''re right. I want this to end. Only then can I even begin to provide for the few close ties I have left. I¡­ I can''t even think about what I will do with myself yet. Gabriel has to be dealt with first," Irene said, her tone becoming more and more acidic. Her eyes suddenly sharpened and the light flickered back into them under the hood of her furrowed brow.


    "Then let me just get in contact with my people and arrange a rendezvous at the factory!" Cyrus said, quickly jumping to his feet and clapping with enthusiasm. Irene jumped from the sudden liveliness, and then drowned in her own horrors of what really WOULD happen if she survived this upcoming battle. What future could be afforded to her? Irene wasn''t sure she wanted one.

 Chapter 37 - The Showdown Begins

    Smog hung languidly as a sickly golden aura around the large malodorous structure. A large grey wall faced an empty lot with faded red lettering written across it, barely legible. A wave of unease and a squeamish tide ebbed and flowed in Irene''s turbulent gut. The cloying stench of wet grain and chemicals could not hide the cutting smell of freshly shed blood. Irene''s nostrils flared as her entire body shivered.


    "Looks like we''re a little late to the party, breaches," Cyrus said as he slipped through a narrow opening in the chain-linked fence. He kneeled down by a dark puddle, barely noticeable atop the tar stained asphalt. "It''s strong blood¡­ shed from another vampire."


    "Be honest. What are our chances of survival?" Irene asked in a sullen, distant tone, which hadn''t a mite of concern in it. It was too smooth to be reproachful, and lacked the gloss of curiosity.


    "No clue." Cyrus stared at the factory, then shrugged and turned back to his accomplice. "But that makes it all the more fun, now doesn''t it?"


    "No, it does not," Irene muttered and slipped past the fence. She folded her arms and let out a very long sigh, tucking her chin low and peering outward with a dubious expression. "This is your last chance to run with your tail between your legs, Cyrus."


    "My tail is ALWAYS between my legs - that''s its natural state," he responded with his usual merriment. His eyes caught an orange twinkle from the streetlights lining the sidewalk behind them. "I''ve come this far, and the stakes are a bit too high to just cash in right now."


    "Simply because you''d be cashing in a deficit," Irene dryly responded. With a few steps she closed the short distance between them, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. It was an odd sort of picture in her perspective. She never imagined, not once, she''d be standing by him with such purpose.


    "Well, this is it. Either my men took out some guards¡­ or the guards took out my men," Cyrus said, stepping past the puddle. Irene silently followed him, keeping in his shadow. As usual he was draped in black clothing, but this time he took care to wear black gloves and tied a black bandana about his face so only the skin around his dark eyes showed pale. Irene herself was wrapped up in a long black coat Cyrus had lent her. She turned up the collar uncomfortably as they neared one of the entrances to the building. Cyrus held up his hand, signalling for her to halt. Then he motioned for her to follow, and he stealthily moved behind a large truck.


    "What is it?" Irene whispered. Cyrus did not look at her, more preoccupied with turning his head to peer around the corner.


    "Shhh listen¡­" Cyrus said. Irene held her breath and did as he instructed. As though carried on the thick air, there was the sound of voices. She could not distinguish what they were saying, but the quality of the sound was unlike anything she''d heard. She knew it was very far away, and knew it was inaudible, and yet to her ears it made a sound.


    "I¡­ can''t make out what they are saying." Irene whispered again. Cyrus held up a hand to silence her, and she held her breath again. She wondered how soon breathing would be optional? For the next few minutes her ears filled with the sound of her own heart throbbing, pushing the delicate sound of distant conversation from her notice. She felt almost as if her heart beat was loud enough to interfere with Cyrus''s ability to hear and took a few steps back.


    "Traitor¡­ something about a traitor and a demonstration. Hmm¡­" Cyrus relayed before going very quiet again. "Pathetic resistance¡­ likely referring to my men. Gabriel is in there alright. Huh¡­" Cyrus moved and turned to her, pulling down the cloth that covered his mouth.


    "What is it?" Irene asked eagerly.


    "Executions. They must have rounded up my men. As for traitor¡­ there are two people I can think of that he is referring to¡­ but¡­" Cyrus glanced back over his shoulder and then back at Irene again. "Things are looking grim - but I''m not turning back. I''m not going to tell you to either - but I won''t begrudge you if you want to leave."


    "If I don''t make this stand, I''m as good as dead. I''m not going to live with a sword hanging over my head. If I die it will be on my terms," Irene whispered firmly. Cyrus nodded and smiled before covering his lower face again.


    "Well, this is it. My better senses are telling me to skip town but¡­ ah¡­ this is for my own good as well as yours. I make no promises that I won''t bail if things get too grizzly, though," Cyrus warned. Irene shook her head slowly, not in the least bit surprised.


    "If you were to say otherwise I''d know you were lying to impress me, or maybe just impress yourself," Irene remarked. Cyrus peered around the truck again. "So are we going now?"


    "Yes, on my lead. It looks like the guards are being called in¡­ or changing shifts - I''m not sure which," Cyrus informed.


    "Alright, I''m ready." Irene said stoically. Cyrus was still for a moment, but then he lifted his arm and gave a forward flick of his wrist. Immediately he was gone, speedily sneaking to the doorway. Irene was not far behind, albeit a little less stealthily. The old side door came closer and closer, and beyond it, the final confrontation.


    <hr>


    "It''s sad so few of you didn''t take the opportunities I gave you! Life or death, one way breeds new opportunities, pleasures, and advancement. The other, a dead end where one can only be as dust!" a deep voice spoke imperiously. Cold pale eyes surveyed his audience. Then Gabriel turned to stare at a woman bound to a chair.


    It took Irene squinting and shifting her perspective to see, but once enough of her features were clear, she gasped with recognition. It was Cynthia.


    "Of course¡­ there are those who I won''t afford the chance to live - they don''t deserve it." A large hand caught hold of the pale, bare throat of his prisoner, her hands bound behind her back. "I do not tolerate treachery!"


    "Tell me something new¡­" came Cyrus''s quiet mutter amidst the fracas of cheering from a semi circle. Irene remained hidden behind some machinery, watching the obscured view with anxiety. She felt no remorse or anguish on behalf of Gabriel''s captive. But something disturbing ran up her spine as she witnessed Gabriel''s brutality once again. Yet, as much as Irene wanted to, she could not take her eyes away.


    "Cynthia, you were tasked with bringing the girl to me. Instead, you killed her. You have no idea what you cost me, what you cost us! And now, you will pay!" Irene''s eyes widened and she wondered how much Cynthia knew. Her mind began to reel with this new information, but it confirmed that Gabriel had guessed the truth about Irene. However, regardless of Cynthia''s intentions, it did not endear her to Irene any further.


    Gabriel''s face was devoid of expression as he brought his other hand to cradle the nape of Cynthia''s neck. Cynthia''s face was obscured, but Irene tried to imagine a fearful expression on her sultry face. Irene''s mouth was dry as she watched, the air ripe with suspense. With a swift jerk and a sickening snapping-cracking noise, Cynthia''s head was twisted one-hundred and eighty degrees. The sound made Irene jump in her skin. If only Gabriel had stopped there Irene may have been able to remain in control of her nausea. However, to her dismay, he continued to twist her neck with sharp movements until the skin broke from the stress, a jagged red line of beads forming across her throat. A series of snaps reached Irene''s ears, each snap corresponding to a sudden rise of bile in her throat. Quicker and quicker he unscrewed her head like a bottle cap, until he ripped it off, causing blood to spurt off in every direction like a red umbrella. Right in his hand the once beautiful face withered rapidly until it was a disgusting, mostly decayed visage. Creamy skin was now greenish brown with whispy, thin brittle tresses of hair that had the colour of smoker-stained fingernails. The body followed, decompressing beneath the tight clothes, being reduced to a bony figure, with barely any sinew left upon the bone.


    The stench of decay flared up in Irene''s unguarded nostrils, and she could no longer control herself. She kneeled forward and blood and bile rose in her throat, forcing its way out of her mouth. Alarmed, Cyrus bent down quickly, grabbing a hold of Irene''s shoulder with one hand, the other rubbed her back. To both Irene and Cyrus''s relief, Gabriel had begun talking again, and Irene''s noises had gone unnoticed. Finished, Irene wiped her chin with the back of her hand, her eyes glazed with tears. Cyrus quietly helped her to her feet. Irene glanced at him for only a moment, then stared out at the small gathering.


    "Who else wishes to share her fate, and the fate of the rest who continue to defy me!?" Gabriel asked, staring down at three individuals who were bound and guarded on either side. From the back view, Irene could not make out who they were, but she judged from Cyrus''s grim expression that he knew all three of them. Gabriel tilted his head down and stared at the three of them with great intensity. None of them moved or spoke.


    "Master Gabriel asked you a question! ONE of you had better say something, or you''re all getting the hot poker!" one of the guard''s threatened, taking a swing at one of the prisoners'' heads. Gabriel crossed his arms and continued to leer.


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    "Alright - alright! I promise to never rise against Gabriel again! I''ll cooperate! I''ll be good¡­ I''ll¡­ I''ll do whatever you need me to do!" a male voice cried out. Gabriel''s frown twisted upward into his sinister grin, but his eyes showed no amusement or kindness. They only grew crueler.


    "I hope you''re a man of your word," Gabriel spoke in his cyanotic tone. One of the guards cut the broken vampire loose and he fell forward, making an embarrassing display of groveling and crying. Irene could scarcely watch the pathetic display, and she gave Cyrus a sharp glance, lifting her eyebrows and tilting her head to the execution site. He returned an equally sharp look and shook his head. Irene frowned impatiently. She did not wish to wait any longer and simply watch.


    "I''ll do anything if you''ll spare me!" the vampire went on. Irene tilted her head. There was something familiar about that voice.


    "First tell me your name," Gabriel requested. The man lifted his head and hesitated.


    "It''s Cody, sir."


    Irene just about sunk in her own skin. It was no wonder he was breaking so easily.


    "Cody?" Gabriel parroted. He then snapped at one of his followers who quickly produced a piece of paper and handed it to him. Gabriel gave a flick of both his wrists to straighten out the page and examined it. He then peered from over the document at Cody, who remained very still. "Ah, I see, you haven''t been with us very long. You''re still soft as clay¡­ and just as inferior. Tch, not even long enough to gain any real power¡­ pity. You''d simply die if I made you and one of your colleagues fight to the death¡­"


    "Cyrus¡­" Irene growled softly. Cyrus put his finger to her lips to silence her.


    "¡­And it wouldn''t even be much sport." Gabriel shrugged his broad shoulders and straightened his posture.


    Suddenly, there was a very loud crackling noise followed by an ear-shattering pop. Smoke obscured the small gathering, and the area filled up with noise of surprise, anger, and confusion. Cyrus caught Irene''s eye and nodded to her. Before Irene could respond, he had already bolted past her into the diversion. Irene stood frozen behind her hiding spot, unable to focus. Not even her recently enhanced senses could grab a hold of the commotion. Apprehensively, she gnawed on her lower lip.


    Who am I kidding? What can I do but just get in the way?


    Amidst Irene''s self doubt, her attention was grabbed by just the slightest sound of loose cloth rustling and the sensation of a brief breeze along the back of her neck. She quickly turned to the narrow gap behind her, but saw nothing. Uneasily she crouched down, looking about frantically. The hazy battle ceased to be material for her as paranoia breached her faltering mind. When she was certain she had only imagined it and began to slowly rise back to her feet, she saw something dark move out of the corner of her eye. This startled her and she immediately ducked again, craning her neck to find the source.


    "Who is¡­ there?" Irene whispered more to herself than to the mysterious stalker. It unnerved her, but deep down she didn''t feel quite as threatened as she believed she ought.


    Frozen in place from the dark figure, Irene didn''t even hear the sounds of the fighting until there was a thud and a cracking noise right beside her. A mauled body landed a meter away. Thick blood seeped out of the large wound in his head, eyes burnt out of the sockets. Irene shuffled back, but could not tear her eyes away. There was a twitch, followed by a moan, barely audible above the ruckus. Irene''s stomach churned uneasily once again as his neck turned, and a hand sluggishly gripped at the ground to try and push against it. Creak. Irene looked up to see a large metal beam come plummeting down from the blackness above. Irene jumped back, bumping into some old machinery. The beam landed across the man''s neck, severing it with sheer force. Irene threw her hands to her mouth to muffle her shriek. The body did not move after that.


    "The place is collapsing!" cried a voice Irene did not recognize. For the first time since the fighting started Irene gazed towards it. The smoke had settled, and there were dismembered and partially decayed parts strewn about the floor. Irene could not account for all of the bodies, or body parts, for there seemed to be more lying dead than there were even present when the fight began.


    "Screw this I''m leaving!" another voice yelled out. She recognized the source as one of Gabriel''s men. She could not hear his frantic footsteps amidst the large creaking from above. Like an angered guardian, a large part of some machine swung down, attached only by a few cables, and ploughed into him. He landed somewhere in the shadows, but no sound nor movement proceeded. Irene shakily stepped around the machine she had been hiding behind to get a better view of the fight.


    Irene''s senses had been dulled, but as she stepped out into the open, the sounds, the sights, and the smells pushed their full intensity against her unguarded nerves. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her from the sickening ambience. It wasn''t just the death - it was the violence in which both sides conducted themselves. Mutilated and barely recognizable bodies continued to swing at their opponents. Blood and viscera were spattered across the cold pavement floor. The sounds of sizzling flesh, breaking bones, snapping joints, and grunts of pain buzzed around her skull. She wanted to shut it out, but she could not. She needed to hear everything, she needed to stay alert.


    Movement caught her eye as a vampire she''d thought was defeated rose up to his feet. He snarled, seeing her and lunged at her. Irene dodged to the side, as yet another piece of metal came slamming down, pinning the vampire. While her focus was engaged elsewhere, a hot twang of pain shot up her neck and made a knotting-sensation on the back of her tongue. Irene had barely a moment to react to having her throat grabbed before she felt herself being thrown to the ground. There was a nauseating pop in her ear and she suddenly couldn''t feel her left arm. She grit her teeth and rolled onto her back, looking up at the vampire she knew as Louis.


    Louis''s hair was sticky and matted, clinging to the contours of his rubicund face. Blood drizzled from the side of his head and from a large gash in his chin. He stared down at her with a crazed look. He paused dramatically, as if he was unsure just what to do with her right away. Irene struggled to get to a crouched position, but before she could make it onto her feet, he had grabbed her by her dislocated arm. Irene screamed. Soon her other arm was in his grip, and both were forced behind her. Irene bit down on her lip so hard it bled, trying not to let anymore whimpers escape. There was a whispering in her ear. "Don''t worry¡­ I''m not going to kill you¡­ but resist, and I''ll make you wish I had."


    Irene felt light-headed and dizzy in spite of the sobering reality of her falling into the same trench of danger and pain. There was an ache where her finger had been; a memory of agony brought on by fear of its reprise. She didn''t struggle as she tried to regain her senses.


    "That''s right¡­ calm and quiet¡­" came Louis''s cooing voice. Irene continued to bite hard into her lower lip as she lowered her head. It hurt. IT HURT. Such pain and fear was too familiar, and more than ever, tiring. Not the somnolent tired, but that state of exhaustion where one burns with frustration. ENOUGH!


    Irene''s blood boiled and she swung away with her good shoulder, managing to tear it out of Louis''s grip. Caught off guard, he made a sound of surprise and anger and swung a fist at her. Irene was quick this time and dove for the floor, causing Louis to topple over her. She brought her knee as far up as she could, and then kicked out at Louis, shoving him off of her. Louis grunted as he was forced to the side. Encouraged by the successful impacts, Irene began to kick him over and over until her legs had pushed him out of her reach. At this point she struggled to get her to her feet, glaring at Louis like a cornered animal. One arm was raised, ready to deflect any incoming blows. Her other arm dangled uselessly at her side.


    "Go on¡­ try and make me regret that," Irene dared, staring into Louis''s bewildered eyes. It was written all over his face that none of his victims had ever fought back, especially not with such ferocity. The loss of control jarred him, but Irene could rapidly see that confusion turn to rage. Without a word he charged at her. Seeing this, Irene also launched forward, keeping her body low and her good shoulder twisted towards him. With satisfaction, her shoulder rammed into Louis''s lower abdomen. The both of them crashed back to the floor, but this time with Louis prone. Pinning him with her knees, Irene repeatedly began to punch Louis in the face with her working arm. After a few good hits to his face she drove a final punch straight into his throat.


    Louis lay stunned, and Irene stared down as some of her fury subsided. She wiped the blood off of her knuckles and rose to her feet. It was liberating and gratifying to not be the victim for once. She went to stomp on his throat one more time, but haughty in her successful frenzy, she failed to remember the superiority of might and body she faced. Her foot was grabbed and promptly twisted. Irene yelped and fell back, her foot still ensnared. Pain radiated sharply from her ankle. He then yanked on it, pulling her closer to him. Irene''s eyes widened as she saw his upraised fist, ready to come smashing down on her knee. Irene twisted and rolled to the side, his fist glancing off her leg and smashing into the ground.


    Irene had never been in many fights before, and she felt out of her element. But survival was a strong impetus to learning new skills and Irene reached up and grabbed Louis by the throat as he wound back for another strike. This didn''t slow his momentum and his fist pummeled her face. The pain froze upon her nose, hot and radiating. Irene squeezed Louis''s throat with renewed vigour, her thumb feeling the ridges of his trachea. His hand went to her wrist and he was able to pry her off with ease. Louis threw her down once again, her skin sloughing off on the rough poured cement as she skid along the ground.


    Louis grabbed a slightly bent bar that used to be the handle to something and swung it down at her. Irene rolled to the side just in time. But he didn''t let up. She had to keep moving to stay alive. Some of his strikes she managed to evade, others struck her hard. Irene pulled on the side of a chute to steady herself. She moved her head to the side, narrowly avoiding a swing. While doing so, her eyes momentarily glanced to where the chute led. It was a thresher. There were blades behind that casing. If only I could... WHACK! Irene stumbled forward as she took a blow to the side of the head, causing a ringing in her ears.


    Blurry movement arced above her head, and to her own surprise Irene''s good hand reached up and caught the makeshift weapon. Her knees bent, and the pain in her ankle caused her to tear up as she struggled with Louis for control of the weapon. He pressed the bar to her neck and she could feel him pressing. The chute was behind her. Using Louis''s strength against him, she dropped and ceased all resistance, causing him to stumble onto the belt. Caught off guard, Irene was able to grab the weapon from him and she spun it around, choosing to jab rather than strike. To her satisfaction and disgust, she drove the metal bar through his right eye and he screamed. But Irene wasn''t done. She pushed the bar through the back of his skull and into the machine, getting the bar stuck between the blades. Had the machine been in operation, Louis would have been shredded. As it was, he was merely stuck. Carelessness on his part in extricating himself could prove fatal. Irene was satisfied that he was no long able to continue his assault.


    Irene''s ears were still ringing and her vision throbbed with bouts of focus and blurring as she limped towards cover. She needed to rest. She could barely hear anything beyond a high pitched, tinny sound and her own heartbeat. But something managed to break through the internal white noise - a crash and the shrill scraping of metal. It came from behind and Irene spun around in a panic, raising her hand defensively.


    Irene cautiously peeked one eye open. Lining the chute Irene had foisted Louis onto were human bones. Both of her eyes shot open in surprise. Once again, a shadow fled from her peripheral vision. Irene glanced about, but found no one else. An eerie realization came upon her as the ringing finally ceased: it had gone quiet. Not just quiet, but still. No more battles. No more vampires. No more movement. Just silence. Silence and pain reclaiming her now that the adrenaline had run its course.


    "Cyrus? Anybody?" Irene called out between grunts. "What¡­ what happened!?"

 Chapter 38 - Kill Stealer

    The smell was verging on unbearable, as was the pain. Irene shakily reached forward, her hand disturbing the pile of bones that had been her attacker mere moments prior. It felt real. Still, no one responded to her calls. As she examined the skeleton closer she realized it was missing a very important bone: the skull. Irene peered into the darkness of the machine, but could not see it there. She glanced around for signs of any further danger. While scanning, she spotted the skull around the corner of a steel box. She crouched down and reached her hand out to it. It rocked at her trembling touch. Irene brought her hand closer to her chest and stared up into the vast darkness. "What is going on!?"


    Like an answer from the heavens, she heard some clanking far above her once the echo of her inquiry died out. She squinted trying to see the source. Then she heard it - distant voices. Irene shambled forward, only for her ankle to give out. A plaintive whimper issued forth as she landed on the ground. The noise continued until there was a loud metallic clunk followed by an elongated yell. The noise became louder and closer, and soon she could see the darkness produce a falling body.


    "Cyrus!?" CRUNCH! He landed atop a conveyor belt. Irene half ran, half stumbled over to Cyrus''s still body. "Cyrus are you¡­"


    "Ooooooooo¡­." A moan escaped him as he lifted his head. Cyrus wearily brought a hand to the back of his neck and groaned again. Irene, on her knees, reached over to grab a hold of his free hand. He lifted his head a little and stared at her through one good eye, the other forced shut from excessive swelling around it.


    "What happened? Everything went quiet!" Irene said.


    Cyrus stared at her dazed for a moment, then forced himself to sit up. There was a distant clatter above them, the sound of rushing footsteps on metal grating.


    "Don''t know¡­ hide!" Cyrus warned, giving her wounds a look of appraisal. "Gabriel will be down here any-"


    THUD! Right beside Cyrus landed the monstrous figure of Gabriel. He crouched before his two targets for a moment while the resonating noise of distressed metal died down. He had not gotten through this battle without his share of open wound. That once beautiful, almost angelic, complexion was dirtied with burns, cuts, and filth. One of his eyes was bloodshot, but the other maintained its eerie paleness.


    Gabriel''s eye widened momentarily upon recognizing Irene, but then they narrowed. "What a waste." His voice had lost that silk-like timbre, leaving roughness in its wake. Gabriel slowly turned his head to Cyrus, who had been trying to get to his feet. "Did you really think you could ever beat me? You were always inferior in every aspect, Cyrus! I cleaned up your messes for years! And for what? Your continued blundering and cowardice? Contempt where there should be admiration? Betrayal against your own blood?"


    "Give it a rest Gabriel! I''m tired of your self-flattering speeches!" Cyrus shot back. Gabriel''s mouth opened with a reprisal, but it was quickly silenced by Cyrus'' interruption. "Shut up and fight me, Frenchy!" Cyrus took a swing at Gabriel, which was easily deflected. Gabriel grabbed Cyrus''s arm and flipped him over, bringing him crashing down onto the pavement. Cyrus lay still as blood pooled around his cracked head.


    Irene felt no particular sentimentality towards Cyrus, but whether she liked it or not, he had been an ally. And Gabriel was an immediate threat. Irene grit her teeth and launched at Gabriel. She had nothing to lose anymore, she might as well go out swinging. Gabriel stepped aside, evading her strike with ease. Movement in Irene''s peripheral vision caused her to turn and look, only to see his elbow swinging at her head. It connected straight in the center of her face, sending Irene reeling back. The central pain radiated outwards, and she could feel blood flowing onto her upper lip and slide down the back of her throat, forcing her to cough and sputter.


    Gabriel''s large hands reached for her, but before his fingers could grip her throat, he suddenly fell backward. Irene glanced over, seeing Cyrus recoil, unbalanced from his interference. He withdrew the leg in which he used to trip Gabriel, and cradled the back of his head with both of his hands. Irene''s hand covered her crushed nose as she dipped her chin forward to drain it.


    Gabriel was quick to get to his feet. Seeing this Irene groped around behind her until her hand grasped something she could use as a weapon. She swung a broken pipe as hard as she could at Gabriel, getting him across the chest. It barely caused him to flinch before he grabbed it and wrenched it from her, her grip weakened by fatigue and her missing finger. Irene fell back onto her bottom, staring up at Gabriel. He twirled the broken rod in his hand, then gripped the end and twisted it into a screw-like point. He raised the weapon, poised to skewer Irene. But there was a buzzing in her ear. Was that from some of the machinery?


    Irene scampered up to her feet, feeling the hot pain of her twisted ankle as she barely avoided the lunge from Gabriel. He went from thrusting to swinging in a fluid motion, hitting Irene across the back and forcing her forward. She fell to the ground and crawled into a small gap between a metal casing for some piece of equipment, and a caged ladder.


    "Think you can get away from me?" Gabriel chuckled cruelly as he pursued her, having to slow down due to his larger stature. Irene heard the buzzing again and saw some thick cables up ahead. Gabriel ducked under a large bar and smiled. Irene had met a dead end; there was nowhere left to flee. And his form blocked the only way out. Haughty with what seemed a certain victory, he thrust the metal bar at Irene''s back. She quickly dropped to the ground, flattening herself and the bar barely missed her. Instead, it struck into the large cable, coming in contact with livewires.


    Gabriel''s hand clenched harder around the rod as sparks flew out from the impact, and he was frozen there a moment, emitting a series of rapid grunts through clenched teeth. Irene shuddered. She had hoped he would get blown back, but instead he remained where he was, albeit stunned. The flying sparks caused her to lean away and shut her eyes.


    Hiss. Pop. SLAM! Clatter.


    When irene opened her eyes, the twisted piece of metal landed beside Irene. Her gaze drifted to where Gabriel lay prone several meters away. Irene scooted out of the nook she had crawled into. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cyrus slowly getting back to his feet, only one hand over the dizzying wound in his skull. Gabriel picked himself up, staring at neither Cyrus nor Irene, but something out of Irene''s view. Irene wanted to look, but she was too afraid to ever let her eyes leave Gabriel again.


    A low growl escaped his throat, and he bared his sharp teeth. Once steady, he prepared to launch another assault, shifting his focus back to Cyrus. Gabriel brought a double-handed fist down on top of Cyrus, dropping him with ease. Then it happened again. A dark shadowy figure moved quickly by Irene. Moments after the rushing sensation a black clad figure appeared beside Gabriel, swinging a weapon. Irene squinted, her eyes catching a glint off of a wedge of steel. Before she could recognize just what it was, Gabriel was falling to his knees. The side of his neck had a deep wound and was gushing blood. One hand reached up to try and cover it and he glared at the figure which stood before him. He tried to get to his feet, but the momentum of a second swing was already in place. Moments later, Gabriel''s head was on the floor, and his body was crumbling away with rapid decay.


    Irene gasped. Gabriel was no more. Her eyes were drawn to the individual who stood still, blood dripping off of a long-handled ax which now pointed at the ground. Although short in stature, the long billowing coat and scarf-covered head gave an imposing air to the figure. The grim person slowly turned to regard them, the only skin visible was that around a pair of piercing eyes. Irene immediately knew who had saved her. "You! You''re¡­my¡­ creator!"


    "Yes," came a rich, womanly voice. She took a few steps closer, her slow sway to her hips prominent. She stopped before a speechless Cyrus and stooped down flawlessly to a kneeling position, laying her weapon down. She unraveled the cloth over her face and head, revealing a thick black braid and a creamy, yet bronze-kissed complexion. Cyrus looked like he could barely keep his head up.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Layla..." Cyrus finally muttered. She remained with her head lowered and said nothing. It seemed obscure to Irene as she juxtaposed Layla''s perfect humility and lowliness with the brutal and efficient killer from moments before. Irene felt drawn to her. To Irene, this woman was the very picture of beauty. It was no wonder Cyrus adored her. With the serpent''s head finally removed, Irene allowed herself to succumb to her injuries.


    <hr>


    "Mmmmf¡­"Irene peeled her eyes open after some considerable effort. Her vision was blurry, and her other eye was caked shut. She went to wipe away the sludge from her eye, only to find herself tightly bound by linens. She groaned and rolled, pushing her face into her pillow, rubbing her eye against the textures of the low thread-count pillowcase, only to freeze in pain. The skin around her nose was tender.


    "Awake?" came a quiet inquiry. Irene became aware of a depression by her feet.


    "Wha¡­ wait a min¡­ did¡­ but¡­y-you!" came an incoherent jumble of words. Irene blinked furiously and stared at her bedside company. Sitting still and protective was Layla. Blushing, Irene forcefully shut her mouth and stared back. Layla said nothing. Irene said nothing. The silence was getting awkward, and Irene could not bear it any further "So it was you... in the fire..."


    "Yes," came Layla''s short reply. Irene glanced down at her lap and then back up at Layla. Her thoughts were reaching for something, but it took a while before Irene realized she was in a vast amount of pain. Irene leaned forward and grimaced, hissing inwardly.


    "Uuugh¡­ I think I''m going to puke¡­" Irene said in a strained voice. Layla placed her hand firmly on Irene''s shoulder, then gently placed two fingers under Irene''s chin, guiding it to tilt upward until Irene and Layla were eye to eye. Her expression was unchanged, but there was a subtle layer of tenderness across her otherwise austere features.


    "You will do no such thing." Finally hearing a sentence from Layla, Irene could detect a faint accent. Irene''s eyes darted about and then returned to Layla''s eyes, uncertain how to respond. Layla bit into her own wrist then brought it to Irene''s lips. "Drink."


    Irene was unsure about drinking another vampire''s blood. Hadn''t Cyrus indicated it was taboo? However, Irene had no will to argue or defy Layla. The blood was very thick and not as warm as the blood from a mortal. The taste was familiar; she had drunk this blood before. Irene closed her eyes and all her other senses shied away, causing the pain and nausea to subside.


    Layla finally pulled her wrist away, and Irene shot back into reality. Embarrassment suddenly took root in Irene, although she was unsure from whence it came. Irene dropped her gaze and hunched her shoulders. "Feel better now?" Layla asked.


    Irene did feel better. The pain was gone. Irene worked to unwind herself from her sheets to examine her ankle. It was still swollen, but even to her poking and prodding it produced no pain - just the pressure of her finger. She finally looked up at Layla again.


    "Yes¡­ I am," Irene said in disbelief. She continued to poke her ankle for a while, then brought her hand up to her face, feeling around her nose gently. That, too, was puffy. Instantly she began to feel about her person for more cuts, bruises, and welts that caused no pain. She didn''t even stop to imagine what it looked like to an outside observer, which inevitably led to more embarrassment the moment she heard a whistle.


    "Ha ha ha, no wonder I keep getting rejected! You''ve got all you need to satisfy yourself!"


    Irene''s face turned bright red and she quickly slammed her hands down at her sides. Standing in the doorway, sure enough, was Cyrus, his fading injuries and squinting eye giving him a rakish appearance. She opened her mouth to defend herself, then closed it thinking better of feeding the fire. She just opted to do her usual course of action and glared silently at him.


    Cyrus strutted over to them. "Hmmm¡­ my two favorite women in the same bed. I must have died and gone to hea-"


    "That''s the last place in any universe you''d go!" Irene quickly interrupted. She pulled her covers up about herself again, instantly resenting his good spirits. Nothing seemed to sober him up. Nothing.


    Layla walked over to Cyrus. She paused, glanced over her shoulder at Irene, then turned back to Cyrus. "If you please, she needs more rest. She''s young and does not heal as quickly as you."


    "I know that," Cyrus placed a hand on Layla''s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I just woke up, myself, and you and I have a lot to discuss," Cyrus said, an edge coming into his voice. Irene suddenly felt defensive, but kept her silence.


    "First you need to drink and get your strength up. Please allow me to hunt for you," Layla responded, bowing to him briefly. Cyrus shook his head, digging his grip into her shoulder. It looked painful, but Layla made no indication of such.


    "That can wait. Come with me," Cyrus commanded. Layla bowed again and conceded to his request. Irene frowned as the both of them left. She probably did need rest. However, curiosity was keeping her mind alert and forbidding sleep. So Irene carefully went up the stairs on all fours until she reached the top, and sure enough, heard their voices.


    "..all a mess! I just don''t understand how you could have DONE that to me! If I wasn''t such a coward I would have-"


    "Shh. You are not a coward anymore. You proved that last night," Layla interrupted. There was the sound of Cyrus scoffing, which baited Layla to add, "I can not give you the disservice of allowing you to say such things."


    "Do you have any idea what your deception could have done? I could be dead because of you! You show no remorse, you never have!" Cyrus accused.


    Irene frowned. Kettle, pot.


    "And now I am asking for your forgiveness. Only when I was dead would you have realized the truth about Gabriel," Layla responded with aplomb.


    "Whom you dispatched flawlessly! Why couldn''t you have just killed Gabriel in the first place? Why fake your death? Have you suddenly gotten a flare for the dramatic or something!?" Cyrus continued to question.


    "Master, blood between our kind is potent! If I had killed Gabriel before you saw him for what he was, it would have created a rift between you and I," Layla explained, keeping a calm, unfaltering tone. There was neither fear nor penitence in her tone.


    "If you had explained afterwards I would have believed you! I was going to apologize to you, Layla! Me! Apologize! Then I found your note!" Cyrus responded in exasperation.


    "I did the best I could, and am not sorry for that. I am only sorry that you have suffered, and wish for you to forgive me. I only wish to serve you."


    Cyrus went quiet. The more Irene heard of Layla, the more unfathomable she became. Who in their right mind would want to serve Cyrus? Irene winced, an almost physical reprisal to her uncharitable thoughts to her sire jarring her skull. Then it occurred to Irene. She did not know Layla, but felt a strong attachment to her. Was this what Layla felt to Cyrus?


    "Well, you should have just done what I wanted and not what I needed! You should have just stayed close to me! I could have protected you! Remember that in the future," Cyrus opined petulantly. Irene shook her head and let out a quiet sigh. "And Irene, of all people you were the last person I figured to eavesdrop!"


    Uh oh! Busted.


    Irene rose to her feet and opened the door. "Cyrus, what''s wrong with you? One night all you can do is sing praises about Layla, and now you''re yelling at her after she saved your worthless hide!" Irene reproached. Cyrus stared at her and raised his hand, one finger extended, about to say something. Quick on the uptake Irene found something to interrupt him with. "What I want to know is what happens now?"


    Cyrus''s face went blank. There was some tiny sign of thought in his eyes. Irene could almost hear wheels turning in his head, and they were painfully loud. Cyrus let his hand rest at his side again and shook his head, glancing between Layla and Irene. "I don''t know. What do you want to happen next? You always insisted that the only reason you were tied to me was the fear of Gabriel. Now he''s¡­ gone." Cyrus said the last word after a short pause. It was almost a whisper as if it had dawned on him for the first time since it had happened. An almost pensive look overcame Cyrus and he began to pace. "Furthermore, you are no longer of any use to me, Irene. This changes everything." Irene watched him for a moment, then her gaze shifted to Layla, who was still as a statue, and just as opaque.


    "Cyrus¡­" Irene tried to speak.


    "Irene, go rest. Now," Cyrus commanded.


    Irene stared at him quizzically, but was not in the mood to argue. Something in Cyrus''s countenance caused her anxiety, and she did not wish to push him. She wasn''t sure what would happen, as her value to him had apparently deprecated, and that was what made her wary. Instead of her usual brazen act, she meekly backed away and obeyed, slinking back to the basement.


    A sigh escaped Irene''s split lip. Where do we go from here?

 Chapter 39 - Waiting For Sunrise

    "Irene¡­? I was told you''d b-be down here¡­" It wasn''t exactly the voice Irene expected to hear. When she heard the creaking of the stairs, she sat up and waited for Cyrus or Layla. Instead a giant walking overcoat entered.


    "Amber? What are you doing here?"


    Amber took off her large coat and slung it over her skinny forearm, which was covered in a tight but long-sleeve shirt. She looked pensively at Irene, but then did a rare thing. She smiled. It wasn''t that nervous pulling at the corners of her lips Irene had seen before, but this was a genuine smile. Irene patted a spot beside her on her bed, and Amber accepted the invitation.


    "I wanted to see for myself that you were alright," Amber responded obligingly, without stuttering. Instead of feeling reassured, Irene was instead concerned and perplexed.


    "Oh¡­ I am fine. But I didn''t expect you to want to check on me," Irene admitted. Amber shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at Irene.


    "You¡­ we¡­ well¡­ I d-don''t know¡­ it''s just that you got caught in the same mess I am in¡­ and I sort of¡­although they say things are alright now, I just felt a b-b-bit, well, still scared. Seeing you okay, though, I a little safer," Amber shyly explained.


    "But I''m not okay! Just look at me! Well, I don''t know what I look like, but I feel like a disaster!" Irene exclaimed. "Besides that, I''m no longer human!" Her own words fell on her with such coldness that she shuddered.


    Amber shook her head. "No¡­ b-b-but you are alive! And you aren''t crying. You seem as together as always."


    Irene took in a large sigh, feeling another shudder. She reached out with her still good arm and grasped Amber''s shoulder firmly, but did not look into her eyes. "Amber, I want to cry. Right now I just can''t. I have been through a lot of pain, and although Gabriel is gone, I can''t see any future for myself. The fear of what he''d do to me is gone, but it was never a fear of just death. I don''t WANT to be a vampire, Amber! I just want to be a normal girl¡­ god those words sound so trite," Irene slowly lifted her head and looked towards Amber, whose smile had receded to a dainty frown.


    "You were given a second chance at life, isn''t that¡­ isn''t that sp-p-pecial? My father, he, well, he always t-told me t-t-to b-be grateful that I have a roof over my head¡­ and I am! Really¡­ I just wish it wasn''t his roof," Amber shared, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I somet-t-times think I''d b-b-be lost or dead on the streets, Irene. B-b-but I learned what I had, though not that great, was b-b-b-better than my¡­ uh¡­ other, um, option. You could be dead right now, b-b-but you aren''t. You don''t WANT to b-b-be¡­" Amber''s voice fell to a whisper, "..d-d-dead?"


    Irene went silent and glanced down at her knees. She realised with vast distress that she wasn''t sure that she wanted to be alive at all. That only meant that she wanted to die. Is that what I really want? "I''m sorry Amber. I didn''t think of it that way. I have a lot to think about¡­ if you could leave me alone for a while."


    Amber lingered a moment longer as if to say something, but then turned and quickly made her exit. Irene deflated with relief and fell sideways on to her pillow.


    As time passed and Irene meditated upon her predicament and battled with her own feelings, the pain of her injuries steadily streamed back into her. It felt like it had been hours, but she did not hear anyone around her. She curled up, trying to grit her teeth and bear the pain, but the feeling of being so alone made her feel uncommonly depressed and abandoned.


    A new pang added to the torment. Hunger wreaked havoc inside of her, and her eyes grew hot and dry. She''d never wanted anyone so much as she wanted Layla or Cyrus at that moment. Even her own father would not bring the relief she so desperately needed. She wouldn''t want to be anywhere near her father, as now she might be a threat to him.


    Amidst her anguish, Irene did not hear anyone approach. She gasped and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. There, a vision of beauty and compassion, was Layla. Irene''s nostrils flared with the smell of warm, freshly drained blood, and her eyes settled upon a cup Layla held in her hand. Irene rabidly reached for it, seizing it and draining the content before she could even bring a coherent thought to her mind. Such thoughts came afterwards, and they were of disgust and self-loathing. She threw the cup across the room and screamed in pure abhorrence.


    "Calm yourself, Irene," Layla said soothingly. Irene''s eyes flashed as she turned them again on Layla. This monument of everything Irene adored, or so she felt herself tricked into believing. Nearly all of her essence was drawn to love this woman against her will. Her anger exploded with such force as to break through the enchantment; Irene flung an arm feebly at Layla. With unnatural agility, Layla intercepted Irene''s hand and then forced it down into Irene''s lap. "Calm yourself Irene."


    "Calm myself!? You turned me into a monster! I HATE YOU!" Irene screamed at Layla, freeing her hand. Layla let it go without any argument. Irene heaved in her rage, and she barely noticed the bit of feral drool that had leaked out one corner of her mouth. Layla''s calmness seemed to sting, causing Irene to ball her hand into a fist and swing at her again, fighting against the encroaching feelings that tried to force her to worship this woman.


    To Irene''s surprise, she landed a blow on Layla''s shoulder, but there was a horrible grinding feeling amidst her fingers, forcing her to withdraw. But Layla winced. That was worth the pain. Her rage rose again and she pushed forward, swinging at Layla over and over, and each time feeling no resistance. Deep down, she craved a reprisal. However, Layla did not indulge her and took hit after hit.


    Irene was still swinging at Layla when her arm was wrenched back and she was pulled away. Her eyes stared at the blood draining out of Layla''s full lips, and that small deposit of blood beneath one of her nostrils. A few measly drops of blood on an unfazed face was the culmination of her exertions. She felt herself spun around, forced to face Cyrus, who glared at her.


    "Enough! You''re hurting yourself!" Cyrus yelled. Irene realized her fist was bruised and bleeding. Quickly his voice dropped a few decibels and added, "and you''re hurting Layla!" He gave her a shake as her eyes drooped away from him, forcing her to stare back up at him. "Layla provided you with blood before taking any herself, and this is how you repay her?"


    "Cyrus¡­ you can''t blame the child," Layla interrupted. His gaze slowly shifted beyond Irene. A strange surrealism took a hold of her as she replayed the bouts of rage she had just experienced. She let her head droop and closed her eyes tight. Irene wanted to just turn into water and slip out of Cyrus'' grasp, and remain as a puddle of the floor.


    "Oh yes I can! Princess High-and-Mighty knows better!" Cyrus retorted hastily.


    "Precisely. You know she''s better than that. Which means you overestimated a struggling soul. She needed to vent, and I am unharmed," Layla insisted. Irene felt even lower. She attacked a woman who had just fed her.


    "I hate to point out the obvious, but you''re bleeding," Cyrus mentioned dryly.


    "It is not serious. You have had worse and laughed it off," Layla countered calmly. Irene knew this could go on for a while longer. Most of her wished it would, but a small and more centered part of her objected. That objection was so loud that it forced her to open her eyes and speak.


    "I''m sorry!" she cried. Perhaps it didn''t sound to them as an objection, but Irene just wanted the bickering to stop. Cyrus glanced down at her again, his grip softening but still holding her up. He dragged her back onto her bed and set her down.


    "Irene, just what was all that about?"


    Irene wanted to revive that anger, but she only felt numb emotionally, and physically sore. Sickness urged itself upon her once more. The constant going between extremes of pain and numbness were wearing down her nerves.


    "I can''t¡­ forgive this. I wish you had let me die! I can''t go on like this¡­" Irene struggled to say, the words sounding hollow, like she was reading a script out of a drama. "I¡­ I¡­ I¡­ wasn''t even any help."


    "Nonsense Irene! You''re in pain and exhausted," Cyrus responded. He put a hand very gently on Irene''s shoulder. "Just¡­ don''t attack Layla again. A show of ingratitude is¡­ well it''s an unwritten rule you just don''t fight with your sire!"


    "You mean¡­ dam?" Irene asked.


    Cyrus showed a full set of teeth in a large laughing grin, and yet he made no sound. He stroked Irene''s hair. "Or your dam," he said with a nod. "Look, we''ll take care of you and your wounds. If you never want to see either of us ever again, I will understand. I won''t LIKE it, but I''ll understand. In fact I''ll feel quite injured and betrayed, but no pressure." Cyrus slowly stood up again. "I''m tired myself¡­ so I''m going to pass out on yonder bed."


    "This basement¡­ isn''t¡­ big¡­ enough¡­" Irene coughed out. Flashes of hot and cold throttled her body amidst the pain, and she literally felt herself withering. Her head began to pound, alternating her from feeling light and faint to heavy and unbalanced.


    "I can sleep comfortably on the floor," Layla said. "There won''t be time for me to reach my domain before dawn." Irene glanced over at Layla who remained at her side. Irene studied Layla; she was very different from Cyrus or Gabriel. She wasn''t going to forgive Layla just yet, but she knew she had to depend upon her kindness. Layla leaned closer to Irene. "I''ll let you drink again to help you sleep¡­ but I can''t give you my wrist too often if you ever wish to be independent from me," Layla whispered. Irene''s eyes widened.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "What do you mean?" Irene croaked.


    Layla''s face offered a slight smile. "Three times too many, and one can not live without a vampire''s promise of blood. You''ll thirst only for my blood and will sacrifice that which makes you whole to suckle from me," Layla explained in such a hushed tone Irene was amazed she understood it all through the throbbing of her pain. Irene''s eyes grew wide. She craved relief from this pain, but the cost would be long term and detrimental to what she wanted: freedom. Irene closed her eyes tight considering this. The loudness of the pain overrode her latent desires.


    "Also drinking vampire blood too often gives you bad breath," Cyrus piped in. "Once Gabriel got the Stench..." Cyrus trailed off.


    "No¡­ I don''t want to..." Irene choked. Layla nodded and remained at her side. Irene felt a gentle hand rub along her upper arm and then rested on her shoulder. She laid down and closed her eyes, trying to fight the agony her body and soul were wracked with. Layla''s hand was cool, but still somewhat warming. Then it was gone and she heard just a vague noise as Layla moved from her bedside.


    "Think she''s asleep?" Cyrus'' voice asked hours later. Irene stayed perfectly still. She had been drifting in and out peacefully, but that voice brought her attention forward.


    "I think she has been in and out of slumber," responded Layla. Irene kept her eyes closed and tried to appear asleep.


    "Mmmm¡­ hey¡­ Breaches, you awake?" asked Cyrus voice. Irene did not respond. He waited a little and then she heard a crinkling from somewhere in the room then a shuffling noise. Soon she felt a presence hovering above her, and it took a lot of willpower to not turn her head and look. She could almost physically feel his shadow laying on her. "Irene?"


    "Let her rest Cyrus," Layla reproached. There was another shuffling and then silence. Irene waited, her one ear pinched against the pillows, making the blood flowing in and out of the vessels in her head seem very loud.


    "I am making sure she is doing just that," Cyrus responded. His voice traveled over to where Layla''s voice came from.


    "I''m not sure this girl will make the transition," Layla responded in her cool, collected tones.


    "Naw, she may be having a hard time now, but she''s deceptively sturdy. Her friend, um, Merle I think was her name, completely cracked. There will be no easy way of getting her friend out of the psyche ward, and the longer that she''s there she''s vampire chow," Cyrus reflected. Irene bit her lip and tried very hard not to call out and demand to know more.


    "Her fate is not necessarily death,," Layla countered thoughtfully. Irene peeked one eye open only to shut it again. She didn''t have time to really see either expression and hoped no one noticed.


    "Well, yes, I suppose. I guess Irene will just have to face that her friend isn''t locked up because she claims vampires did it, but because she''s really broken. That''s the problem¡­ this age of science has bred generations upon generations of weak-minded mortals," Cyrus sighed.


    "No¡­ when such innovations began in abundance they were rejected. Relics of the past brought to this day may very well cause most to break, but inventions from this era brought to the superstitious past would equally rupture them. It is not that there are more or less weak psyches, it is merely two different ages," came Layla''s voice. There was a pause and then a gentle sound of a tongue pulling away from the roof of one''s mouth. "I digress, the world of technology still intrigues but eludes me. They call us monsters, Cyrus¡­ the ones who know or pretend to know. Yet, they have created larger, more devastating monsters of steel and sky fire. If they discovered us¡­ we would likely be doomed."


    "Psh! We can BEND their steel! We can spit out their bullets. Their technology isn''t anything we can''t handle!" Cyrus retorted in a poor attempt of reassurance.


    "Do not forget that bloody war in Germany¡­ our numbers were crippled!" Layla responded.


    There was a loud groan from Cyrus. "I always hated those Germans! The Dutch, too!" And now Irene could add racism to one of Cyrus''s many endearing qualities. "They were a pest in my mortal life and never stopped BEING a pest until the last couple of decades. That''s almost three centuries of pest status! And people say I''m a pest. I suppose if my caravan weren''t fleeing from those horrible gypsy hunts, I''d never have met Lysandra¡­. and I wouldn''t even be ancient history because no one talks about it. Aaaah. Hurts my mind too much to think about the alternatives."


    "Cyrus, that was the distant past. I''m more concerned about the more recent events. It was almost half a century ago that they slaughtered vampires en masse. It could happen again. We are not so invincible. If anything, they have a superiority of mind once they overcome the fear, and will study better ways in which to eliminate us," Layla said, bringing the conversation back full circle with a stern conclusion.


    "Fine, whatever. You certainly have a lot more to say since you''ve been burned. Don''t tell me your near death experience has changed you. I cannot abide change! Adaptation is fine, but change is unforgivable!" Cyrus grumbled.


    "If it pleases you, Master Cyrus, I shall not tell you any such thing," Layla responded stoically.


    There was a long pause and Irene almost felt herself falling back to sleep. However, a voice drew her back to consciousness.


    "It aches to be unforgiven by someone I have bonded myself to. But I admit that I only saved her for your sake." Irene''s fingers dug into her pillow, and she fought to look relaxed in spite of how tense she was becoming.


    "So¡­ you didn''t think about her future at all?" Cyrus asked. Irene felt heat fill her ears and was sure her face must have been turning red. If they looked at her, they''d know she was listening.


    "No, only yours. I know it was careless to create life with such abandon, but¡­ I panicked," Layla admitted, her tone dropping a few decibels. There was another awkward pause.


    "I have a hard time imagining you panicking. I suppose¡­ even you have your moments. Actually¡­ it makes you seem less distant. Anyway, Irene won''t let me close to her, not now, not ever. I''ve come to accept that. Sort of. Well, maybe only just a little bit. Regardless, you might have more luck with her, so I expect you''ll take good care of our little monster." Cyrus paused here for a moment before adding, "The sun will rise soon, and I''m tired."


    "Is there anything you need?"


    "As a matter of fact, there is. Ignore the corniness of this sentiment, but I think I''d rest a lot easier with you in my arms. No more sneaking off and causing the first aneurysm in a vampire!"


    Irene listened, wondering when Cyrus would be asleep. He may have a hold on Layla, but not her. She was determined to be free and not rely on the assistance of those who had taken her life away and handed her one worse than death. She would have been grateful for the second shot at life, if it hadn''t been given as a gift for someone she loathed.


    When Irene was sure Cyrus was asleep she quietly rose to her feet. She glanced behind her at the scene of Cyrus with an arm slung about Layla, who was turned toward him. She could not tell if Layla was asleep, but both of them were still. Holding her breath, she tiptoed towards the door. Each stair seemed to creak as though an elephant were scaling them. Once Irene was at the top of the stairs she glanced behind her again. No one was following.


    Irene made her way around the house. She went into every room and sighed, remembering her life as it was. She was content with it despite the hardships. She was even proud of herself for holding it together. Her life was working. Many thought hers an empty and lonely life, but it was the life she had. This existence, she felt, was meaningless.


    "Jordan¡­ Merle¡­ Father¡­" Irene muttered. She glanced at the front door. The sun would rise soon enough. She scowled at the white basement door, which led to eternal darkness. She was paralyzed in the middle of her decision.


    Irene closed her eyes, imagining that she was outside. She conjured up an image of herself doing her routine jog before school. Was it even a school morning? Irene glanced at the calendar in agitation. She didn¡¯t know the date or time. It didn''t matter. Irene closed her eyes again. Outside she would soon meet up with Merle and head for tennis practice. Then she''d have another distracting and busy day of school, followed by a visit to Jordan. His hazel eyes would have adored her with stalwart brightness, rather than crave her with vacuous darkness. Afterwards she''d get home, and her father would just be arriving in a cab, tired from a long flight. They''d order in Chinese food and lounge in the living room together watching some sports. Then it''d be time to go to bed. The lights would go out. However, darkness never scared her, because she always knew it was temporary. It was a peaceful thing allowing her to rest and ready herself for a new day. Never again would darkness just be a passageway to a brand new day. Irene felt the tears rising in her eyes. Instead it was a labyrinth. Her decision was made.


    The morning air greeted Irene with a freshness she had nearly forgotten. The pleasant sting and tickle embraced her body as she closed the door behind her. She walked down the few porch steps before her, clutching an old journal of hers. She continued down to the end of the driveway leading to her house and sat down on the dewy grass. She knew it must be very early, for there was a hint of winter in this estuary of languid seasons.


    Irene sat down cross-legged and opened the journal. She flipped through the pages until she found her last entry, which was nearly half a year ago. Her journal was spattered with inconsistent reports. Never was she able to remain faithful to this small quiet friend, but it would be the only one she would say goodbye to. She began to write.


    "Goodbye, dear Journal. Perhaps I''m being selfish. But lives are meant to be lived once, and I lived mine to the fullest that I knew how. It may have been short, and it may have been hard, but I did my best. It was the life that mattered to me, and I will not hide from the light. I have no regrets¡­."


    Irene glanced up, seeing just the slightest hint of light on the horizon. There was a queer prickling feeling all over her, as if her body had gone to sleep. Yet sleep was the last thing on the agenda. Her legs grew restless and her heart pounded. Her mind kept pulsing the feeling of danger through her mind. And yet, she forced herself to remain calm and continued to write.


    "¡­I will do what I have always done. I will buoy myself for another day in these last moments of dawn. My life has always been about preparing myself for another hard yet rewarding day, not scattering or hiding in fear. I see the light coming, and though this body wishes to run, I will not. Farewell."


    Irene closed the book and set it aside as far as her arm''s length. She then firmly put her hands in her lap and stared at the horizon. She felt the first flash of heat come over her. Her body screamed to find shelter, but Irene was determined to stay vigilant in doing what she realized she''d been doing since she met Cyrus; waiting for sunrise.


    The End


    ...


    No. This needn''t be the end.


    It burns! But I can endure. I won''t shy from the pain. It needs to be this way.


    No! What am I doing? There''s no honour in this. This is all just spite. This death is petty!


    No matter what, I can''t win. If I die, it''s because of him. If I live, it''s because of him.


    I''m better than this. I can forge my own destiny. Burn away the past and start anew.


    The burning... I can''t... I can barely move. I just need to reach the door. Help me...

 Epilogue

    Jordan Fisher set his cane down beside him once he had eased himself onto the park bench.  The waning gibbous moon was in full view above the trees as he leaned back and stared at the sky.  He scratched his neatly trimmed beard and tried to relax while he waited.  He pulled out his phone, his tanned skin illuminated by the screen as he scrolled through the feed of various social media apps.  She should be there soon.


    Even though it had been over a decade, he sometimes missed being able to conduct these rendezvous from his home.  He often wondered why she never asked him to come to her, but decided after all this time to just leave it alone.


    "How long have you been waiting?"  Jordan looked up to the young woman who stood beside him and gave her a warm, welcoming smile.  He shifted over, patting the spot beside him and she took a seat, lowering his phone to give her his undivided attention.


    "Not long, Irene."  Jordan reached his arm along the back of the bench, resting a hand on her opposite shoulder.  Irene smiled faintly, staring at the empty playground.


    "It''d be nice if I could actually watch the children play..."


    Jordan chuckled, lifting his phone and opening a photo app. "I''ve got some new pictures to share.  Monty insists he is too old for playgrounds, but I know he still loves to swing.  He''s turning twelve, and is very precocious."


    Irene moved in closer, looking over the pictures of a happy family, her own eyes growing distant as she stared at a picture of a woman holding the hands of two children. "It amazes me how much Amber has filled out.  She looks so happy and healthy," she remarked, taking the phone and scrolling at her own pace.  "Always seemed so odd you two got together."


    "Yeah, I didn''t expect it either.  But it''s nice to have someone I don''t have to keep secrets from, especially after the disaster with Connie."


    Irene lowered the phone. "But you do love her, don''t you?"


    Jordan gave her a sideways look, withdrawing his arm. "Of course I do.  I didn''t mean it to sound like that." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.  "We''re both broken, but we keep each other whole," Jordan reflected, gingerly taking back his phone and looking at a picture of Amber  His finger rested on that picture before he swiped it closed.


    "As long as you''re happy, I''m... content." Irene rose to her feet.  "Well, shall we walk?"


    Jordan grabbed his cane.  Complications from his injuries had left permanent damage, and his gait was heavily affected.  But with this simple aid, he could keep pace with Irene''s brisk walk as they headed into a shady path, disappearing into the dark. Sometimes he was a little envious of Irene''s ability to heal.  He never saw her during the worst of it, but he''d learned she had been burnt beyond recognition.  No human would have survived it.  But Irene was no longer human.


    "I''m glad her and Monty get along well.  After her postpartum difficulties, I was always worried she''d reject him."


    Jordan cleared his throat.  "Her second pregnancy was a lot smoother, but she loves both of the boys."


    "It''s the life I could have had. But I have the next best thing.  I do enjoy the e-mails you send all about them.  When they are older, I would like to meet them."


    "I''d like that too.  I think you would have made a good mother if circumstances were different."


    "I''m not so sure about that. I think I''d make a better aunt or bossy big sister." Irene chuckled, and Jordan joined in.


    "So... how are things with Layla?" Jordan asked politely once the laughter tapered off naturally.


    Irene rolled her shoulders back. "She''s going to England, to rejoin Cyrus."  Irene''s face wrinkled, her dislike of Cyrus still strong.  Jordan coughed and looked off to the side, an uncomfortable smile forming. "Although she sounded as though she''d rather go to Egypt.  But it''s better if they must reunite, that she goes to him, because if he comes back here, I will kill him."


    The nervous smile faded and Jordan cleared his throat.  The idea of Irene killing anyone, even another vampire, made his stomach churn.  But if he had the power to, he''d kill Cyrus himself.  He needed to mind his blood pressure, so it was time for a change in topic.  "So... how do vampires travel overseas?" He reached up at a low hanging branch, plucking off a delicate white blossom.


    "Uncomfortably, if they can''t afford private charters for overnight flights.  It takes a lot of planning.  An oddly common yet highly complicated practice is to go into rigor and be shipped as remains." Irene chuckled softly and shook her head.  "It''s really too much of a hassle.  I''m content to stay put."  After they had walked far enough to be entirely enshrouded in the dark, they stepped off of the trail and looked around.  "Here''s good."


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    Jordan nodded and held up his hand to Irene, bracing himself.  It was never pleasant, no matter what he felt for his childhood sweetheart.  His knuckles went white as he gripped his cane tight, her teeth piercing his wrist.  "One of these days I''m going to smother my wrist with a topical anesthetic first."


    Irene didn''t respond right away as she continued to drink.  Once she was finished, she licked the wound until it healed up.  She then looked up."You keep saying that, and never do."


    Jordan leaned his cane against a nearby tree and rubbed his wrist. "Ah well, maybe next time I''ll remember."


    "You keep saying that, too," she remarked with a more genuine smile.


    Jordan snatched up his cane. "And one day, it''ll be more than just words." He grinned.  He placed his free arm around Irene''s shoulder, and she leaned into it. "Have you seen Merle''s latest post?"


    "No, I''ve been distancing myself from social media.  It just depresses me." Irene glanced away as they walked back to the playground.  "What crazy conspiracy theory is she spinning now?"


    "Actually, it was to announce that she''s engaged," Jordan said, his tone turning somber.


    "Oh.  Again?" Irene holded her arms and looked away.  "Well, I wish her luck this time." She kicked a random stone that lay in their path.


    "I think she''s got a good chance this time.  This time she isn''t hooking up with someone she met from rehab." Jordan paused as they stepped back into the open, staring up at the clear sky.


    "Well, she deserves some peace after everything she''s been through.  And speaking of peace, do you think you could put some flowers on my father''s grave for me next week?  It''s the anniversary of his death.  I don''t feel right breaking into a cemetery to do it."


    Jordan''s hand found Irene''s.  "Of course I will."  For a moment they both stood there, staring at the sky side by side in a silence that spoke more than words.


    Jordan gazed down at the ground, his stomach fluttering.  "Irene, speaking of your father..."


    "Yes?"


    Jordan cleared his throat noisily, still looking away.  "As you know, we kept in contact after, well, after your funeral.  The thing is, sometime after he died, I received a package."


    "Oh?"


    "Yes..."  Jordan looked up at Irene who had her head tilted curiously.  "It contained things like photos and cards and letters I''d sent you.  But it also had, um, your journal."


    Irene''s eyebrows furrowed pensively and it was her turn to look at the ground. A silence followed until she broke it with the question, "...did you read it?"


    Jordan cleared his throat again and rubbed the back of his neck.  "I was going to give it to you, but my curiosity got the better of me.  I''m sorry.  That''s a violation of your..."  Jordan trailed off.  Irene remained silent.  Jordan sucked in some air, leaning heavily on his cane.  "I didn''t read everything.  But I did read your last entry."


    Irene looked up, her eyes widening a moment.  Her mouth moved as if to speak, but no words came.  She looked down again, giving a nod for him to continue.


    "I always thought, when you mentioned the burns you had to recover from, that it was from the fire you were in when you were shot.  I had no idea that you... that you..."


    "Tried to kill myself?" Irene interrupted sharply.


    "What happened?" Jordan asked.  "I mean, you''re here.  So either you changed your mind or it... didn''t work."


    "I had a change of heart.  But that was after the sun rose.  Layla must have followed me, because she threw a blanket over me and dragged me inside."  Irene''s nose wrinkled.  "I took too long to realise I was only doing that to hurt Cyrus, but that was naive of me to think it would."


    Jordan swallowed hard, listening to yet another horror story from Irene''s experiences.  Regret filled him.  All those years ago Irene had tried to express to him the danger she was in.  And while he believed in her, he didn''t quite understand the severity of it.  And he was unable to protect her.  His knuckles cracked as he gripped his cane harder.  "I wish I could have been there for you."


    "Even if you were, there''s nothing you could have done," Irene answered resolutely.  "I''m not going to dwell on the past, and neither should you."  Irene put her hand over his balled fist, and he relaxed it.  "Besides, you''re here now.  That''s what matters."


    Jordan swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded.  The both of them took in more mutual silence, letting a cool spring breeze blow away the bitterness and revitalise them with the scent of blossoms and new growth.


    "I should be going.  Amber usually waits up for me, and we both have work in the morning."  Jordan grimaced.  "Another grind at the office."


    "I always thought your brain would be wasted playing hockey," Irene remarked, arching her eyebrows.  Jordan snorted and then laughed, looking at her with playful reproach.  He was grateful for the levity to chase away the last licks of sorrow.


    "It''s wasted in pointless meetings instead.  Well.  I better go.  Take care, Irene." Jordan said, and with a hobbled step, he set off towards the parking lot.


    Jordan was always relieved to see Irene, most of all, to see her smile.  She''d been broken for a long time. Although he understood she was already on borrowed time, and though he was happily married, a part of him never could let her go.  It was a strange arrangement he had, but it worked for him.  But he wondered how much longer things would continue this way.  For the time, both of them had carved out some sort of peace, and he cherished it.  Jordan looked over his shoulder, seeing Irene sitting on the bench.  But in a blink, she was gone.

 Chapter 1: A Good Samaritans Quandary

    A lone teenager jogged along a dark, wooded trail, her tawny ponytail bobbing with the motion. Cool air clung to the warmth of her cheeks as she eased to a stop, leaning against a tree to catch her breath. That''s far enough for today, she thought to herself. Birdsong delighted her ears instead of the roar of traffic; she basked in the predawn tranquility. The moon had already descended and the sun had not yet awoken, enshrouding this patch of the world in darkness. Irene Locklyn knew the shadows only heralded the dawning of a new day, and she seldom waited for sunrise to get moving.


    Irene carefully stepped over a large root in the path; she didn''t need to see it, she knew it was there. She''d wandered this small patch of wilderness many times, and witnessed it shrink yearly. One day these trees would all be uprooted to expand the rapidly growing town of Centreville. Morose at this thought, she wove her way through the shadows.


    Crack!


    Tendrils of panic wiggled along Irene''s nerves as the serenity of the morning was shattered by cacophony of breaking branches and voices. Who''s there? What''s happening? She slipped between two closely entwined trees, unsure where the noise had come from. Closer and closer drew the sound of rushing footsteps and disturbed foliage.


    A grunt!


    A groan!


    Excited shouts added to the confusion. Was that French?


    Out of the nearby brambles stumbled a limping shadow, a masculine voice swearing viciously. Several more silhouettes spilled out into the nearby clearing in pursuit; her sanctuary had become the scene of some sort of chase. Someone approached her hiding place. The hidden adolescent held her breath as a tingle of fear swept through her.


    Did they see me? What do they want?


    Irene listened to her heartbeat as a hand reached out. She squinted, but could not bring herself to close her eyes. The scratching of bare branches could be heard, followed by a snap as the man tore a large branch an adjacent tree. Partial relief took the edge off of her fear. At least she could breathe again, albeit in rapid and shallow bursts.


    Darkness was a blessing which concealed Irene from the men, and the men''s actions from Irene. But vision wasn''t the only sense illustrating a gruesome picture. Each sound of impact, each meat-tenderizing squelch, each grunt of pain, sent shivers down her spine. These impulses tingled down to her feet, where they rooted her to the spot despite her desire to run.


    "He has learned his lesson, non?" remarked a smug, nasal voice. "Come, the sun soon will rise." The men vanished as suddenly as they had arrived.


    Squinting in the darkness, Irene spotted a body the ground. Cautiously, she approached. Frightening possibilities raced through the girl''s mind. Is he dead? Is he dying? Is this for real? He needs help, but those men might come back. What do I do?


    "You¡­ you just going¡­ to stare?"


    Irene nearly screamed, her tense nerves snapping. "Don''t move!" He''s alive.  I can''t leave him now. The obvious course remained. "Let me help."


    Astonishment overrode her wariness upon hearing a chuckle. It didn''t last long before it aborted and turned into a groan. Down went her hand to the leaf-littered ground beside the man, whereupon she felt a sticky liquid. Dark smudges streaked her finger tips. Disgustedly, she wiped her hand off on her sweatpants. "May I check for breaks or fractures?"


    Despite the strain in the man''s voice, there was a tinge of amusement as he whispered, "Be my guest."


    Gently, Irene''s fingers investigated the back of the man''s head and neck, slipping through blood matted hair to feel the skin underneath. It wasn''t noticeably swollen or lumpy, albeit she could feel the firm tension of his neck muscles. Nothing seemed to be broken. But she''d never actually felt a broken neck before, and thus wasn''t entirely confident. She decided his ability to speak was a good enough sign.


    "Are you breathing okay? Do you feel nauseated or dizzy?" She needed to keep the man responsive, while she tried to remember more from her First Aid course.


    "Breathing hurts. Not dizzy... no nausea."


    "Do you know what year it is?"


    There was a pause, which played on Irene''s nerves. She wasn''t sure what to do if he was so badly injured that he didn''t know the date.


    "Two thousand and... four."


    Irene sighed with relief. She then proceeded to perform a quick examination, having to rely on touch. She palpated his legs through his torn slacks, and to her surprise she found a frayed rope tied to one of his ankles. Immediately she checked his wrists. They were bound together. Having nothing sharp on hand, she searched her pockets for another solution. Keys jangled and she seized the opportunity, wedging her house key into the knot to loosen it. "Why didn''t you say you''d been tied up?"


    "You only... noticed... now?"


    "There." Irene tossed the ropes aside. "Think you could walk if I helped you?"


    "Mhm..."


    Grunting, she helped him to his feet. To her surprise, the stranger was about her height, maybe just slightly taller. She herself was just over a metre and half, although she''d grown since her last precise measurement.


    "Do you live nearby?" inquired Irene.


    In a barely audible whisper he replied, "No¡­ you?"


    "About ten minutes'' jog away¡­ but¡­"


    "I need shelter, quickly¡­ quickly," he uttered urgently.


    Irene could not bring herself to refuse. Leaning on her for support, the man was able to limp along, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace.


    This is the right thing to do, isn''t it? Irene had a strong aversion to being involved in whatever trouble this man was embroiled in. Clenching and churning, her stomach had other ideas about letting a stranger into her home. She fixed it in her mind with the intention to set him on the porch and then phone for an ambulance.


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    The first rays of light were breaking over the surrounding mountains when they arrived at her house. The stranger inhaled sharply as she guided him to a rickety old deck chair. A rapid thumping caused Irene to glance at him - his leg was shaking as he gazed to the east.


    Muttering under her breath, Irene struggled with the old lock, the man''s agitation visibly growing. Finally, there was a satisfying click and the door swung open. Seeming to forget himself, the stranger sprang to his feet only to stumble. She caught him before he fell onto his face, thankful for his small stature. "Easy there¡­ no rush¡­"


    A sharp hiss forced its way past his clenched teeth as he winced. Redoubling her efforts to get the languishing stranger back into the chair, she was unprepared for him to throw his weight towards the front door. Fearful of causing him more harm by restraining him, she let him stagger inside. He leaned heavily against the wall by her coat rack, leaving dark smears on the faded wallpaper.


    As soon as the lights went on, the languishing stranger exhibited animal-like distress. "The light¡­ no¡­ need... dark¡­"


    "Is your head hurting that badly?"


    He barely nodded.


    With proper lighting, she could finally see his face clearly. His coal-black eyes were bloodshot and one of them had significant swelling around it; it may have just been the injuries which gave them their squinty, shifty appearance. His messy black mop of hair was badly in need of a trim, unkempt bangs sticking to his high forehead. The angular structure of his jaw was further punctuated with a black soul patch on his pointed chin. A slightly hooked nose perched above a set of lips, which were split and puffy, obscuring their natural shape. Marred as his face was, Irene guessed he was in his thirties. She considered him rakish, especially due to the small gold earring in his left ear. This did not inspire her with confidence about her decision to let him inside.


    The urgency and fretfulness of the man was worrying her, and she felt it better to pacify him. In his condition he probably wasn''t a threat. Probably.


    "Think you could handle stairs?"


    Keeping strong eye contact, the stranger gave a slight nod. Thus she helped him down to the basement, encouraging him to steady himself with the bannister.


    "The basement has no windows¡­" she explained as they stepped into darkness, the air having a heavier quality and a whiff of lint and laundry detergent . With a flick a bare yellow lightbulb lit up the room. She gestured with a free arm towards a roll-away bed shoved between some shelves.


    "This''ll do¡­" the man croaked. Feet shuffling asynchronously across the scratchy Berber carpet, Irene helped him to the bed. Before letting him lie down, she whipped off the handmade quilt. She was not about to let the man bleed on a memento from her late grandmother. He sluggishly laid down and put his hands over his chest, staring at the ceiling.


    "Wait here; I''ll call an ambulance." Before she turned away, the man''s alarmed expression caught her attention.


    "No hospital!" he blurted, expectorating blood in the process. Irene quickly stepped back to be out of the line of spray. "Just bandages..."


    She rolled her eyes and left to go find some gauze and other supplies. What a mess. I should have kept running. She paused, a feeling of shame tightening her chest. "Stop it. This is serious." she reproached herself, as if spoken words would drown out her internal doubts.


    Irene returned holding a plastic case in one hand, and a bag of ice in the other. Her guest took the offered ice, stared at it a moment as if trying to decide where to deploy it, then put it against his lip.


    She knelt beside the bed and opened the case. "Let''s see here¡­"


    First, Irene gingerly cleaned the cuts on the man''s face, being particularly gentle around swollen areas. He closed his eyes, barely wincing as she wiped away the blood. More gauze was unrolled and dabbed with disinfectant as she eyed him for any more obvious abrasions. "Are you okay with unbuttoning your shirt?" Wordlessly, the man complied. "By the way, my name is Irene."


    "Cyrus."


    "This might sting¡­. Cyrus? It''s not a very common name ¡­" Irene remarked as she did her best to clean several cuts along his ribs. She kept expecting the man to flinch at her touch, but he remained eerily still as she worked. He either had nerves of steel or was too tired to react. As more silence followed, she continued, "Then again¡­ Irene isn''t Jennifer or Amanda or Jessica¡­"


    "My father thought he was being clever..." her patient remarked, his nose wrinkling slightly.


    Irene cleared her throat. "Well, that''s all I can do for you. You really should go to the hospital."


    Cyrus''s eyes shot open and he curled his lips menacingly, like a dog about to bare its fangs. Immediately he pressed his raw lips back together. Before he could utter a word in protest a loud meow resounded. Irene jumped and whipped her head around, laughing when she saw her cat. Promptly, the small grey tabby wandered over to investigate. After getting a good sniff, the feline arched her back and hissed. Irene hurriedly picked up her pet, trying to calm her down as she smoothed out a puffed-up tail.


    "Shhhhh¡­. it''s okay¡­ it''s alright¡­" Irene cooed soothingly, but the furious feline continued to growl and struggle. Quickly shuffling across the floor, she threw the cat out of the room and shut the door. There was a loud scream of protest followed by the sound of tiny feet thumping up the stairs. "Sorry. Silver is usually very friendly. I''ll make sure to keep the door closed so she doesn''t come back."


    "Never... really got on... with cats."


    "Still... I''d never seen her behave like that towards a human." Visible signs of tension could be detected in Cyrus. "Normally, just other cats," Irene added.


    Cyrus lifted his head slightly, slowly bringing his bandaged hand up to wipe away dark strands from his eyes, relaxing. "I promise... I''m not a cat in a monkey suit."


    Perhaps, in another circumstance, Irene could have laughed and bantered a little. As it was, she gave her unusual guest a sideways stare, ambivalent about his attempt at humour. Echoes of her cat screaming reverberated as her stomach fluttered. Something isn''t right. "I''m going to call that ambulance now."


    "NO!" Cyrus shouted. Moments ago he was struggling to talk. "I can''t afford it."


    Can''t afford it? This isn''t the States. Unless... "Are you here illegally?" His accent sounded local, which made her wonder if he was from just across the border.


    "...I don''t have papers..." he admitted after a pause.


    Oh for heaven''s sake. Irene put her hands on her hips, eyeing Cyrus critically. She then remembered he didn''t ask for her help; she offered it. Despite feeling foolish and naive, she dared not reveal her mounting doubts. "It''s better to get tended by professionals and end up deported, than to stay here and risk getting an infection."


    "Well isn''t that adorable. Young and na?ve."


    Irene squinted with irritation.


    Cyrus snorted and reiterated, "NO hospital!" His glare returned with greater intensity.


    "Don''t give me that look. You can''t stay here." She examined Cyrus again, noting how pale he was. She hesitantly walked back over to him, putting her hand on his forehead. Cool skin, but not clammy. "How are you feeling?"


    "I''m in pain!" he snapped, then amended an apologetic smile. "But... I''ve been through worse. Let''s not make a production out of this, shall we?"


    Irene put her hands on his hips, eyes narrow, and lips half turned down. He''s been through worse? Do I even want to know? "I''m not making a production. I''m just trying to help."


    "You are. Just... go about your day. I only need a safe place to rest for now."


    The harried teenager drew in a deep breath, then let it all out in a heavy sigh, pushing the air out until it almost hurt, as if she could squeeze the butterflies out of her system. After chewing on her lower lip, she arched an eyebrow and nodded. "Fine. You have until the evening. If you aren''t well enough to leave by then, I''m calling the ambulance. If you resist, I''ll call the cops, too."


    Pacified, Cyrus''s mouth split into a grin, causing a new bead of blood trickled to the surface. "Trust me, I''ll be fine."


    With an understanding reached, Irene instructed him to rest before she left. She just wanted to get to school and as far away from him as possible.

 Chapter 2: Friends and Foes

    At the entrance to the school grounds, Irene heard her name being called. She twirled around, until she saw an awkward teen with a shock of thick curls growing in just about every direction but down. Pale golden streaks ran amidst the auburn hair, creating eye-popping contrast. Irene met her blue-grey eyes with a reluctant, mild smile.


    "Irene, I didn''t see you at the tennis court! What''s up, girl?" the redhead asked, her rosy cheeks lighting up, almost hiding the freckles that dappled her face. The way she raised her eyebrows suggested to Irene that she already had her answer.


    "Something came up..." Irene muttered, looking towards the school doors. Students lined the paved walkway up to them, while more congregated on the lawn. The familiarity of it provided a familiar environment to process and unwind.


    "Oh, right, something came up." There was a superfluity of sarcasm in Merle''s voice that put Irene on edge. "Would that something involve a certain injured fella?"


    Irene froze at the mention of an injured man. How did she...?


    A waggle of unkempt eyebrows brought Irene back to reality. Merle couldn''t possibly know about the morning. "Of course not. Would you stop looking at me like that?" The eyebrow wags became even more pronounced. She sighed and shook her head, familiar with these exaggerated theatrics.


    "Oh come on, Irene, I saw that deer-in-headlights look! You totally ditched practice to go see Jordan. Not that I blame you," Merle chirped playfully. Irene relaxed a little and gave a small amused snort. "The fair maiden tending to her injured knight!" Merle butchered a British accent. Which accent was anyone''s guess. Some of the students passing by rolled their eyes at Merle then giggled to each other, but she seemed unaware.


    "I see you finally got those highlights done. Did your Aunt Beth do them?" Irene asked, trying to shift the topic.


    "Yeah, she only came by for the weekend, but it was a blast. Always is. Do you like it?" Merle ran a hand through her disobedient curls.


    "It''s really eye-catching."


    "You know, it wouldn''t hurt to try a new look once in a while." Her friend batted at Irene''s ponytail, and she turned her head away in irritation. "I''m sure Jordan wouldn''t mind."


    "Shouldn''t the bell be ringing soon?" Irene looked down at her wristwatch. She suddenly jolted and quickly yanked her sleeves over the band before looking away, hoping that Merle didn¡¯t notice. "I just want today to be over already. My morning jog took a lot out of me.¡± She discreetly tried to scratch the residual dried blood off her wristband with her fingernails.


    "Heh heh, Irene! Maybe your body is finally catching up with your spirit, and you''re turning into a granny to match your dear old soul," Merle teased gleefully, mimicking a weathered old lady voice.


    "Well they say mind and body are one. You are evidence of that," Irene countered, still distracted by her watch.


    "Wha- hey! What''s that supposed to mean?" Merle sputtered, her hands going to her waist akimbo.


    "Childish body; childish mind."


    Merle''s face flushed and she crossed her arms over her chest, exhibiting every token of embarrassment and insecurity. "That was real low, Irene!"


    Irene cringed at her own cattiness. "Sorry. I... I''m sorry."


    "You better be!" Merle groused, arms still held tightly over herself as she turned away.


    Palpitations hammered the shame she was feeling for her blunder. Merle was severely delayed in physical development. As her friend, Irene knew better than to poke fun about it.


    The loud beep of the electronic school bell blasted, mercifully cutting the awkward exchange short. Merle jumped to attention and loped off towards the portables. Likewise, Irene headed into the school lobby on her way to her math class.


    Irene struggled to push the early morning events out of her mind and concentrate. Although retrieving the three points of intersection on the parabola was usually an easy task, she stared at the graph blankly.


    What will happen when I go home? Irene stared blankly at her graphing calculator. I can''t do anything about it now. Worrying solves nothing. Right now I need to solve this math problem. Focus! Instead of focusing, she doodled spirals along the margin of her notepaper as a reflection of her whirling thoughts.


    "Did you forget which class you are in, Irene? Because this isn''t art."


    Irene sat bolt upright, startled by the voice that crashed through her thoughts. She didn''t need to look up to see her math teacher looming. She set her pencil down and shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered, not looking up to shield her embarrassment.


    "Don''t say sorry - show me by getting back to work."


    Embarrassment turned to vexation as Irene heard a snicker from behind her. Hastily, she began plunking numbers into her graphic calculator, trying to at least appear busy. This seemed to mollify her teacher who continued his patrol of the classroom.


    "Aw, did the teacher''s pet get a scolding?"


    Irene was not going to engage. After a few more remarks behind her back, her peers grew bored, as they always did, and found something else to whisper about.


    Lunch time rolled around.


    Irene forgot to pack a lunch that morning in all the commotion, which made the break seem to stretch on. She passed the time reading in the library, although with some difficulty. She occasionally glanced out the window into the school yard, where some students were in the middle of a pickup game of kickball. She wanted to be out there, running and using her body instead of her brain, but her stomach chastised her with a stern reminder that she had not eaten all day.


    By the time lunch had ended Irene''s mind had gradually drifted away from her harrowing morning and flowed into classic literature. Focusing on the fictional woes of Shakespeare''s tragic heroes, helped her to temporarily misplace her own worries. However, the last bell of the day echoed a stern reminder that life had yet another complication to offer her.


    The school bell wasn''t the only herald of more stress.


    "Irene! Hey!" came Merle''s bubbly voice from behind. Irene reluctantly turned around, daunted by the thought of dealing with her friend''s temper. Her fiery friend marched over and slung her mottled arm around Irene''s shoulders.


    "Merle," Irene stiffened up, anticipating an ambush.


    A trickle of laughter cascaded from her fellow teen. "Irene, you''re always so serious! Come on, let''s go!"


    Irene did not budge, flabbergasted. "Go... where?" Despite the relief that rolled in like a wave on the beach, it receded just as quickly. What did I forget?


    "Movie night! Movie night! Remember?" Merle bounced around excitedly, clearly having been expecting it for a while.


    Irene''s insides flopped like a beached fish. Dismally, she recalled her promise of a night of rented DVDs and junk food. But she couldn''t stop herself from worrying about the man in her house.


    What if he dies and I get blamed? I need to know he''s alright. Was it really okay to leave him?


    Irene eyed Merle. If she told her friend the truth, she would invite herself over to see for herself, which opened up a whole other host of problems.


    "Sorry Merle, but I have to go straight home."


    Merle''s happy face transformed into a pout. Irene braced herself for the usual fireworks. "But you promised!"


    "Movie night can wait," Irene replied assertively. Any gentleness she may have once used in disappointing Merle had long been strangled out by desensitization to such extreme moods.


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    "Oh, don''t tell me you are going to go ditch me for your boyfriend again!" Merle squawked, tightening her lips.


    "I won''t be seeing Jordan today. I really need to get home."


    "What can you possibly need to do that will take up your whole evening? Your father isn''t going to be home for another week!" Merle exclaimed, her eyes smoking with disappointment.


    "I don''t have time for this Merle! We''ll have to do it another day." Irene turned back to the direction of the buses. She knew it would take some sweets and a double feature to smooth over her friend''s ruffled feathers. Merle was home alone as much as her, but unlike Irene, she hated it. "I''m going to miss my bus."


    "Okay, fine," Merle relented petulantly. "You go do whatever is so important. But remember, all work and no play makes Irene a dull girl," she prophesied before stomping off, shoulders up like an ornery gorilla.


    With a mighty yawn, Irene finally made it back to her porch, struggling with the lock like she did every day. Her thoughts drifted to Jordan. His presence would have been a stalwart ally to her composure, and she''d feel a lot safer having him near. But he''d be in recovery for some time. Shame bloomed as Irene derided herself for not visiting more, but being in the hospital was too difficult for her. Why did Jordan have to show off by not wearing his helmet!?


    Irene alone had to face the consequences of the morning''s heroics. A transformation overcame her; her heart raced as the doubts formed. Why did I let that man talk me out of calling an ambulance? Once he''s better he''ll probably trash the place and rob me blind. Not that there''s much worth taking. But could I really ignore someone in need of help?


    Irene rolled back her shoulders, took a few deep breaths, and prepared herself to show only confidence. She grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water, then ventured downstairs. I can still call the authorities if things get out of hand. Everything is fine. When this is all over, it will make a great story. Merle will eat it up.


    The bed in the basement remained occupied. Cyrus didn''t stir. He was as still as a corpse, as still as her sister was as she was laid in her coffin. Irene could clearly remember the gleam of the white satin reflecting the pink hues of the makeup, which wrongfully set the illusion of life. She could see the strands of the golden wig now, spread out on the pillow. People remarked that it looked like she was asleep, but Irene knew better. Her sister smiled in her sleep, but there was no smile on that mask. Monica was lively, what laid there couldn''t be her. That was just a shell that looked like her; a mere doll.


    Awareness of something cold and wet dripping down Irene''s arm snapped her out of her memory. She turned the cup upright, muttering under her breath. A slight movement crept into her peripheral vision. Her eyes darted to Cyrus, who had turned to face her. His dark eyes followed her every movement as she walked towards him. A sick feeling lurched in her stomach. Irene dismissed it as mere nerves, leftover from her thoughts of Monica.


    "Here, I brought you some water. I can get you some toast if you are hungry." Irene passed over the cup, trying to maintain her composure.


    "I''m not hungry, only thirsty," he responded, taking a sip.


    Cyrus''s lips were a shade pinker. Weren''t they split? Now they were hardly swollen. In the back of Irene''s mind a siren was blaring, but her conscious mind awaited a more rational explanation for the change. Maybe her memory exaggerated the extent of his injuries. It was dark; maybe she didn''t see him clearly. There were plenty of other explanations. Resolved to continue on the course of compassion, Irene knelt down beside the bed, grabbing the first aid supplies she''d stashed just underneath.


    "Drink as much as you would like..." Irene opened up the plastic case, looking for the scissors.


    "You don''t look very old. Do you live alone?" Cyrus abruptly inquired. Irene lifted her light brown eyes, fixing him with a stern stare to cover the wave of anxiety the question stirred.


    "I live with my father," Irene told him in a firm tone. She suddenly wanted to get her hand on those scissors as soon as possible.


    "Really? I haven''t seen him¡­ he doesn''t mind me being here?"


    "He''s working." Irene didn''t need to tell him he wouldn''t be home for a few days. Irene swept under the bed to see if the scissors had fallen out underneath.


    "Where''s your mother?" The bed creaked as he shifted, a shadow falling over her.


    "Dead," Irene snapped, anxiety disguising itself as irritation. She quickly backed away. She eyed the man, feeling increasingly more vulnerable. What did I get myself into?


    "Oh. And your sister? You mentioned¡­"


    "Also dead," Irene didn''t want to talk about it, but she also didn''t have the presence of mind to come up with a suitable lie. She hoped her clipped responses would send a signal to the man to back off.


    Apparently, that signal was not received as the man continued his line of inquiry. "So your family''s all dead or absent? Gee, that sucks," the man responded with a blaise attempt at sympathy. Irene eyed him for a solid minute. Getting no further response, Cyrus added, "Want to talk about it?."


    "Not with a stranger," Irene responded curtly, her impatience growing. "Besides, I don''t dwell on it." Finally, she noticed the sought-after scissors sitting atop the drying machine. She clicked her tongue at her forgetfulness and retrieved them, reassurance blooming as she felt the plastic handle in her hand.


    Maybe I should go next door. But I don''t really know the new neighbours. What if they call the cops? What if they ask where my father is? Irene was terrified that the system, purported to safeguard minors such as herself, would rake her father over the coals. Warming at her touch, she gripped the scissors even tighter.


    "Really? I thought that''s what all teens did, dwell on everything." Cyrus sounded inappropriately amused.


    "I''ve got better things to do than throw a pity party. I have no use for that attitude." Irene returned to Cyrus'' side, kneeling beside him with scissors in hand. If he tries anything, I''ll be ready. But maybe I''m worrying over nothing, he might just be socially awkward, like Merle.


    "And what, pray tell, do you find useful?"


    An icy gaze was Irene''s first response. A protracted silence was the second. Finally, came the third - which was to move things along.


    "I''m going to change your bandages... and then I want you to leave."


    Cyrus laughed in response. Unnerved, Irene cut the medical tape and unravelled the gauze. Her furrowed eyebrows rose in disbelief. All the bruising and swelling was gone, and the cuts were already scabbing. This was impossible, and yet, she was touching him. He was real. In fact, his very real hand seized her wrist and squeezed. She gasped and tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.


    A futile struggle ensued, Irene twisting side to side and digging her feet into the ground, trying to get free of his hold. Stupid, stupid! I should have left the moment he asked if I was alone. His grin widened, and with little effort he threw her back. She tumbled to the ground, quickly crawling away from the man, but still clutching the scissors tight. Every panicked attempt to get to her feet resulted in her losing balance and falling down again.


    Cyrus swung his legs to the side of the bed and rose to his feet with ease that ought to be impossible for an injured man. Irene took in a deep breath to scream, but instead held it in her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. She looked at the exit. Get up and move! Why can''t I move?


    "Thanks for helping me, but you probably should have looked the other way. Now that you''ve seen too much... yaddi yadda..." Cyrus shrugged, not bothering to finish the clich¨¦.


    Irene gulped, and rose to dash for the exit. With uncanny celerity, Cyrus crossed the room. Her hand stretched out for the door only to feel her whole body impacted and shoved into the wall. Scissors in hand, she twisted around and slashed at her attacker''s exposed chest. Her hand shook as she made contact. Red liquid gushed out, spattering across her nose like tiny garnet freckles. Irene recoiled in horror and disbelief. Did I really just stab someone?


    Cyrus hissed and he grabbed her throat. The weight of her body strained her neck and her legs swung fruitlessly. He held her aloft with one hand, while he grabbed her wrist with the other. His thumb dug into her flesh, burrowing between carpal tendons. Irene squeaked out a partial yelp; it hurt too much to maintain her grip. The bloody scissors fell to the floor.


    No!


    Irene thought he was going to toss her aside, but instead he set her down again. With force that belied his small frame he slammed her into the wall. Air fled her chest with the shock of the impact.


    While she struggled to reinflate her lungs, she could feel a hand on her neck. Cyrus''s savage gaze dropped from Irene''s teary, unyielding eyes to her slender neck. The danger was real, and yet her heart began to slow down. She was still afraid, but the panic had burnt out, leaving confusion in its wake.


    Why is this happening?


    Reality struck her with reinforcement. Irene could only muster an airy gasp as a piercing pain penetrated her neck.


    He was biting her. She could not believe it. He was biting her!


    Light-headed and fuzzy, all Irene stared in horror at her own blood being licked from the man''s lips. Again sensations dulled, and she was barely aware of the pain or blood trickling down the side of her neck.


    A chuckle erupted from her assailant. Cyrus placed both of his hands on her cheeks, squishing them together, forcing her lips to pucker. Irene broke out of her daze and glared at him. Anger bloomed in her chest, and steadily rose like liquid fire in her veins. He moved his face closer to hers, and her lips unwillingly connected with his, the taste of salt and iron invading. Then the blackguard threw back his head and laughed.


    Instantly Irene''s hand flew to the puncture on the side of her neck, pressing hard to try and stop the bleeding. Anger and confusion left her dumb.


    "Speechless? Oh¡­ I have that effect on people." Cyrus grabbed her once more, his palm pressing into the nape of her neck.


    Please stop! Irene could not make the words, and she doubted they would dissuade this monster even if she could. His other hand pulled at her wrist, breaking the cover over her neck wound. She cringed, knees feeling weak. Nearer he brought his face, and Irene reflexively turned away, only to be reprimanded by the renewal of pain at the puncture site. She needed to search for a way out of this. Anything!


    Shivers slid up and down her body as she could feel his slimy tongue sliding along the open wound. The pain gave way to numbness, and the only sensation on her neck was a moist chill and a dull pulsating. Cyrus ceased licking her and took a step back again. His lips parted into a broad grin, showing off his long, inhuman fangs. Irene stared in shocked silence. She wanted to rationalize, but all of her attempts ended in defeat. She was left with only one absurd conclusion. "But vampires don''t exist!"

 Chapter 3: Parasite

    Ludicrous! Yet, here in front of her was the very image of how she imagined a vampire would look, albeit shorter.


    Everything in Irene''s body felt flipped around; weightlessness defied the opposing sensation of feet firmly planted on the ground. But how? And why? Feeling unstable, she reached out for something to steady herself, but even that small movement provoked a prickling sensation in her gut.


    "Ah yes, child of darkness, creature of the night, and blood sucking fiend, at your service," Cyrus''s voice pulled her from her thoughts to the perturbing reality. The self-proclaimed vampire extended out his arms and bowed.


    This sudden transformation from savage to feigned elegance thawed the panic-induced freeze, allowing Irene''s anger to finally form words. She almost did not recognize her own voice as it rumbled out of her throat. "Go to hell."


    Cyrus slithered up to her and slung his arm about Irene''s shoulders. "But my vacation isn''t over yet." Goosebumps puckered her skin as she recoiled from his touch.


    "I don''t care. Get away from me." Irene''s voice was low and hardly audible over her thumping heart. She wanted to shriek to release the tension built up in her chest, but she felt almost as if a loud sound might set this chuckling hyena off.


    "Don''t worry, I''m not going to kill you. I have bigger ambitions for you," Cyrus lightly tapped her nose with his finger. A spidery sensation tingled all over her skin at his touch. Reflexively, Irene flailed, slapping Cyrus before she could stop herself. Panic at what she had done flooded her nerves as she felt the pain of him grabbing her wrist once again. A whimper caught in her throat.


    ¡°You should take more care not to slap me. It doesn''t hurt, but it is demeaning,¡± Cyrus pulled Irene closer.


    Irene clenched her teeth. "Let me go or else¡­" Her threats were all empty. She was a chihuahua barking at a wolf. But it gave her the illusion of standing up for herself, the way her sister had always done for her.


    "What are you going to do? Stab me with scissors again?" Cyrus smiled, his hands gripping her goosebump-riddled arms. "You''re nothing to me, puny mortal. But I''m not an ungracious beast, except when I''m hungry. Now then. Let''s review."


    Irene had no choice but to listen; as long as he was talking, he wasn''t hurting her.  But what happens when he''s done talking? What do I do then? Think.


    "You saved my life, out of civic duty no doubt. Which means that out of civic duty you will not call the cops or tell anyone about what I am, because then they''d have to die. You wouldn''t want that to happen, right?"


    Irene dropped her gaze. "No."


    "Good girl," Cyrus released her upper arms, then Irene immediately folded them over her chest protectively. "Now that you are calm I can explain a few things. Firstly, if you are religious, don''t think a priest or shaman can save you. Pray, if you like, but it won''t do you any good."


    Prayer never did... Irene thought bitterly. An itching sensation surfaced, disrupting her focus while Cyrus monologued. However, she maintained eye contact with him, trying not to get distracted.


    "Second, take a good look, mortals can''t hurt me." Cyrus gestured to the fresh laceration which was closing up before her eyes. The other wounds were healing as well. Another surge of butterflies twirled in her stomach; Irene did not want to believe her own eyes, but she could not fathom how this could be a trick.


    The irritation on her cheek flared up again, and she couldn''t stop herself from scratching. She dropped her gaze to inspect her nails; cinnabar flakes clumped at the tips. That was his blood beneath her fingernails, not hers. He was not impervious; she could hurt him. She clung on to this fact to keep herself from tumbling into another panic. Even with his ability to heal quickly, a critical wound ought to stop him. "And for that matter... Are you paying attention?"


    Irene looked up from her hands. "Yes," she responded dully. She eyed the pink streak along Cyrus''s collarbone. He wore what remained of the cut like a stray thread hanging off old knitwear. Her attention wandered to her own wound. There was no pain in her neck; there was barely any sensation at all.


    "Well then! I''m claiming your basement as my new lair," Cyrus stated, crossing his arms over his chest.


    "No! Get out!" Irene blurted in a panic. The idea of this monster staying in her basement escalated her heart to a new level of dread.


    "I thought you said you were paying attention. Did I not make myself clear?"


    He''s dangerous, but he sounds more boastful than hostile. Maybe he can be reasoned with. Irene took several breaths to recollect her composure, trying to stop herself from more hazardous outbursts. "Yes, but let me be clear. I helped you. If you truly are grateful, you should leave."


    "Oh ho ho! Quite the little diplomat. Too bad, we''re already squared on that count. I mean, I did spare your life despite you being a liability AND being really tasty." Irene''s stomach clenched in response to Cyrus'' lip smacking. "But you seem like a smart girl and I am confident that you won''t do anything stupid." He paused to thoroughly leer at her, emphasizing the journey his gaze took over her body with raised eyebrows and declined chin. Irene shuddered, getting the impression that she was being appraised like livestock.


    "Why stay here, though? Why won''t you just leave? I won''t tell anyone..."


    "I''m looking for a, oh what''s that fancy term, ah..." Cyrus snapped his fingers then pointed. "A symbiotic relationship. You give me shelter and amusement, and I can offer protection and a wide variety of interesting services." The vampire steepled his fingers together. "Don''t suppose you have any stalkerish ex-boyfriends you want dealt with?"


    Irene shook her head.


    "Teachers you want leaned on?"


    Mortified, she shook her head with greater vehemence.


    "Bullies humiliated? Gossips silenced?"


    "No."


    "Rich uncles expired?"


    "NO!" Irene threw her arms in the air as an expression of cumulative exasperation.


    "Oh well." Cyrus shrugged.


    Irene studied him warily from a distance. She took a moment to digest his proposal. "I don''t want anything you could offer, and there''s nothing amusing about any of this." She wanted to turn away, but did not dare turn her back on this enemy. "Amusement... probably after the same thing most men are..." she muttered bitterly.


    "Most men? Are you telling me you''ve met a man whose mind isn''t always preoccupied with copulating?" Cyrus asked, feigning an expression of shock and awe.


    "Copulating?"


    "It means to-"


    "I know what it means!" Irene snapped. "It''s just not the word I expected from someone so vulgar."


    "I can''t be vulgar and know big words? Tsk," Cyrus responded with a fake hint of hurt in his voice. "Besides, I find your statements very sexist."


    "I''m sexist?" Irene cleared her throat noisily, cutting off Cyrus as he began to counter. "I don''t think all men are that way. I know plenty of respectful guys. My b-" Irene stopped herself. That''s none of his business!


    "You''re what? Boyfriend? How cute." Cyrus teased. Irene glared. "I had a woman who respected me once! The way she used to call me master¡­ ah yes just the sort of respect that lacks in this day and age." Wistful and prolonged, a sigh escaped him as he slipped into facetious reverie.


    ¡°Had a woman? Oh and how much did she cost?¡± Once Irene realised she spoke that quip out loud, her hands flew to cover her mouth. Her defenses were down and she was running on adrenalized fumes. She watched him guardedly, bracing herself for reprisal.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°About eighty guineas..."


    Irene furrowed her brow. Guineas? He didn''t appear to her to be offended by her banter, and she slowly lowered her hand. She was struggling to figure out what would or would not trigger hostility in him, and that brought back a new wave of terror. Yet oddly, it also motivated her to continue to explore her boundaries and try to make sense of her situation.


    "But that isn''t the point.¡± Cyrus brushed his hand in the air with a wave of dismissal.


    Irene wondered if there was some way to disconcert him and take back control. "It must be hard, living so long among people with short lives." She was scouting for a new angle, looking for anything she could use to her advantage. Something subtle. She already failed in an open assault.


    ¡°What is this, an interview?" Cyrus fluffed the pillow. "I''ll answer your personal questions only if you answer mine.¡± His insufferable grin was on the rebound. "Tell me about this supposedly respectful boy-toy. Broody poet, excitable geek, or strapping jock? Hmm probably not that latter since you mentioned respect."


    "Now who is making assumptions?" Irene countered as she took an experimental step towards the door.


    "Touch¨¦."


    "Besides, what interest would a vampire have in my personal life?¡±


    Cyrus shrugged, but for a change, didn''t respond. Irene waited a moment, watching him as he stretched out and made himself comfortable. Is he bored already? Maybe now''s my chance. She tip-toed closer to the exit.


    ¡°You know, Irene..." Irene jumped at the sound of his voice and halted. "...I''m not the only vampire in the streets¡­¡±


    ¡°So?¡± Irene turned back towards him, making sure he was still on the bed. Cyrus looked over, and she immediately put her back to the wall. Just a few more steps and I''ll be through the door.


    Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested them on his stomach. ¡°Mere mortals could not have beaten me. You''re lucky the other vampires were too worried about sunrise to notice you quivering nearby."


    "Get to the point."


    "Most mortals that knowingly encounter a vampire have physiological reactions, and well, being drinkers of blood, we thrive on feeling these sorts of reactions.¡± Cyrus pointed to Irene. "For example, I know you have been hiding your fear from the beginning, even before you knew what I was. Your heart is racing, blood pressure is up, and everything is flowing to your extremities to help you run or fight." Irene swallowed hard, unsure how he could tell all of this from across the room. "You''ll be exhausted soon."


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°For your own safety. It took me great pains not to finish you off, and I would hate it if you ended up as another vampire''s meal after I made such a dire sacrifice." Cyrus smirked, but then his tone took on uncharacteristic seriousness. "Most vampires detest mortals seeing through their fa?ade." He paused, idly picking under his fingernails. "I wouldn''t go out after dark, if I were you. You''ve got a target on your back.¡± Irene drew in a large breath, almost choking on the tense air. There was a lot to process but her brain was no longer up to the task. All she could feel now was bewilderment. "Anyway, I strongly suggest you get out of those bloody clothes and go shower. That can''t be hygienic."


    Irene''s hand went to her neck. It was tacky with coagulating blood, but there was no pain at the site of the bite. It should sting. I should feel something. Did all this really happen, or am I going mad? No. As long as I can ask that question, I am sane.


    Weakness beleaguered her knees as the last of the adrenaline faded. Irene wanted to scramble out, but she could only manage a dejected stumble towards the stairs, relying heavily on the banister for support.


    <hr>


    Cacophony. Confusion. Cognizance.


    Images quickly fled, as sound became flashes of red light against delicate veins. Pain throbbed through Irene''s addled head. A groan escaped, sheets whispered as she shifted. The sensation of a tear-crusted pillow against her cheek did little to reassure her that she had been dreaming. Why wouldn¡¯t that ringing stop?


    A period of silence lulled Irene back to sleep, only for the return of a ringtone to jar her awake. The shrillness of the sound provoked her headache further. Irritated, she thrust herself up from her bed. Who would be calling at this hour?


    Irene cleared her eyes, looked over at her alarm clock, and gasped. Wait! Is it five in the morning or evening? Bewildered, Irene looked towards the window and another pang shot through her skull. Through the trees the amber glow of sunset peeped at her. Irene shut her eyes and fumbled to close her curtains. Just as she quelled one attack on her raw senses, the phone launched a reprisal. She shambled towards the kitchen phone.


    "Hello?"


    ¡°IRENE! You FINALLY picked up! I''m so glad to hear your voice!¡±


    Irene held the receiver away from her ear, wincing at Merle''s shouting.


    ¡°What is it, Merle?¡± Irene asked, the croak of deep slumber lingering.


    ¡°Where have you BEEN? You NEVER miss school without telling me!"


    Irene pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°I¡­ uh...¡± Instantly Irene¡¯s hand flew to her neck. All her fingertips experienced was smooth, unmarred skin. There should be a bump, a scab, anything.


    "You don''t sound good. Are you sick? I''ll ask if I can come stay with you. It sucks being sick and alone.¡±


    ¡°N-No Merle! I will be fine! I just need a bit more rest. You¡¯ll see me at school tomorrow, I promise!¡± Irene swore frantically.


    There was silence, followed by a hesitant giggle.


    ¡°Tomorrow is Saturday. Really, Irene. For once I think you should take this more seriously.¡± Merle peeped incredulously.


    Irene sighed, shook her head, then winced from the resulting nausea.


    "I can take care of myself!" Irene snapped, then put her hand over her mouth, feeling a warning lurch in her stomach.


    "Don''t bite my head off, Irene!" Irene placed her hand on her stomach and tried to stay calm as Merle stormed at her. "I have been calling and calling and you weren''t picking up and I was almost getting ready to hop a ride over there and check on you! I''m just really concerned and you SNAP at me!" Merle sputtered. Before Irene could protest, Merle''s voice continued. "Sorry, sorry. I know you like to show off how tough you are. But call me if you do need me."


    Click.


    Irene sighed and set the receiver down on its cradle. She bit her lip and tried to overcome her nausea with sheer willpower.


    Should I have told Merle about Cyrus? No... that''d only get Merle into trouble. One worry opened the door, inviting its kin inside. What about when Dad returns? Will he be in danger? What would Cyrus do to him? Irene slowly lowered her eyes, a seething glare directed towards the stairs that led to the basement.


    Irene rose to her feet. Trembling, she gazed down the dark stairway. Perhaps while he was resting during the day, she could drive a wooden stake through his heart. A wooden stake is how they do it in the legends and stories, right? But I don''t have a wooden stake. Maybe I can make one, or a cross instead. She closed her burning eyes and quietly walked away from the narrow stairs. But what if it doesn''t work? I can''t take that risk. Even with a weapon, she''d be no match for him while her stomach was on edge. She needed to settle her gut.


    Irene paced as she waited for her toast to pop. She nibbled on the toast, and the food did her some good. With her stomach finally settled, she struggled her feet into her runners and tied up the laces. Wiping her eyes one last time she opened the door, stepping out into the golden hue of sunset.


    <hr>


    The cold light, subdued colours and smell of sterile equipment made the atmosphere depressingly hollow. Shivers ran down Irene''s spine as she stared at all the tubes and equipment hooked up to a waning body. She took in a deep breath and walked over to the bed, covered in white linens. Memory of a shroud filled her heart with ice.


    No. Jordan will get better.


    Irene stroked the back of her boyfriend''s hand, fingertips tracing his pronounced knuckles. Hazel eyes partially opened, appearing sickly green in the current setting.


    ¡°Hey there, Jordan...¡± Irene greeted softly. A slight smile formed on his blanched face. She could barely see any of his golden hair beneath all the bandages.


    ¡°Hey¡­ how are you?¡± he asked in a quiet voice.


    Irene shook her head and smiled, but her heart wasn¡¯t in it. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine¡­ you?¡± She stroked his cheek gently, trying not to bump the air tubes leading from his nostrils.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel pain¡­ I don¡¯t really feel anything right now¡­ but Merle was here. She was really concerned. What''s going on?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you¡­¡± Irene responded, looking down. Jordan¡¯s eyes closed and he leaned into his pillow. He remained silent for a moment. She noticed his stockinged foot poking out from beneath the covers, and pulled them down so he didn''t get cold.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that,¡± Jordan finally determined. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.


    ¡°I have an unexpected guest at my house. Do not say anything to Merle, please¡­¡± Irene pleaded softly. "I''ll tell you more when I have more time."


    ¡°Okay... Just promise me you¡¯ll visit me again soon¡­ and tell me the rest¡­¡± Jordan requested.


    Irene smiled a little and stroked his arm, navigating around the lingering bruises from repeated blood draws. ¡°I will, but for now, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll be fine ¨C you know I will.¡± She glanced at the clock. Time was running out.


    ¡°I know. You''re strong," Jordan whispered. "Hey... Irene?"


    "Yes?"


    "Uh... you know, when we''ve graduated, I was thinking we could get married.¡± Jordan looked her straight in the eyes then quickly looked away, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks.


    Married? Straight out of high school? That''s too young! But... on the other hand... Once the initial surprise wore down, Irene glanced down at him sadly. Jordan''s prognosis was vague at best. Complications from a craniotomy left him with a high likelihood of permanent damage. She forced a smile, pushing away her initial misgivings. On the other hand, planning for the future means he hasn''t given up hope.


    ¡°A lot could happen by then." Witnessing Jordan''s countenance fall in disappointment pulled at Irene''s heart. She hastily added, "But¡­ I think it¡¯s very likely; I can¡¯t see myself with anyone else.¡±


    The faint smile that materialized on his face brought on a shudder. It wasn¡¯t a shudder of pain or sorrow, but a bittersweet resonance deep within. They stared at each other in comfortable silence.


    The door to Jordan''s private hospital room swung open and a nurse stepped in. ¡°Time to go."

 Chapter 4: Myth-Apprehension

    ¡°Top o'' the morning to you, luv,¡± Cyrus greeted in a hammy English accent, tacking on an equally phony smile.


    Irene was dumbfounded to find the basement-dwelling vampire seated at her kitchen table. This was supposed to be a creature of the night. Then it dawned on her that it was morning when she found him. If only she had been too slow to help him, he might have burnt away. Pity.


    ¡°What are you doing in my kitchen?¡±


    Irene watched the movement of his hand, as it waved nonchalantly in the air. ¡°Change of scenery,¡± Cyrus casually responded. She crossed her arms and fixed him with a baleful look. In response, the vampire''s bottom lip pushed out and curled down. Dark eyebrows, barely visible beneath his messy black bangs, drew so close together it looked as though some invisible hand were reaching out and pinching the upper bridge of his nose. He displayed the most pathetic, yet the most frightening pout Irene had ever witnessed.


    After a pause, Irene grumbled, ¡°go crawl back into your hole.¡± She snatched the keys from a peg in the wall and shoved them into her pocket.


    ¡°Ah so you finally admit that it¡¯s my hole!"


    Irene drew in a sharp breath, trying not to begin her day with screaming. ¡°Better get going before the sun rises,¡± she warned, fighting the urge to raise her voice. As she faced the front door she heard obnoxious drumming on the kitchen table.


    ¡°I have time,¡± came Cyrus''s voice, which was followed by the creak of wood. At least the cadence had stopped. She put on her jacket, but listened closely to the sound of his footsteps, and then the whine of the fridge door opening. "By the way, is this your only pitcher?"


    Irene turned to look. Strange, I haven''t made juice recently. Her eyes squinted. That was not juice. Cyrus grabbed a cup down from the cupboard, making himself at home. Sensations pricked along Irene¡¯s spine as she watched him put the lid on the pitcher, turn it to block the spout, and shake the contents vigorously.


    "If you think I''ll just go ''poof'' the moment the sun is up, you''re wrong. Sure I''ll burn worse than a ginger, but I like to leave it to the last minute before I hiss and scramble down into my hole," Cyrus explained as he poured out the red liquid then lifted the cup to his lips. "Gotta get my thrills in."


    Irene drew in another deep breath to keep her nerves calm. Foul was the monster that would keep blood in her refrigerator. Whose blood is it? Will my food be safe? What diseases are now cultivating in my kitchen? Her lips thinned and she turned around again. She was not going to say another word to him. There were more important things to do. With her mind once again focused, she made her escape from the madness.


    Running usually helped clear Irene''s mind and relieve stress. But this was the sort of problem that exercise could not solve. Action was what was needed, not avoidance. However, she was still wary of involving the authorities. Insisting a vampire was in her basement would either be seen as a prank, or a need for psychiatric evaluation. If she reported a home invasion, they might come with weapons ready, but it was unlikely tasers and guns would be adequate against a supernatural being. Furthermore, Cyrus had warned that he''d kill any cops that showed up. She didn''t want that on her conscience.


    Still ruminating on what limited information she had, Irene set out to do some errands, seeking any excuse to stay out of the house. While shopping in the produce aisle, she looked at the fresh garlic. She treated most things in fiction as just that: fiction. But if vampires were real, then maybe some of their weaknesses were too. She tossed a few bulbs into her basket as she scoured her memory for other methods used to combat children of the night.


    When Irene finally made it back home, she closed the door as softly as she could. The gloomy afternoon light that pushed in through the west-facing windows was already fading. Irene set down her shopping bags and took off her damp sneakers, holding her breath. She grabbed her bag and tip-toed to the kitchen. As she was unloading the groceries, she gasped and nearly dropped the eggs as she felt a tickle along her calves.


    "Mew."


    Irene set the eggs down gently, her other hand placed on her chest. Rubbing between her legs was Silver. "Sorry, no treats today old girl." She smiled at her own raw nerves. "How about you go stand guard at the basement stairs and scream if the nasty man comes up?"


    Irene finished putting everything away. She transferred a few items to a cloth tote bag, not wanting the crinkling of plastic to alert Cyrus. Making sure she knew where Silver was this time, Irene tip-toed down the basement, testing each step for creakiness before putting down her full weight.


    Beyond what leaked through the basement door, there was no light. Unsure how to utilize the garlic, Irene pulled apart a few cloves, scattered them at the threshold of the basement, and put what remained in her pockets. Next, she retrieved a wooden crucifix from her bag. It wasn''t as large or as ornate as ones she saw in movies, but it was all she could find at the thrift store. Hopefully, faith in God is not a prerequisite.


    Once Irene''s eyes adjusted, she shuffled as quietly as she could towards the bed. She could not make out details, but Cyrus appeared to be asleep. Creak went the mattress. She held her breath and stepped aside. Her racing heart made it difficult to keep her breath in, but still she fought the panic brewing in her chest. She waited, looking for signs of movement and listening to any further noises.


    Silence.


    False alarm. Shakily, Irene exhaled. Once her frayed nerves would allow it, she continued her approach. Soon, she stood over the cot. In the darkness she could not make out where his chest was. The ties of her bag were looped over her elbow, keeping it pulled closed and awkward to reach in and find the stake she''d procured. The long shaft of wood got caught on the folds of the bag. She grew more frantic at each successive failure to retrieve her weapon. Two hands would have made it easier, but she refused to let go of the crucifix.


    Another creak and movement caused Irene to stumble back. She barely avoided falling by overcompensating with a forward motion, ending up on her knees instead of on her butt. She expected to see his form rise and loom over her, but he remained dormant. She set the bag down, pulled the ties apart, and carefully removed the stake.


    Irene stared down at the vampire. Her hands shook. The stake didn''t seem all that sharp. It was only meant to drive through soil. She held the cross out, lowering it until she felt it rest against him, expecting a reaction. To her disappointment, he didn''t convulse or thrash. What am I even doing?


    Irene shook out her doubts and raised the stake. It was time to end this menace. But he was asleep. I can''t kill a sleeping man in cold blood. Maybe I should keep these things ready for the next time he tries to bite me? It''d be self defense then. But I can''t go around with these things on me all the time; they''re too bulky. What am I doing? A lump formed in her throat. I can''t. She despised Cyrus, but she was too afraid to strike.


    From stillness to action, an explosion of movement elicited a yelp from Irene. Before she could dash away, a familiar grip caught the hand holding the stake.


    "Now that''s just cute, Irene," came Cyrus''s taunting voice. There was a clatter as the crucifix was knocked onto the floor. She held the stake tight while trying to pull her hand free. But it was to no avail; he was too strong.


    "Let me go." Irene knew she had no real leg to stand on. She was attempting to kill him; it''d be only natural for him to defend himself. Her heart raced as a million possible outcomes slammed into her mind at once, all of them gruesome.


    "Alright."


    What?


    The pressure on her wrist released. Irene pulled her hand back, taking several steps away. There was no time to process confusion. She scampered for the exit, only to halt as Cyrus'' silhouette blocked the scant light from upstairs. The door shut them both into perfect darkness. Before she could fall back from the sudden halt, she felt a cold hand along her back supporting her.


    "What''s the hurry? Weren''t you down here to try and kill me? Go on, Irene, finish what you started." With his free hand he turned on the light. Irene shut her eyes reflexively.


    "...You left me no choice," she muttered, blinking while she waited for her eyes to adjust again.


    "You have choices, dearie. I will admit, though, they aren''t very good choices, but you have them. Of course, there''s also accountability that comes with them." Cyrus placed his fingers under her chin and leaned closer, his cool cheek brushing against hers as he whispered into her ear. "Go on. Give me your best shot, Buffy."


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    Irene flared her nostrils as the anger returned. She was further incensed by his smug expression as he leaned back. He pulled down the collar of the shirt he wore to expose his chest. Irene gripped her meagre weapon but hesitated. Is this a trick? Or is it reverse psychology? What happens if I strike? What happens if I don''t?


    Cyrus chuckled. That was all it took.


    Buzzing sensations harassed the base of Irene''s skull; her eyelid twitched. All she could see was his heaving chest, her vision tunneling to her target. She slammed the stake as hard as she could into his inviting flesh. He didn''t even flinch. His laughter grew louder. Irene screamed and pulled back, trying to stab him again. And again. And again. The rough wood was rubbing her hands raw. But she barely broke his skin, leaving only superficial abrasions. She finally threw the stake aside in frustration.


    Seeing this, Cyrus opened the door, keeping on the far side of it and gestured for her to leave. "Accept that you are powerless, Irene, and life will get much simpler for you.


    Powerless.


    Tears welled up in Irene''s eyes, but she would not let him see. She ran out of the basement as quickly as she could. No matter what I do, I''m always powerless. I couldn''t do anything for Monica. I can''t do anything for Jordan. I can''t even save myself. She stopped at her bedroom door. I won''t cry in my room and feel sorry for myself. Irene breathed deeply to steady herself. Jordan... I can''t do this alone.


    <hr>


    Irene quietly tip-toed over to Jordan''s bed at the hospital. Raspy breathing greeted her ears; he was taken off of oxygen at last. A comic book lay splayed on his stomach. Likely he had drifted off while browsing. She bit her lip. How will he react?


    ¡°Irene¡­¡± a sleepy voice greeted.


    Irene instantly put her hand on his and smiled reassuringly. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    Jordan''s eyes closed for a moment as a subtle crease formed between his eyebrows. ¡°Fine, all things considered."


    Irene shook her head, but did not surrender her smile to her skepticism. ¡°All things shouldn¡¯t be considered. If you¡¯re in pain, it¡¯s alright. Complain away." She picked up the comic book and set it on the tray beside his bed.


    ¡°It hurts a little worse today¡­ but I know it will get better,¡± he admitted.


    Irene nodded and stroked his cheek gently. Instantly, a dimple formed in that very cheek, as half of his face glided into a smile ¨C although it could not maintain itself very long. ¡°Of course it will." She glanced back at the comic. "A little light reading?" The gaudy colours and impossible proportions of leotard clad superheroes popped off the front page.


    "Keith lent it to me. He comes by and lets me know how the team''s doing." Jordan glanced away as Irene lifted a page, staring at the grotesquely large-breasted heroine featured on a splash page. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Well..." Irene stalled, dropping the comic. "Things could be better, but they could also be worse,¡± she muttered. She slipped her hand back into his. He responded with a weak squeeze. Sadness awakened in Irene every time she felt how feeble his hands had become; they were once so strong.


    ¡°So... house guest. Your Uncle Henry didn''t come back, did he?¡± Jordan asked, shifting a little in an attempt to sit up. Irene flashed him a stern look, and he laid back down.


    ¡°No. Last I heard he was somewhere in Columbia, and good riddance." Irene chuckled in spite of herself. At the moment she would take her trouble-making Uncle over a vampire in the basement. Better to deal with the devil she knew than the devil she did not.


    "Who else would drop in when your father is away? You don''t really have any other family as far as I know." Jordan raised his eyebrow in perplexity. He winced and rubbed his temple gingerly, careful not to disrupt the bandages.


    "I wouldn''t believe it if I hadn''t experienced it myself¡­¡± Irene needed to prepare him for the truth. However, she knew nothing could really prepare any normal person to accept the supernatural. Wait. Am I no longer normal?


    Jordan¡¯s eyes peered at her with intense curiosity and concern. ¡°Go on Irene, I won¡¯t laugh."


    She clenched her teeth. ¡°To be frank, there is a vampire living in my basement.¡± It sounded absolutely ridiculous to her, and she could feel her face growing hot with embarrassment. However, she could not tear her gaze away from her boyfriend''s face. His eyes stared into hers, vacantly. His gaze drifted away a moment, and then cautiously returned. A hint of a dimple appeared on his cheek as he tried not to smile, then he glanced down at his hands. All the while Irene wanted to go hide.


    ¡°A vampire¡­ is that a metaphor?¡±


    Irene shook her head sadly, pursing her lips. His incredulous expression halted her and shook her resolve. I can''t do this to him. ¡°Yeah, a metaphor. I found an injured guy in the woods. I was going to call the ambulance, but he admitted to being here without papers and begged me not to." She watched as Jordan furrowed his eyebrows, showing interest and concern. "I guess because he was a victim I didn''t look beyond that."


    He glanced down, cringing. ¡°Irene¡­ you brought him home, didn''t you?¡±


    Irene nodded dismally and looked away. ¡°He was very persuasive. I know it was foolish, but I couldn''t leave him like that." She looked back at him, worry lines etched on her forehead. "What if he died?"


    Jordan stared at her with his mouth agape. ¡°Irene¡­¡± he sighed. "I''d expect that from Merle, but you''re usually more savvy than that."


    She looked down. "I know."


    Jordan reached out and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes. "Are you okay? Has he given you any trouble?"


    Remembering Cyrus''s touch, Irene looked away. "Some... and he''s still there. And I don''t dare call the police now because..." She looked back at Jordan, seeing the hurt and confusion in his expression from her withdrawal, "...what if they somehow blame Dad for not being home? I just need to wait until he gets back."


    Jordan placed his hands on his lap, turning away from Irene for a moment. He tapped his fingers, then looked back at her. ¡°Am I going to have to rough this guy up when I''m better?¡± he asked, his eyes growing intense. She let out a monosyllabic laugh at the thought, although the idea frightened her. "Irene... are you sure he hasn''t hurt you? That''s your ''being tough and hiding how upset you are'' laugh."


    Irene stared up at the ceiling, releasing a shaky breath. She did not wish to lie, but she didn''t want to tell him the truth. Intense discomfort overcame her every time she tried to find the words to describe what had transpired; she worried over how to accurately reflect the reality without making it too light or too severe. Furthermore, as disconcerting as it was to say what had happened, she could only imagine the distress it would cause for Jordan to hear it.


    ¡°He''s just been a nuisance. You know how I feel about my personal space." Irene shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster. Her throat was tightening, and she could feel that she was close to losing control of her voice as she tried to hide the fear, shame, and disgust. However, she continued to strain to keep herself from crying. From the heat her face was giving off, she knew her nose and eyes were red. She inhaled sharply, and faked sneezing into her shoulder.


    "Bless you." Jordan sat up and held out a box of tissues. "I hope you aren''t coming down with something."


    "I should go; I''d hate to get you even sicker." Irene stood up, wiping her nose.


    The patient took in a few deep breaths. "You really should call the police. Injured or not, I don''t like the idea of you being alone with a strange man in your house. Don''t go back there until he''s been taken away. Ask Mrs. Crowe if you can stay with her. I''m sure she''d understand."


    After a moment of silent contemplation, Irene gave one loud sniff and nodded her head. ¡°You''re right, I can''t go back there. I¡¯ll go ask Merle if I can stay with her.¡± To shield her ailing boyfriend from her intense emotions, she spoke in monotone as overcompensation.


    ¡°Or you could ask Mom if she¡¯ll let you stay. You could... you could sleep in my room; I¡¯m... not using it,¡± Jordan offered. He leaned back into his pillow, looking even paler.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t!" Irene gawked. Staying in his room would only make his absence more obvious. "Your mother is beside herself with stress; she doesn¡¯t need me around. Besides, your father doesn''t like me."


    ¡°Father¡­ well¡­ he just thinks a girl who is on her own so much is¡­" Jordan meandered through the words to justify his father''s behaviour, "...well, will be too needy and that you would not be good for me. He just needs to see he''s wrong." Jordan closed his eyes. His words were starting to slur. "This would be¡­ this¡­ the¡­¡±


    "I''ve worn you out, I''m sorry. You get some rest, Jordan. I''ll be fine," she reassured as best she could.


    "Irene... no... I..." his eyes bulged open and he wheezed.


    "Jordan? Jordan, what''s wrong?"


    Irene placed a hand on the guardrail of the hospital bed, clutching it tight. Tingling erupted into all of her extremities as she watched Jordan gasp for air. "Nurse! NURSE! Somebody, help!"


    Jordan''s back arched violently, throwing his chest up into the air before it came crashing down on the bed. His face contorted with pain, his eyes wild and yet vacant.


    Irene remembered the call button dangling beside his bed and grabbed it, smashing the button. Again his whole body convulsed. Her eyes were glued to him as he thrashed and gasped, like an epileptic fish out of water. It wasn¡¯t until a large brown hand grabbed her and pushed her aside that she could tear her gaze away.


    Irene put her hands to her ears and continued to back away, keeping her eyes down. The screaming of the machine, Jordan¡¯s plead for air, the nurses yelling orders at each other and scrambling for the right equipment, all of these things were too much. She could not watch.


    This is all my fault. I shouldn''t have burdened him. What if he doesn''t recover? What if this is it? I can''t... I can''t...


    ¡°He¡¯s stable¡­ for now.¡±


    The words pulled Irene out from within herself. She slowly let her hands drop from her ears and looked over. Lying, exhausted and messy, was Jordan. The collar of his gown was saturated in drool, and his face was wet with perspiration. An oxygen mask covered his mouth. She frowned as the nurses lingered a moment before going to report.


    ¡°Miss,¡± she heard a voice behind her. A warm hand was placed on her shoulder. ¡°Let him get some rest.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Irene whispered. "Rest." She looked down, then at the nurse, "Thank you." She didn¡¯t want to ask what happened. She could not bear the truth if it was connected to stress.


    Irene hurried out of the room.

 Chapter 5: Beneath the Umbrella

    Dappled along the green lawn were traces of golden sunbeams, yet none of them seemed to fall on Irene''s house, as if a permanent shade were cast upon it. She stood at the start of her driveway, her heart pounding.


    I shouldn''t have told Jordan anything. What have I done?


    Irene sought respite, but it would not be found at home. She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the drowsy, warm atmosphere of cedar in the late afternoon. Despite the taint Cyrus had left on her home, this smell still filled her with comfort. After buoying herself with the calming aroma, she entered.


    Sunset approached; Cyrus would soon rise. He might already be awake. Irene balanced between stealth and haste as best she could. This meant sliding across the linoleum of her kitchen in her socks, and speed shuffling to her room.


    Irene scooted to her closet, careful not to disturb the jangly metal hangers as she searched for her old duffel bag. Once secured, she stuffed it with a few changes of clothes. She looked at the door, expecting Cyrus to burst through at any minute. Nothing there. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to jump, putting a hand to her chest. Something was emerging from under her bed.


    "Oh... Silver..." Irene whispered as her pet stretched and then proceeded to lick off the dust bunnies clinging to her fur. "Were you hiding from the bad man?"


    Silver stared at her master with her limpid, emerald eyes. Guilt immediately sent Irene''s stomach into somersaults. She could not bring her cat with her; Merle''s family rented and weren''t allowed pets. It was disquieting to leave her furry companion behind. But there wasn''t time to think of another solution. After giving her cat a few pets she whispered, "Goodbye. Stay safe."


    Next, Irene tip-toed to the bathroom, quickly gathering a few toiletries. Rap-tap-tap. Reflexively she shut and locked the bathroom door. Waiting for her heart to settle, she listened intently. Scratching continued against the backdrop of a howling gale. Oh it''s just the old fir tree scratching against the window.


    Irene''s nerves were shot. There were a few other things she wanted, but she didn''t dare spend another moment inside the house. She flew out of the bathroom, hastily put on her shoes, and left.


    Every step of Irene''s journey to her friend''s house was strenuous due to the burden of her worries. Everything that was certain and concrete was crumbling.


    What other supernatural beings are real?


    Irene avoided looking at anyone who passed her by, keeping her gaze straight ahead like a horse with blinders. Ghosts in the old buildings? Werewolves in the forest? She spared a glance at a nearby copse of trees that separated two large properties. The wind was causing them to shake and sway with a liveliness that disconcerted her. Losing her cool, she ran the rest of the way to the bus stop.


    When Irene stepped off the bus, she saw a patrol car parked down the street. Shivers shot through her spine. What if law and government have vampires among them, working to keep their secret? How else could they stay under the radar in this day and age? Thoughts and possibilities swirled through her mind like the eddies of leaves that danced at her ankles. She switched her bag to her other shoulder and continued her trek to Merle''s house.


    ¡°Irene? What are you doing here this time of day?¡± Merle¡¯s voice broke through her mental overgrowth. Irene stopped in front of Merle¡¯s porch. The friend who puberty forgot was leaning against an old wooden pillar, holding up a bubble wand and letting the wind create iridescent orbs.


    Irene glanced down, and then cautiously looked into her round eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about before, I know you were only trying to help.¡±


    Merle put away her bottle of bubble solution and walked to the porch steps. ¡°You look really pale, Irene. Have you been crying?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m just tired,¡± Irene lied reflexively and tried to look away.


    Merle forward, bringing her face close to inspect her friend closely. ¡°You HAVE been crying! Irene, why won¡¯t you talk to me?¡±


    Irene was taken aback that Merle even noticed. Words clamoured to the bottleneck of her mind, but none managed to squeeze out her mouth. Even when urged to come inside, she just stood there, dumb and lame. Her friend took her by the shoulders and guided her inside.


    <hr>


    The two girls sat across from each other at an old card table, bubbly glasses of ginger ale set before them. Irene stared down at her clasped hands.


    "I visited Jordan today."


    Merle nodded her head, an exaggerated look of sympathy on her round face. "How is he?" she asked after some hesitation.


    "Bad. He had a really scary fit. Before that he talked about getting married." Irene looked away when she saw Merle''s eyes go wide. "I don''t think he''s accepting how serious his condition is. The injury, the craniotomy, the meningitis he got after..." she shook her head. Tears threatened to return to her face. Quickly, she raised her glass to her mouth, feeling the fizz tickle her lip and nose.


    "Man... I''m so sorry. I thought he was on the mend." Merle''s bony shoulders raised as she slumped like a reprimanded puppy.


    If Irene''s thoughts were not so troubled, she would have found her friend''s exaggerated expression comical. She reached across the table. Seeing this, Merle perked up and took hold of her hand, giving it an enthusiastic squeeze. "I don''t want to be alone right now. Can I stay here for a few nights?"


    Merle shook her head. "No problem!" Then she went from shaking to nodding. "Of course you can! Mom will be working late, but I don''t think she''ll mind! She likes you," the redhead chirped with dizzying alacrity. "Looks like you came prepared," she added, tilting her head to the duffel bag.


    "Ah, yeah. I didn''t mean to assume, but it was just simpler to have this all ready," Irene muttered, her hand hovering protectively over her overnight bag.


    "I''ll go get the sleeping bag out! Looks like we''ll have a movie night after all!"


    Irene rolled back her shoulders and sighed, trying on a smile. "That''d be nice." Seeing Merle flutter with excitement, she decided to feed into it. "Got any snacks?"


    "You betcha! I always have popcorn ready. Oooh! I splurged on some new flavour shakers. We can try them together!"


    <hr>


    When Merle wasn''t chattering away or the two of them weren''t lounging on the couch watching movies, Irene was helping with some of the chores. It was the least she could do for being allowed to stay. And there was a lot of tidying to do in that house. Irene didn''t consider herself overly domestic, but Merle was a disaster and Mrs. Crowe worked two jobs.


    "Come on, let''s get these dishes done so your mother doesn''t have to worry about them when she gets home," Irene urged as she gathered up two greasy bowls.


    "Oh... but I''m so full I can barely move!" Merle slumped in her chair, patting her stomach, trying her best to stick it out.


    "It''ll be over in no time. I can quiz you on social studies while we work. I had Mr. Boggs last year and remember his curriculum pretty well." Irene smiled as she turned on the warm water. "I bet he started with Hudson Bay and North West Company, right?"


    Merle''s shapeless eyebrows rose incredulously. "Well, yeah, but that won''t make the dishes go any faster! Studying is such a slog, adding it to chores is a double slog!"


    "Oh, I don''t know. I think in order to stop from learning, you''ll get the dishes done pretty quickly!" She looked over her shoulder at her friend with a half smile.


    "Oh yeah? Okay then," Merle waggled her eyebrows and grinned impishly. She grabbed a spoon and flipped it over, running it under the tap so that the water sprayed out in all directions.


    Irene gasped and jumped back from the warm water, staring down at the wet splatter across her shirt, ending where she had been leaning against the counter. Irritation flared up, but Irene quickly suppressed it. She knew this was just play, and no one was trying to hurt her. But her nerves were still frayed, it was hard to not feel some residual anger. Heaving a heavy sigh, she grabbed the dish towel from the oven handle. "Well you just made a bigger mess."


    Merle giggled, but then pulled the dish soap out from under the sink. "Well, aren''t you going to quiz me?"


    Grunting softly, the more serious of the two girls mopped up the water as she thought. "Alright, in the summer of 1816, what was the largest conflict between the rivaling companies?"


    A clatter of dishes was heard as Merle piled as many of them into the sink as she could. "You couldn''t start me off with something easier? How did you even remember the date to just pull it out of thin air like that?"


    Irene stood up and shook out the dampened dish towel. "It just came to me." Naturally, Irene would start out on a question surrounding violence. "Asking you something you already know won''t help you learn."


    Merle grumbled as the foam rose higher and higher. "Um. Uh. Battle of... Twelve... Oaks?"


    Irene cleared her throat, then twisted up the towel. "Almost. The Battle of Seven Oaks."


    "Eh, close enough!" Nonplussed, the Crowe girl began scrubbing the first stack of dishes.


    Taking up the job of rinsing and drying, the Locklyn girl positioned herself at the second sink, towel draped over her elbow. "I don''t think close enough will matter when Mr. Boggs marks his next pop quiz."


    "Well Mr. Boggs isn''t here! This is a Boggs-free zone!" Merle crowed, flicking some bubbles into the air. Irene turned her head away to protect her eyes, bits of foam getting into her hair. She then put down the dish she had been drying, twisted the towel, and whipped it at her mess-making friend. Even as Merle squawked in indignation and shock, Irene felt a strong sense of catharsis at being able to fight back, even if it was with soap and linens.


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    The dishes did eventually get done, and miraculously nothing broke. But the two teens were quite tired at the end. Whereas two sets of hands usually could speed things up, in this case it took twice as long, as they frequently splashed, nudged, and flicked each other.


    In the stillness of post-chore recovery, images of Jordan struggling for breath nagged at her, disturbing her attempt at relaxing. Furthermore, tension seized her gut whenever the phone rang, reminding her she had not yet called the police.


    Irene stared at the fragments of moonlight on the ceiling, her friend''s deep breathing next to her. She''s asleep already? Merle wasn''t even changed out of her clothes, sprawled face down on her bed, one leg hanging over the edge. Irene sat up and adjusted the pillow she borrowed, then unzipped the sleeping bag she''d been lying on.  Running away isn''t solving anything. But I just can''t go back. I can''t go forward either. I''m stuck. What do I do? Nothing tonight, I guess. Best get some sleep, too.


    <hr>


    "That''s the last of the bedding taken down!" Irene announced, hefting up a filled laundry basket and balancing it on her hip. It was already Monday evening. It was a surprise to Mrs. Crowe that she stayed over on a school night, but she didn''t forbid it. Irene suspected it was because more chores were getting done.


    "You can just drop it inside the front door! Good thing you reminded me, the forecast tomorrow said rain." Merle''s voice came from inside a little shed.


    "Alright." Irene plopped the basket on the ground, then nudged it to the side with a foot so it wouldn''t obstruct the door or any foot traffic. She then came back outside curious as to what her friend was getting up to. It''s a little late to start mowing the lawn.


    "Aha! I still have them!" Emerging victorious, Merle came out holding two Badminton rackets. They were dusty and might have once been blue, but most of the paint had flecked off, leaving them with a mottled appearance.


    "Do you have a net, too?" Irene asked, marveling at the find.


    "No, had to throw it out a few years ago. But the clothesline should work just fine! Come on, let''s have some fun before it gets too dark!"


    Smiling, Irene eagerly accepted one of the offered rackets and walked to the other side of the makeshift ''net''. After staying in and watching so many movies, a chance at some outdoor sports was just the ticket Irene craved to shake off the gnawing tension that haunted her.


    "I''ll serve first!" Up went the shuttlecock. It crested and silhouetted against the descending sun, seeming to hang a moment, before coming down and getting hit with a satisfying thwack, arcing over the line towards Irene. She launched forward, swinging her racket, feeling the drag as she brought the head to the falling bird, feeling the impact. There was an immediate burst of dopamine at that first rebound.


    The two girls continued playing for a while. At first Irene tried to keep score and adhere to the rules, but Merle kept nipping away at structure until it just became a free-for-all of volleys. Either way, it was fun, which was desperately needed.


    "Hoo, let''s take a break," Merle suggested, the golden sunset enhancing the vibrant colour of her hair.


    "Let''s," Irene agreed, walking over to pick up her jacket which lay draped over the porch bannister.


    "Irene, there''s something more than just Jordan bothering you, isn''t there?"


    The light that had re-entered her psyche was strangled by this question. She became aware, once more, of the thoughts laying in ambush, much like the heavy clouds gripping the mountains, preparing themselves to launch at the dying sun.


    "Perhaps." Irene wrapped her jacket closely around her to fight off the chill in the air. "Maybe we should go in."


    "But the sunsets are so pretty this time of year. Besides, I''m ready to go another round or two. Come on, before the light''s completely gone." Her friend tossed up the shuttlecock and caught it.


    Irene shuddered again. Sunset terrified her, despite its beauty. All the same, she squinted at the enshrouded mountains in the horizon, unable to see the peaks, which had been dusted white like delicate confections. She drew in the smoky, pine-filled scent and went back to her position, readying her racket.


    Merle served. After a few hits back and forth, the shuttle pinged off of the rim and fell to the ground. She leaned over to pick it up. "So what''s bothering you, Irene? You didn''t fight with Jordan, did you? I mean you mentioned he talked about getting married, and well, that''s pretty big." She balanced the birdie on the head of her racket. "You''re only seventeen."


    "No, we didn''t fight. And marriage? Really, that''s just his fear talking," Irene sighed as the sun grew a deep amber colour, with pink hued clouds encircling it as a rosy vignette. How many more sunsets would Jordan make it through?


    "So you don''t think he really means it?" It was back to the game, the shuttlecock bashed into flight yet again.


    "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn''t." Irene lunged, hitting the birdie back. "But that''s not a decision anyone should make in a situation like this." The sun caught her eye and despite her squinting, she failed to track the shuttle''s trip back to her side. Merle hooted boisterously as Irene picked up the fallen bird. For a while they were both silent as they knocked the bedraggled shuttlecock back and forth. Clouds rapidly encroached, blotting out the sun.


    Picking up the conversation from where it had dropped off, Merle airily remarked, "I wish there was a guy who wanted to marry me. Though I''d probably tell him no, because I don''t want to get tied down too young either. But it''d still be nice to be wanted."


    "Don''t be in a rush." With the light diffused, it was getting harder to see, but neither girl was ready to go inside. "Your time will come." Clack. The birdie bounced off the shaft, but before it hit the ground Irene crouched and got a second hit in, barely looping it over the clothesline.


    Merle had to run forward, nearly up to the line, to whack it back. "Easy for you to say! You''re at last half pretty," she pouted, rubbing her goosebump-riddled arm with her free hand.


    "Gee, thanks." Irene laughed as she back-handed the birdie over. "I always liked your red hair, Merle."


    Merle frowned, running her hand through the chaotic red curls as she stared at the synthetic feathers in the grass. "Why? I look like a clown." She leaned down, but then halted and turned her head, squinting. She stood up straight, empty handed and continued to stare at something behind Irene.


    ¡°Irene! So here you are!¡± a familiar voice called. Ice ensnared Irene as her back went rigid at the mere timber of his voice. She looked behind herself quickly, seeing a man in black strolling towards them, carrying an umbrella. Then she looked up at the moody clouds - not a drop was falling.


    ¡°Irene, who is that?¡± Merle asked, straightening up but gripping her racket in both hands. Irene''s arms flew to her chest, folding amongst themselves and hugging herself. Can vampires come out on cloudy days? In the Fraser Valley, it was almost always overcast.


    Cyrus peered over her shoulder. Irene held back a gasp at his sudden closeness. ¡°Ah, you must be Irene¡¯s friend, yes?¡±


    Merle''s eyebrows furrowed fiercely and she stood firm, glaring. ¡°And who are you?" She pointed her racket at Cyrus. "I know ALL of Irene''s friends, and you aren''t one of them."


    The vampire put out his hand to Merle, his wrist brushing against Irene¡¯s arm. Instantly she stepped aside to get away from him. ¡°Come come, no need for hostility. My name is Cyrus, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."


    Merle stared at him long and hard, but then reluctantly bowed under the clothes line and approached. Instead of a handshake he placed a dainty kiss upon her outstretched hand. She stammered and blushed, then shot a questioning glance at her friend. Irene returned it with a tired and uncomfortable look. Merle licked her lips and withdrew her hand.


    Cyrus slung his other arm around Irene, pulling her in close to him. ¡°Come, it''s about time you returned home. Silver misses you." Irene dropped her racket. Is that a threat? Did he hurt my cat? She pulled away to pick it up, but he halted her and stooped down to grab it himself. "Now then, we should get going before it gets any later. The night brings out the worst sorts, wouldn''t you agree?¡±


    Heart racing and nostrils flared, Irene pushed her fury down. How dare he act so familiar with me in front of my friend. And mentioning Silver... Unsure how to respond without making a scene, she stared dumbly at the vampire.


    After a silent interval, Cyrus withdrew his arm from around her shoulders, passing her back her racket. ¡°Ah, for shame! I interrupted your girl-talk. I¡¯ll wait for you down the lane and then escort you to the bus stop when you are done.¡± He then looked at Merle again. "I''m not surprised Irene never mentioned me. She compartmentalises a bit too well, don''t you agree?" He winked and walked off with his smooth, animal grace, twirling his umbrella as he went.


    Merle¡¯s eyes were fixed on him intently. The pink hues remained on her freckled cheeks as she turned to Irene. ¡°What¡­ what was all that about? Why didn¡¯t you say anything about him before?¡±


    ¡°Merle¡­ I¡­ he¡­ Merle¡­ oh¡­¡± Irene stuttered. Merle continued to prod her with her large, explorative eyes. She hugged herself again and looked down. ¡°Merle,¡± she began to say more assertively, ¡°Don''t look at me like that! I couldn''t talk about Cyrus.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to explain. Look¡­ Merle¡­ you just wouldn''t understand.¡± Irene rubbed the back of her neck uneasily.


    Merle squinted at Irene for a moment or two. ¡°He said Silver missed you - how does he know your cat!? Has he been staying with you? With your father away?¡± Merle''s eyes bulged in exasperation and confusion. "Tell me he''s a cousin or something!"


    ¡°NO!" Irene blurted in dismay before she could think better of it. Letting Merle think he was a relative might not be a bad thing for the time being. But it was too late for that.


    "Then who is Cyrus?" Merle waved her racket in the air.


    A very dangerous man. Except Irene could not tell her this. Merle would probably try and beat him with her badminton racket. She also knew Merle and Jordan talked to each other, so she had to keep her story straight. "I helped him out... and he''s got nowhere to go and is in the country illegally and it''s very complicated. I''ve got myself into a mess."


    "But why didn''t you tell me? My mother could probably help!" Merle marched towards the porch, snatching Irene''s racket as she passed. "She should be home soon! We can tell her!"


    "I''m not sure involving your mother is a good idea. She''s already on thin ice with the Ministry." Irene folded her arms and followed. "Come on, neither of us like getting the authorities involved."


    Merle tossed the rackets and birdie down on the porch, a storm brewing on her face. "It ain''t right to be alone with some guy." She then looked back at Cyrus who twirled his umbrella to a chipper tune he was whistling. "It''s more than that, isn''t it? He seemed really... hands on with you. And you don''t like being touched by anyone but Jordan."


    "Are you implying I am cheating?" Irene could not keep the indignation she felt out of her voice. "No way, he''s - he''s much too old!"


    "Oh come on, Irene! I could see you with an older guy. You always act like you are so grown up! Lately you seem like you''ve outgrown me, so why not Jordan too?"


    Mortification silenced Irene''s higher faculties, leaving only defensiveness. "I came to you for help, didn''t I? My mistake!"


    Irene charged into the front door. She expected Merle to follow and peck away at her with justification for her insults. But she was left alone to pack her things. She sighed as she zipped up her bag, realising she was being rash. As hurt as she was, an accusation was a trifling affair when hung in the balance. With her duffel bag thrown over her shoulder, she skulked back out to apologise.


    Irene swung the front door open. "Sorry, Merle. I..." She stared as she saw Cyrus and Merle both standing on the porch, talking. Their discussion turned to silence the moment they saw Irene return.


    "You better go home," Merle said coldly.


    "What did he tell you?" Irene demanded, looking between the two.


    "Wouldn''t you like to know?" Her friend shook her head, and pushed past Irene to pull the front door open. "Just go."


    SLAM.


    Irene swallowed hard and then glared at Cyrus, who just raised his eyebrows questioningly, as if to say ''what did I do?''.


    "Well Irene, we best be off."

 Chapter 6: Halogen Halo

    ¡°You really are moody tonight, aren¡¯t you?  I''d ask if it was that time of the month, but I''d know¡­¡± Cyrus tapped his nose.  Irene scrunched her face in disgust and continued walking. ¡°You''re friend sounds like a loose cannon, but I do commend you for not telling her our little secret, Irene dearest.¡±


    Irene shot him another sharp glare.  Our little secret¡­ our little secret? There is nothing we share except air and matter.  Her heart pounded in her ears.


    ¡°Goodness, you are just a seething furnace, aren''t you? Perfect.  You can keep me warm and cozy,¡± Cyrus teased, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder.  He was baiting her, and she was not going to snap.  She was going to keep her lips sealed and continue walking home. Then the next day she would take stock of her resources and figure something out.


    Cyrus stopped short and looked around, eyes narrowed.  Irene lifted her chin.  No.  I''m not going to ask.  But now that she was drawn out of her own thoughts, she had the vague impression there may have been a sound.  A sound like someone running off.  But it was probably her imagination.  Cyrus eventually shrugged and continued in silence, though he seemed to glance around more frequently.


    Once on the bus, Irene pointedly sat beside someone else, so Cyrus took a seat behind her instead.  She could feel his eyes on her the whole time.  When they got off the bus again, she gave him a glare, but continued on her way home. He trailed her closely, as the indecisive weather occasionally dusted them with sky spittle.


    The closer they got to home, the more Irene dreaded it.  But she was also anxious to be home where she felt she could finally be alone to unleash all her pent-up frustration.  If only Merle had seen how uncomfortable she was.  Irene''s shoulder, aching from the tension, slumped as shame encroached. She often used Merle''s shallow capacity for empathy as a blind to disguise her own feelings. But this time, Irene needed someone to read the signs and save her from having to put words to the danger.  She shot another dark glare at Cyrus, who began whistling and twirling his umbrella.


    Then he halted, umbrella lowering slightly as his eyes widened briefly.


    An imposing figure stepped out in front of Irene and Cyrus, tilting back an umbrella.  Orange light streamed down from the streetlamps, but it didn''t do the stranger''s pale complexion any favours.  His broad face was framed by straight blonde hair and the high, upturned collar of a dark trench coat. Irene glanced back at Cyrus who had inclined his chin, his nasolabial crease momentarily deepened before he put on a passive, bored mask.


    With his arms tucked neatly behind his back, the blonde stepped forward. ¡°Cyrus, how many times have we told you not to play with your food?¡± His voice was deep and rich.


    ¡°Hmmm never, actually,¡± Cyrus retorted, stepping forward as well.  "But if we''re discussing common manners, Gabriel, you oughtn''t talk with your mouth full. And it''s lately been full of sh..." He paused and glanced at Irene then back as he folded up his umbrella, "...excrement."


    A prickling sensation in Irene''s nose and a squirming in her gut made her want to flee.  Is this the response Cyrus warned me about?  Is this man a vampire? She drew in a breath and steadied her nerves. As soon as the opportunity presented herself, she was going to make a run for it.


    ¡°Still a wisecrack.  Nonetheless, I''m relieved to see you.  Last I heard you had joined the dust,¡± the man called Gabriel said. His tone and cadence sounded local, but the throaty, rubbery quality of his R''s betrayed the hint of another accent.


    Cyrus brushed his black bangs away from his eyes, lifting his chin a little as he did so. ¡°Relieved?  Tch, relieved¡­ OH! You mean disappointed, right?  Because the rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,¡± he riposted.


    ¡°You injure me." The blonde man placed a hand to his chest and continued to speak in satin tones. "I was truly disturbed by the news.  I don¡¯t know why anyone would spread such lies."


    Cyrus tucked his umbrella under his armpit and crossed his arms. ¡°I can think of a few. Those two russet spuds and Louis are among my suspects.  Where is Louis anyway?  He wouldn¡¯t be hiding nearby, waiting to ambush me, would he?¡± he asked, his tone terminating with a sharp edge.


    Irene took a few steps away, trying to hedge her chances of retreat.


    ¡°Tut tut, Cyrus, you are being quite foolish. Why don¡¯t you drop your groundless suspicions and come back to us?  You wouldn¡¯t want to end up like that traitor Layla, would you?¡± Something malicious and prowling slid into Gabriel''s sonorous voice.


    Cyrus''s smile widened, but scorn flashed in his dark eyes as he balled his fists. ¡°Sorry, but I must decline. I won¡¯t forget your ¡®kindness¡¯, Gabriel.  Now please, step aside,¡± the short vampire said through clenched teeth, sweeping his umbrella in a wide arc.


    The man didn''t move.


    Irene began tip-toeing away.


    ¡°The night has just begun, what is the hurry?¡± Gabriel looked over at Irene, who froze.  In spite of her racing heart, she stood tall and lifted her chin. He gestured to her with a gloved hand. ¡°Why don¡¯t you bring her along and it can be like old times?¡±


    ¡°Old times are done, Gabby. Now will you please move out of my way? I have an intimate, candlelit dinner planned, and I could scarcely forgive myself for ungentlemanly tardiness.¡± Cyrus bared his teeth a large, nasty grin, although his fangs were absent.  Maybe it was the dim lighting, but it looked as though he had gaps in his teeth.


    Irene felt Gabriel''s eye on her again.  Unflinching, she watched as he sauntered towards her. Soft leather pressed firmly against her cheek.  She glared into his pale irises and pulled away. Cyrus immediately had his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.


    ¡°She¡¯s young¡­ probably still in school,¡± Gabriel''s tone shifted to disapproval.  Irene arched an eyebrow, mixed feelings of apprehension and hope.  Apprehension because this man was imposing.  Hope that this man might remove Cyrus from her life.


    ¡°She¡¯s a big girl." Cyrus held her tighter..


    Gabriel chuckled and took a step back. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. She looks like a minor.  A white, likely middle-class girl." Irene did not like the stress he put on the word girl, as if it were something distasteful to him.  "The sort with parents that will harangue the authorities if anything should happen to her."


    Irene stared down at herself, then her eyes darted back up at Gabriel. Was Cyrus bluffing about not being afraid of the authorities?


    "Girl, how old are you?¡± the blonde asked, for the first time addressing her directly.  Irene stepped away from Cyrus¡¯s protective arm to stand on her own.


    ¡°That''s none of your business,¡± Irene firmly stated.


    ¡°She has quite an attitude, just like most of them¡­¡± Gabriel sighed.  He stepped aside.  ¡°Do whatever pleases you, Cyrus, I will not stop you this time.  Although the younger ones are much sweeter, their parents create such a fuss¡­ farewell, my brother¡­ we will meet again.¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Gabriel turned and strode away with an eerie grace, his departure marked with dribbles of rain.  Once the man was out of sight, Irene pivoted to face Cyrus.


    ¡°The sort with parents that harangue the authorities?  I thought you weren''t afraid of the cops." She crossed her arms, looking archly at the black-haired blowhard.


    Cyrus raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders coolly, releasing the umbrella''s hood. ¡°Not here, Peaches.¡± He unfolded the umbrella and began walking.


    Irene furrowed her eyebrows, resentful of his nonchalance.  Grumbling, she picked up her bag.  "The moment I get home I am calling the cops.  I suggest you find somewhere else to be."


    "The cops can''t protect you.  Unlike me, Gabriel would be very motivated to kill you if he suspects you know what we are."


    "Why didn''t he, then?" Irene challenged.


    Cyrus shrugged, holding the umbrella out to make room for Irene. She refused to walk beside him, even for cover.  "Out in the open isn''t his way.  And he is mighty stuck in his ways."


    The rain started coming down heavier, making it harder to talk without shouting.  This was not something she necessarily wanted every passer-by to overhear.  Thus she decided to delay the rest of the conversation until she got home.


    <hr>


    Finally, the pair stood at the long gravel driveway before her house.  Never before had the sight of her home been simultaneously a great relief and source of dread.


    ¡°Ladies first.¡±


    Irene sighed and went to unlock the front door, but it was already unlocked.  She stared at it for a moment, hand shaking.  Impatiently, Cyrus prompted her to go in while he shook excess moisture from the umbrella.  She reluctantly stepped inside, looking around for signs of a break in.


    Click.


    The door closed behind Cyrus.


    ¡°Alright¡­ who is Gabriel?¡± Irene demanded.  Determination had accumulated in her; she was not going to show her unease.


    ¡°A very dangerous man.¡± Cyrus glanced around, then focused past Irene at the window. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this conversation in the basement, shall we?¡±


    "No." Irene strode over to the phone, picking it up while fixing Cyrus with a dripping glare. Within the blink of an eye he rushed over and placed his hand over the cradle, holding down the disconnect button.


    "No time for this..." Cyrus quickly glanced out the kitchen window, and then down the narrow hall to the window by the front door. "You think I''m worried about men with kevlar and tasers?"


    "And guns." Irene slapped Cyrus''s hand to try and move it away from the phone base. He ignored her, still keeping his eyes on the windows.


    "Do what you want, call who you want when the sun rises.  But we need to get out of sight as soon as possible."


    Irene looked at Cyrus, noting his furrowed eyebrows and constantly darting eyes.  He truly seemed apprehensive. ¡°¡­Fine,¡± Irene reluctantly consented.


    Cyrus swiftly passed her, disappearing into the darkness below. Irene placed the receiver back on the hook and followed. As soon as she stepped inside, Cyrus immediately slammed the door behind her.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of Gabriel, aren''t you?¡±


    Cyrus looked at her with brooding eyes, before going and sitting on the bed.  ¡°Absolutely terrified," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, a slight accent creeping into his voice.  Irene slowly walked a little closer, sitting down on the carpeted portion of the basement.  She crossed her legs and rested her elbows on her knees.


    ¡°Then why bring up my age?  If he''s so dangerous, I doubt that he cares how young someone is if they get in his way.¡±


    "Oh, he doesn''t care about the age of his victims."  Cyrus turned up his lips in a predatory smile. ¡°Gabriel runs this city''s vampire population with an iron fist.  He stipulates who can be preyed upon.  You¡¯re young and would be missed too soon, thus spurring an investigation.  If anyone gets too close to the truth, we kill everyone involved, and then start over fresh someplace else." Cyrus gestured towards Irene. "You''re involved.  Ergo, if there''s an investigation, you will die."


    Irene snorted. "We?"


    "You heard Gabriel.  I used to run with his pack." Cyrus took off his wet shoes and set them aside. "We usually try to hit vulnerable populations that the law ignores."


    "And that doesn''t include teenagers?" Irene removed her shoes as well, suddenly aware of how cold her feet were, agitated since teenagers were often neglected by the law except when they were the ones causing trouble.


    "Only the indigenous kind." Cyrus peeled off his soggy socks and draped them over his shoes.  "You are protected by your age, race and class."


    Irene''s eyebrows furrowed as she looked around her unfinished basement in wonder.  Class? What class?  I''m hardly the idle rich.


    Cyrus''s voice interrupted her ponderings. "However, Gabriel doesn''t obey his own rules, nor does his posse." He rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them up. "Just imagine those really horrible college fraternities and replace the rambunctious young men with a bunch of blood-sucking fiends, and there you have it! Challenges and contests to test each other''s mettle and pride were frequent. And for entertainment, it wasn¡¯t uncommon that some of us would lure out some pretty young birds, and bring them back to our nest.  We¡¯d have just about as much fun as we could get from them before we feasted."  Cyrus''s gaze grew distant, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.  Irene was unsure if this was a repressed snarl or smile.  His tone was too even and neutral to detect any evidence of remorse.


    Irene''s stomach lurched. ¡°Despicable¡­¡± she muttered, fear prickling along her spine.  She looked at the door longingly.


    Cyrus shook his head, lying back on the bed. ¡°Anyway, that lifestyle no longer suits me. An intimate, cosier setting is much better for dining.¡±  He laced his fingers together and rested them on his chest.


    ¡°They mentioned a traitor.  Who was that?¡± Irene asked, trying to change the topic.  If there''s a traitor, perhaps there are others who could stand up to these monsters.


    Cyrus let out a sigh and went quiet.  Irene cleared her throat to get his attention.  He glanced over at her, and then up at the ceiling. ¡°Layla.  She can''t truly be called a traitor since she wasn''t a part of the brotherhood.  But she got in Gabriel''s way, which is very foolish.¡± His voice gradually drained of emotion as he explained.


    ¡°What did she do?¡±


    ¡°She tried to expose Gabriel''s hypocrisy. It wasn¡¯t long before she was no more than ashes blowing in the wind¡­¡±


    ¡°You knew her well, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Cyrus turned on his side to stare at Irene. ¡°Don¡¯t pry, Peaches. That¡¯s enough Q and A for today.  There are better ways to get to know me.¡± He sat up.  Irene watched him warily.  As he rose, she also quickly got to her feet. However, before she could blink, there he was in her personal space again.  It amazed her how quickly he could bring his hand to her cheek.


    ¡°Back off,¡± Irene warned.


    Cyrus grinned defiantly. ¡°You are such a delight to tease,¡± he whispered, tickling her ear. Irene''s jaw tingled at the sensation as her cheeks grew warm. She tilted her head away in irritation. His lips dusted along her neck like delicate butterfly wings; she tensed and pulled away.


    Undeterred by her body language, Cyrus looked up, locking a gaze with her. "Come now, Peaches. Relax. Gabriel and I are through, you needn''t fear me."


    Irene wanted to push him away, but paralyzing chills radiated from her spine to her extremities. Why can''t I move? Like before, despite the fear she''d been feeling, a sort of drowsy haze descended, slowing her breath and heart rate.


    Cyrus placed his one hand just between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back.  She shuddered; Irene did not like being handled like this. Visceral repulsion oozed as he again kissed her neck, yet she still could not flee.  Several times she tried to tell him to stop, but her mouth just couldn''t form words.  She closed her eyes and concentrated until she was able to finally get her larynx back under control.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°Just a harmless little taste...¡± Cyrus murmured. Heavy as her hands felt, Irene used all of her strength to lift them.  Her eyes burned and her head felt like it was full of cotton.  Teeth prickled against her skin and she winced.  She focused all of her willpower to finally place her hands on his chest, pushing weakly. He was as immovable as a statue. She grunted and whimpered trying harder to shove him away. He tensed, then finally released her, leaving her skin only lightly grazed.


    ¡°Don''t...¡± Irene objected as firmly as she could, though it came out sluggish and plaintive instead.


    Cyrus shook his head, and ruptured the tension with another chuckle. Anger cut through the haze, bringing her compromised situation into sharp focus. Her faculties all returned and she scowled. "This isn''t funny!  What''s wrong with you?"


    ¡°I¡¯m only human¡­ well¡­ sort of,¡± Cyrus responded as he leaned close again.


    Fully alert again, Irene turned and ran for the exit, only to stop short when he managed to dash in front of her. ¡°Nuh-uh-uh¡­ you¡¯re staying down here tonight.¡±

 Chapter 7: Paranoia and Pizza

    ¡°Move!¡± Suspicious that Cyrus had been boasting about his power, Irene shoved him as hard as she could.  His only reaction was to crook an eyebrow at her.  She backed up and tried a running charge, but with little effort he threw her back. She slid along the ground, the sting of friction burns traveling up the arm which had broken her fall.  A hiss escaped her as she picked herself up, looking at the red and peeling skin on her forearm.


    ¡°Ooooh that looks like it smarts.  I could kiss it better, if you''d like," Cyrus teased.  Irene made some angry noise that didn''t qualify as a word, as she was busy blowing on the abrasion to soothe it.  "Come, come. I¡¯m only looking out for your best interest!¡± he insisted in aspartame tones.


    ¡°My best interest?  You''re only looking out for yourself!¡± Irene wielded ferocity to mask her underlying anxiety.


    Cyrus made a tutting sound and wagged his finger. ¡°Alright, I won''t argue that. But Gabriel and his lackeys will be peeping in windows looking for you or me.  So tonight, for your safety, you should stay down here with me. Understand, Peaches?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just using them as an excuse." Irene curled and flexed her hand in exasperation.  "Out of my way!  I need something to clean this with.¡± She held up her arm, pointing to the raw skin.


    ¡°Psh.  Barely a flesh wound." He waved his hand dismissively.  "Anyway, I can stand here all night if necessary, but that might make me a little bit cranky, and you don¡¯t want to see a cranky vampire. Stay down here and get some shuteye.  I''ll keep watch.¡± Cyrus purred.


    Chills writhed along Irene''s spine as she looked around for another weapon, something stronger than scissors.  Remembering her previous attempts, she abandoned her search; fighting him head on would be a futile waste of energy.  If he would just drop his guard, she might be able to sneak past him.


    "You think I''d be able to sleep with you looming?"


    "Hmmm... I could always bite you, that worked wonders last time." Cyrus licked his lips.  Irene immediately put her hand to her neck and took a step back, shaking her head. He shrugged. "That''d be a no, then."


    "At least let me get some medicine."


    "Eh... I''m sure it stings but it''s not an immediate danger.  You can deal with it once the sun rises." Cyrus leaned against the basement door and stared at her neck. "You''ve survived worse."


    Irene aspirated sharply.  Her breathing was growing rapid, but she was trying to keep it shallow so it would not be noticeable.  She paced for a while, then looked at the bed.  There''s no way I''m sleeping in a bed he''s been in. She could see brown spots on the sheets left from when she first brought him in.  She never had a chance to clean them. Knowing she wouldn''t be able to sleep, Irene stripped the bed and threw the sheets in for a cold wash.


    Irene wished Monica had taught her how to remove blood from sheets.  With no mother around, they had to learn through trial and error what to do about their laundry; their father was no help.  Irene stared at the stains, repressed resentment bubbling to the surface.  Monica didn''t have to die.  Her father insisted Monica''s lung cancer wasn''t their mother''s fault, but all she could remember about the woman was the smell of nicotine, and the fake nails to hide the yellow stains.  Those nails and calloused fingers were rough and pokey whenever her mother tried to tickle her. Irene''s family were better off without that woman; she sucked the life out of everyone.


    Irene sighed and poured in an unmeasured amount of bleach. All she could do was guess and hope for the best.  She''d occasionally glance over to see if Cyrus still guarded the door.  He was always ready with an obnoxious grin and finger wiggle.


    Without adequate air flow, Irene knew the sheets would not be dry in time, and the spare sheets were upstairs with the towels.  She could not spend the whole night pacing either.  Resigned, she rolled up an old packing cover to use as a pillow and grabbed the quilt she''d saved from Cyrus''s bleeding wounds.  With these meagre comforts, Irene laid down on the rug.


    "Ah.  Seeing reason at last.  Sweet dreams, Irene." Cyrus turned out the light.


    <hr>


    ¡°You still do that school thing, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The words jarred Irene from sleep. Her view was dominated by Cyrus''s grinning visage.  Gasping, she flailed, only to recoil from stiff limbs and an aching back. The pesky vampire perched on the edge of the bare mattress, impish merriment in his eyes. ¡°Forgot where you were, did you?¡±


    Irene stared at the basement ceiling in bewilderment.  Audible cracks popped as she struggled to sit up. She was shivering; the rug did not insulate her against the cold cement floor.  Gradually, the previous night came back to her, as did the stinging on her arm. She marveled that she got any sleep at all.  With a hand on her muddled head, she yawned. Then her mind latched onto the concept of morning.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± Irene sputtered as she scrambled stiffly to her feet.  Remembering her watch, she peered at it. 6:03 am.  Plenty of time to shower and stretch out the tension before catching the bus.


    Upon reaching the top of the stairs, a plaintive mew drew Irene''s attention to Silver''s empty food and water dish.  Irene picked up her cat and hugged her, pressing her face into the soft fur.  Silver had been given to Monica when she first got her diagnosis.  The vibrations of her sister''s cat purring steadily boosted her spirits.  It was like Monica giving her the push she needed. Irene fed Silver and continued about her early morning routine.


    As Irene tied her shoes, she glanced up at a pair of black pants.  She grumbled as Cyrus once again loomed in her personal space. Glaring had proven ineffectual in the past, but Irene did it anyway. ¡°Don''t you ever pull something like that again."


    Cyrus clicked his tongue as yet again his skeezy grin spread across his face. ¡°You make it sound as if something happened, which nothing did, as disappointing as that is.¡±


    Irene stood on tiptoe to loom over him for a change, her lips still pursed. ¡°That something will never happen.  Remember that, Cyrus,¡± Irene hissed.  Afterwards she pivoted on her heel and left, chin held high.


    <hr>


    Irene got through school without garnering concern from her teachers with unnerving ease. Her concentration failed, and some of her absences went unexplained.  But truancy was rampant enough among her generation that most of her teachers barely batted an eye.  Her biology teacher was the only one to ask her if everything was alright, to which Irene explained that she was recovering from a nasty bug.  She simply failed to mention the bug had a name: Cyrus.


    Irene stayed behind to finish up her missed assignments.  When she finally left the school it was unsurprisingly overcast.  Zipping up her jacket, the frazzled teen hurried to reach the next bus.  Everyone she passed on the street made her nervous.  Anyone who caught her eye caused her heart to leap until they smiled and passed by.  Although she did not prefer the evenings, she''d never feared them before. Upon reaching home, Irene sighed.  How much longer was this going to go on?


    Several days, as it turned out.  Despite her mistrust of Cyrus, he made compelling arguments for her to continue to sleep in the basement.  To Irene''s relief, however, he spent the nights patrolling and she was up before he returned.  She saw as little of him as possible, which permitted her to reach some sort of equilibrium.


    Every day she reconsidered calling the police.  Her father was also frequently on her mind.  He''ll be home soon, won''t he?  Surely he could find a way to fix this.  He usually knew what to do...  when he was actually around.


    Irene spent her lunch breaks working on homework and her daylight hours in the library due to inclement weather.  As a result, chores went unfinished.


    Mundane necessities such as laundry, cleaning, and shopping had been neglected, and it was beginning to impact Irene.  Thus, one afternoon, she left school at the regular time.  When she exited the school doors, her path was blocked by Merle, whose countenance reflected yet another stormy mood brewing.  Irene released a sigh as her shoulders sagged.


    ¡°Where are you headed?¡± Merle asked, stepping into Irene''s space.


    Irene stared at her incredulously. ¡°Home. Why do you ask?¡± She tried to push the unease out of her voice.


    ¡°Really?  Mind if I walk with you, then?¡± Merle''s body language evoked nonchalance, but her voice was drenched in suspicion.


    Irene sighed and slowly nodded her head. ¡°Sure. But I can''t dawdle; I have errands and homework."


    Merle looked irritated but nodded. ¡°Need any help?¡±


    Irene shook her head. ¡°No thanks."


    Merle shrugged. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go then."


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    They walked together, silence occasionally broken by awkward attempts at small talk.  Upon reaching the bus stop, the girls turned to face one another.


    ¡°Look, Irene, I''m sorry for the way I acted.  But you haven''t been yourself.  Will you just talk to me, like you used to?  I promise not to get mad this time. I was a bit harsh, but things just looked so¡­ well, you know."


    Irene let out a beleaguered sigh. Maybe Merle deserved the truth, but she was dubious of Merle''s ability to understand.  Even Jordan didn''t take her seriously.


    ¡°Merle¡­ I told you it''s complicated¡­¡± Irene reiterated.  Merle¡¯s cheeks turned pink, but she bit her tongue, and continued to stare hard at Irene, urging her.  She sighed and cast a glance downward, before staring Merle straight in the eyes again. ¡°If I told you vampires were real, how would you react?¡±


    Merle laughed, but Irene wasn''t smiling.  It took Merle a moment to catch up, and her merriment quickly turned to perplexity, then morphed to indignation.  "What, you really expect me to believe that?"


    Irene frowned, resignation weighing her head down. "No."


    "It''s not like you to joke like that, Irene." Merle put her hands on her hips.  "But if you don''t want to tell me the truth, fine, whatever." She crossed her arms and shrugged, a sour expression pinching her face.


    "Trust me, you are better off not knowing," Irene assured with her own shrug in response.


    "Yeah, yeah, Irene, so serious and grown up, knows her little friend is too childish to understand anything," Merle sneered.  "Look, I apologised.  I tried to be a good friend.  But I guess you''re not ready." She threw her arms into the air, took in a deep breath, then let her arms collapse to her sides.  "I''m sorry.  I just don''t know what to do.  Something''s up... I''m concerned."


    Irene looked away.  The distress her recent behaviour was causing her friend was hard to contain.  "I''m not... thank you Merle.  For being concerned."  Usually, Merle was fairly oblivious.  But if even she could see something was wrong, clearly Irene wasn''t handling everything as well as she thought. But she needed to protect her friend.  "You''re right.  I''m not ready to talk.  Could I just be alone now, please?"


    Her friend squinted at her for a good long while.  But finally, Merle heaved a ridiculously large and theatrical sigh and turned away.  "Fine.  You wanna be alone?  Then that''s exactly what you''re gonna get."


    Irene sighed and watched her childhood friend go.  Normally she didn''t mind being the calm anchor to Merle''s melodrama, but when her reaction was actually reasonable, it seemed more draining.


    The combination of Merle''s continued pecking and the dark clouds wearied her; she wanted to be home as soon as possible.  So much for getting the shopping done.


    Even at a brisk pace, the walk home felt longer than usual.  Sunlight made a valiant effort to break through the gloomy cloud cover, but was continuously thwarted. Even though it was not yet four in the afternoon, night was overstepping its boundaries.  Irene kept expecting to see that tall blonde man step into her path any minute.


    Tingle.  The hair on the back of Irene''s neck rose.  She turned a corner by an old motel and then screamed.


    Standing in front of her in a long coat was a man.  However, he was not tall nor was he blonde; he was not even imposing. The man also yelped in surprise, bringing up his hands to shield himself, finger tips poking through worn gloves. "I''m sorry!  I''m sorry!"


    Irene put her hand to her chest, breathing deeply to coax her heart to slow down.  "No, I... I''m sorry."


    The dishevelled man partially straightened up once he realised he was not about to be struck, and held out a hand entreatingly. "Please... please can you spare some change?" he warbled pathetically.


    "I don''t'' carry cash."  Irene lifted her chin.  He''d just waste it on beer.


    "You sure?  Oh... no I suppose not... no fine young lady like you''d want anything to do with me.  Waste of space.  Lay-about.  She was right to leave me, I suppose, as you''re probably right to keep on a-walking."  The man''s shoulders sagged.  He let out a foul smelling belch.


    Irene stepped around the man, nose wrinkling.  He lifted a hand as if to try and stop her, but she pointedly crossed the street.  If she stayed within earshot, he would probably follow her home, telling her the same tired story about how his family left him.  Irene didn''t blame his wife.  Sobbin'' Robin, as everyone called him, was a rather notorious fixture around her neighbourhood. However, as irritated as she was by the close encounter with the wastrel, she was vastly relieved he wasn''t a vampire.


    Irene made it home at last.  She dropped her backpack at the door and immediately took stock of which tasks were most urgent.  She''d first start the laundry and then wash the dishes. Some of the dirty plates had cultivated mold, and she feared what else might grow if she left them any longer.


    Chores helped keep Irene''s hands busy, but she continued to ruminate on her predicament. Is Gabriel really as bad as Cyrus says?  Or is he just trying to scare me?  How can I find out without putting myself in danger?  As she finished drying some dishes, a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. She swiveled around to face Cyrus. His face was molded into that crooked grin of his.


    ¡°You¡¯ve let time slip away from you; aren''t you hungry?¡± Cyrus tilted his head, squinting.


    Irene shook her head, but in defiance, her stomach gurgled. ¡°I guess I should eat¡­¡± She rummaged through the cupboards and fridge.  ¡°There isn¡¯t much here.¡±


    ¡°You could always order pizza.  That way both of us will get a meal,¡± Cyrus suggested nonchalantly.


    Irene nodded and reached for the phone book, and then stopped.  She pivoted on her heel and fixed him with a mighty glower. ¡°That wasn¡¯t funny!¡±


    Cyrus let out a chuckle, obviously believing that it was. ¡°I was actually being serious.  I¡¯d rather not hunt tonight, but I am getting a little peckish. Come come, I¡¯ll pay."


    ¡°I am not going to sentence some poor delivery boy to his death just for free pizza!¡±


    ¡°Oh, but you¡¯d let me starve?¡±


    ¡°Will it kill you to skip a meal?¡±


    Cyrus sighed and feigned another one of his horrific pouts. ¡°Maybe not me, but it might kill you.  If I get too hungry, I become a real beast.  That is a side of me I hope for you to never see.¡± He illustrated his remarks by making a claw with his hand.  Irene rolled her eyes and disengaged, going straight to her room.


    Irene was putting clean laundry away in her dresser when she heard a chime. When she opened the door she was presented with a small pizza from an extremely skinny delivery woman, whose head looked too large for her small frame. Irene was both confused and annoyed.  In response, the delivery woman rolled her eyes s she noisily chewed her potent mint gum.


    ¡°Did ya order a pizza or no?¡±


    Before Irene could say no and apologize for the inconvenience, Cyrus intervened. ¡°I ordered a pizza."


    The pizza woman looked Cyrus up and down, and her taut lips turned up in a smile. She held out the cardboard box, which released tender streams of steam out the crevices. He handed her a green bill, and she seized it, shoving it into a blazing red fanny-pack. The lollipop-headed woman whisked some golden hair out of her face, light reflecting off of her bright pink acrylic nails.  Irene bet they hid nicotine stains. The pizza lady dug around in the pack for the correct change, and dropped it into Cyrus¡¯s open hand.


    ¡°Here ya go,¡± she said, batting her fake lashes.  The spectacle made Irene sick, but not as sick as the thought of Cyrus sinking his foul teeth into her pencil neck. The aforementioned vampire shoved the pizza into Irene¡¯s arms, keeping strong eye contact with the delivery-twig. Irene glared at him, holding the pizza grudgingly, ready to throw it down, grab him by the ear, and drag him back inside.  However, before she could take action, he slipped outside, closing the door behind him.


    Irene felt heat well up inside of her. He had the gall to order the pizza anyway? She calmed herself and carried the pizza into the kitchen, setting it on the table.  Insufferable jerk!  Does he think I''ll just keep looking the other way?  High on indignation, she marched to the front door and swung it wide open. But no one was there.


    Cautiously, Irene walked over to the car, a little afraid of what she may find inside. As she neared the slightly misty windows, she paused.  Perhaps I should just go back inside. Pushing away that thought, she rubbed her hand along the windows, peering in.  Anticipation prickled along her skin as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.


    Nothing.


    The car was empty.  Irene swiveled around and scanned the eerie dark.  Did he cover her mouth and drag her into the bushes? Is he killing her now? Terror returned to her with a prickling sensation on her neck, an echo of when she was bitten. Sympathy melted her unjustified ire towards the delivery lady. Why doesn''t she scream for help?


    Irene tip-toed back to her front porch, her eyes darting around nervously. She rubbed her temples with the palms of her hands, trying to de-escalate her anxieties. Normally, if someone were in danger, she would call the police. Maybe they would be able to subdue or at least chase Cyrus away. Irene started to think about all the possible victims that he had since he had invaded her basement.


    Enough is enough! Irene went inside, shut the door, and locked it.  Perhaps it was foolish of her to think a locked door would keep Cyrus out, but it would delay him.


    Irene went back to the kitchen, no appetite for the ill-gotten pizza despite its enticing aroma.  She picked up the phone, listening to the dial tone as her hands hovered over the ''9'' key.  Irene hesitated.  What should I say?  A man attacked a pizza girl?  But I didn''t actually see an attack.  Someone was peeping in my windows? Is that actually an emergency call or just a complaint?  Will I get in trouble if it''s not what they consider an emergency?


    Irene hung up and sighed. She grabbed the phone book to look up the RCMP to file a complaint.  Against whom?  Cyrus may not have been lying about lacking papers.  Biting constituted assault; she could report that. The problem was, there was no evidence she had been bitten.  In her personal experience, police didn''t take teenagers seriously, and liked to shuffle everything off to other agencies. Huffing angrily, she sat down at the table.


    Homework would suffice as an adequate distraction, and Irene was determined to ignore any banging at the door.  So she slogged through wordy math problems.  Gradually, the math problems began to revolve around Cyrus.  It started with an innocuous question about pizzas at a party.  The smell of the pizza beckoned her.  But then she remembered her anger at him.  Soon she began wondering what the formula was for determining how fast a rate a human body could be exsanguinated.  Stop it! Irene tried to focus.


    Why hasn''t he come back?


    The battle was lost.  She stared at the unopened box of pizza. It mocked her. She salivated as her stomach churned.  There was no pride in wasting food.  She reached over to lift the lid.


    SLAM!


    Irene gasped at the sound of a car door shutting.  She got up and rushed to the foyer window, peering out at the driveway.  Headlights beamed through her window as the sound of tires on gravel clawed at her ears.  Did he steal the woman''s car?  Is he leaving?  She couldn''t make out who was driving.  Irene sat there, long after the car had disappeared, waiting.


    Nothing.


    Is he... gone?  Was it as simple as that?  Surely not!


    Once again her stomach complained.  Irene sat down and ate the pizza, but barely noticed the taste or textures. He''d ordered ham and pineapple, and she did not like pineapple on her pizza.  But her mind was too full to care.  Is it over?  Tempting as celebrating would be, it was premature.

 Chapter 8: The Meal That Unraveled

    "Hey honey, just calling to check in with you.  I called several times, but you didn''t answer.  I''m beginning to worry.  I''m sure you''re just busy being a teenager, living your life.  Ah, I am sorry I miss so much of it.  You''re a tough cookie, but I guess that''s really no excuse, is it? Well... Anyway.  I''m on the road so much these days it makes it hard to keep in touch. I will try phoning again around this time, so hopefully I''ll catch you.  I love you, sweetie. Goodbye."


    Beep.


    Cyrus never returned after the pizza debacle.  As a result, Irene was able to return to her regular activities.  But she still was looking over her shoulder every night, and there was a lingering anxiety whenever she entered the basement.  A part of Irene felt as though she wouldn''t feel truly safe until her father was home.


    Thus, Irene waited by the phone for it to ring.  She skimmed through an anthology of short stories, but her mind was raking over what to say to her father. Just when she despaired of yet another broken promise, the jingle of the landline sprung to life.


    "Hello, Locklyn residence," Irene greeted, hiding the anticipation in her voice.  There was static on the end of the line.  Her heart sank in the dead air.


    "Irene?"


    Irene stood up immediately knocking her book onto the floor. "Dad!  Hello!  How are you?"


    "I''m doing great!  Especially hearing your voice, kiddo."


    "I''ve told you before I''m a bit old for ''kiddo." Her tone was plaintive, but her eyes brightened as she picked up her book and sat back down.


    "You''ll always be my kiddo, even if you live to a hundred."  Her father barked out a chuckle, and the relieved daughter leaned back in the dining chair.  "Anyway, how''re things?  You weren''t answering the phone.  Have you been off at wild parties?"


    "Of course not." Irene smiled despite her feigned indignation, wrapping the spiral phone cord around one of her fingers.


    "Too bad." He laughed again. Irene closed her eyes and listened to her father''s voice. "I kept bracing myself for a rebellious teen, and what do I get?  A dutiful old soul.  But I wouldn''t trade you for the world."   Calm contentment was jeopardised by a sigh. Her eyes shot back open, and she held the receiver closer to her ear. "Honey, I might not make it back this Sunday."


    "Oh..."


    "There was a small miscommunication about my flight. So you just need to hold tight a little longer. I''ve wired more money into your account for groceries," her father reassured.


    Irene took in a slow breath, but tried not to exhale too noisily.  And will a few days turn into a few weeks like last time? She clenched her jaw. "Alright, Dad, I''ll see you when you get back.  Then we can catch up."


    "I''ve got time now," her father, unable to see his daughter''s reaction, blundered forward in a jovial tone.  Although Irene had been looking forward to talking to him, now she just wanted to hang up and process her dismay.  Not hearing a response, he continued, "How''s, uh, how''s your friend, Merle, doing?  Got any classes with her this year?"


    "No.  She''s a grade behind me, remember?"


    "Ah.  Right.  I keep forgetting.  Well then, how''s Jordan?" Her father moved onto the next item on the checklist.  "He''s a fine young lad; I''d like to have a beer with him," he said cheerfully.


    "Uh..."


    "Once he''s legal, of course," her father quickly amended.


    Irene sighed. "Remember the spill he took when he wasn''t wearing his hockey helmet?"


    "Oooooh, yeah," her father responded after an inward hiss. "But that was a while ago.  I had a concussion when I was a kid but I was right as rain after some rest."


    "Well Jordan wasn''t." Irene told him bluntly, a dribble of irritation leaking into her voice. "The scans didn''t show he was bleeding into his brain, and it got worse.  He had surgery to relieve the pressure, but then he got meningitis during recovery."


    "Oh."  For a while there was an awkward silence.  "I''m really sorry to hear that.  I hope he recovers.  I promise you, I will be back soon."


    "Thanks, Dad.  I''ll see you then.  But I''ve got to get to the store before it gets dark."


    "Oh, alright then.  It must be getting cold there now.  I sent you a little extra for cab fare.  Just remember to save-"


    "Save the receipts, I know.  Well.  Goodbye, Dad."


    "Take care, honey."


    Click.


    Irene rubbed her eyes, her fingers tips pressing into her skin as they trailed down her face.  That could have gone better.  But she''d endured this far already; she could handle a few more days.  After all, the situation was not as dire as it had been when a vampire was occupying her basement.


    Unable to rely on her father, Irene decided that she needed to do something.  It occurred to her that she might attempt burning sage, but immediately laughed it off as foolish superstition.  Only proven methods grounded in fact would satisfy her.  However, her recent experiences left her questioning the hard science she''d come to rely on for answers.  But that left her wondering what she could rely on.


    Irene went to her basement.  Procrastinating no longer, she whipped the sheets off of the cot and tossed them into the washer, adding a little extra bleach and soap.  While that was washing, she went and got various supplies and began cleaning vigorously.  She was determined to cleanse every trace of Cyrus and the terror he''d brought into her life.


    <hr>


    With all the microwave meals and canned pasta she had been relying on, Irene had been craving something fresh.  She pushed her cart into the produce section while shopping, the distinct aroma of citrus peels revitalising her with their promise of tanginess.  However, she eyed the prices and looked at her cart, doing some mental math.


    "Irene?  Is that you?"


    Irene turned, startled at hearing her name. "Oh, Mrs. Fisher.  Hello," she greeted sheepishly. She picked up a grapefruit to examine it, trying to hide her embarrassment over her own jumpiness.


    "Is your father still out of town?" Mrs. Fisher asked as she likewise began pinching lemons, selecting a few to add to the basket on her arm.


    "Yes," Irene responded distantly, then picked up two grapefruits and put them in her cart.


    "Are you going to carry all those groceries home by yourself?"


    "I was just going to call a cab." Irene shrugged.  "How is Jordan?"


    "He''s... he''s hanging in there."


    "Ah.  Well..."


    "Irene?"


    Irene was just about to say her goodbyes and head to the checkout, but something in Mrs. Fisher''s tone gave her pause.  She chewed on her lower lip and peered curiously at the pleasantly plump woman.  "Yes, Mrs. Fisher?"


    "Call me Mary, please."


    "I... okay, Mary.  What is it?" Irene tapped her fingers on the cart handle.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "How would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?  We don''t see much of you anymore."


    Irene''s gaze grew distant and she stared down at the colourful array of citrus fruits, unable to look at Mrs. Fisher for a moment. "I... it wouldn''t feel right without Jordan there."


    Mrs Fisher donned a wistful smile. "He''d be there in spirit."


    Irene''s stomach lurched and fluttered.  Those words flew a red flag.  She looked back up at Mrs. Fisher, no longer shying from her gaze.  There were no misty eyes or apprehension she could detect in the woman. But still, Irene''s curiosity and apprehension were now piqued.


    "Well... alright. Just tell me what to bring."


    Mary Fisher gave a dubious look at Irene''s cart. Irene frowned, abashed at the cluster of macaroni and frozen dinners.  She felt either judged or pitied, but Irene wasn''t sure which bothered her more.


    "Just you and your appetite will be plenty," Mrs Fisher assured Irene.  "We eat at 6:00.  If you want to come a little early, that''s welcome too."


    Six o'' clock.  Irene''s knee-jerk reaction was to invent an excuse not to go just to avoid being out past sundown.  But Cyrus was no longer keeping a target on her back; she needn''t fear the dark any longer. "Alright.  I''ll see you tomorrow.  Thank you, Mrs. Fisher.  It means a lot to me."


    Rain poured down as Irene stood at the Fisher residence. In one hand she clutched a dripping wet umbrella.  In her other hand she brandished a bottle of sparkling juice. Taking in a deep breath, she rang the doorbell.


    Mrs. Fisher answered the door and immediately donned a large, pink smile.  Irene inspected her brow for worry lines, but she seemed genuinely delighted to see her.  Feeling a little more at ease, she held up the bottle.


    "Oh thank you, sweetie.  You didn''t have to."


    "It''s the least I could do.  Jordan and I would usually split a bottle on my birthday."


    "That was very thoughtful of you, Irene. Hang up your wet things and make yourself at home."


    Irene hung her jacket up on a nearby hook and slipped off her shoes; she was self conscious about tracking mud in on the Fishers'' pristine floors.


    A warm, savoury aroma greeted Irene, tinged with woodsmoke.  She followed Mrs. Fisher into the living room, where Mr. Fisher sat in his easy chair by the fireplace. He glanced up from his newspaper just long enough to nod, then he straightened the paper and brought it up higher to cover his face.


    "Dinner will be ready soon.  Make yourself at home." Mary gave her husband a sharp look, but then disappeared into the kitchen.


    Irene sat on the floor, cross legged.  The air was filled with the crackling of the fire, and the crinkling of newsprint. She stirred the fire around with the poker to help reinvigorate it. Normally, the silence from Jordan''s father would bother her, but after what she went through with Cyrus, it failed to register.


    Cyrus.  Why did I have to think of him?  Irene stabbed at the log with a bit more force, causing a spray of sparks to flare out with an enthusiastic pop.  Mr. Fisher lowered his paper and fixed her with a stern gaze. Irene cleared her throat and put the poker back on its stand.  Mollified, he raised his newspaper again.


    As Mr. Fisher was determined to be poor company, Irene opted to spend her time elsewhere.  Wonderful smells, savoury, slightly pungent, and mildly sweet greeted her as she stepped into the kitchen.  "Mrs. Fish... Mary, is there something I can help with?"


    Onions and peppers lept in the pan Mary was handling, delightfully browned and caramelized. "No, that''s alright dear, it''s almost ready."


    Irene looked around, determined to occupy herself. "I''ll set the table, then."


    "Thank you, Irene."


    Irene was making an endeavour not to think; unfortunately the result was setting four places at the table.


    Mr. Fisher came in and sat down in his seat, the only dining chair with armrests.  He gawked at the additional plate in confusion, then his face turned grim.


    "What is this? Are we expecting someone else?"


    "Oh, silly me, habit," Mary twittered, quickly taking away the extra dish and utensils.  Irene caught Mary''s eye briefly and nodded to her in thanks, and Mrs. Fisher winked in response. Mr. Fisher''s craggy face dimmed as he stared at the empty space at the table.


    Mrs. Fisher set down a glossy glazed ham. It had been a long time since Irene had a home cooked meal.  She sat back and just enjoyed this snapshot of an idyllic family sitting down to sup together.  The cozy scene was foreign to her, but something she often longed for.


    Mary opened the bottle Irene had brought. "Would you like some, Jerry?  It''s apple cranberry."


    Mr. Fisher squinted at the label before he shook his head. "No.  Water''s good enough for me."


    Mary nodded and placed a pitcher of water by him.  She then poured some sparkling juice for Irene and then for herself. "So, Irene, how has school been going?"


    "Okay."


    Mary buttered a roll. "Any plans for going to college?"


    Mr. Fisher looked up from slicing the ham with some interest.


    "I''ve been looking at scholarships and maybe getting into a co-op program at UVic.  I''m thinking of going into exercise and health sciences," Irene answered as she ladled vegetables onto her plate. Mary looked down, but Irene was certain she saw just the briefest little crook of a smile on Mr. Fisher''s ruddy face. But soon his mouth was occupied with a piece of meat.


    "Have some ham, Irene," Mary entreated, passing the large serving platter over.  "Do you have any other plans after school?"


    Irene stared down at her plate, anxiety tickling her.  Ideas percolated as she placed a small slice of ham on her plate.  There was an odd sense of relief of being able to think long and hard.  She was grateful to settle into a slower pace of life again, but something was still nagging at her.


    "My plans are flexible.  A lot really depends on how this year goes," Irene finally answered. As she ineffectually tried to saw her slice into smaller morsels, she glanced up and caught Mrs. Fisher staring, looking almost disappointed.


    "I see.  That''s... prudent," Mary Fisher responded.  She was making slow headway on cutting her slice into small, neat squares.  Mr. Fisher was already reaching for second helpings.


    For a while they all ate in silence.  The food was delicious, but Irene felt her appetite dwindle.  She caught several glances between Jordan''s parents, and wondered if she''d done something wrong.  If only Jordan was actually here.


    "Irene..." Mary set her utensils aside.


    "Yes?"


    "I... just want to say I''m glad you''ve stuck with Jordan this far.  He''s told me that you don''t really like hospitals.  I understand it must be hard for you to see him like that."


    Mr. Fisher frowned, scowling. "It''s hard for all of us."


    "Of course it is," Mary amended hastily.  "I am just trying to say that someone who didn''t really care about our Jordan might have already moved on."


    There was a startling clatter as Mr. Fisher slammed down his utensils.  "Oh, enough of this!"  He looked straight at Irene, his thick brows furrowed.  "Irene.  Did Jordan ask you to marry him?" Mary looked mortified, but also had a look of hungry anticipation.  Irene looked back at Mr. Fisher, whose temple was pulsing as he ground his teeth.  "Well?"


    Irene''s stomach fluttered and her ears grew hot. "He mentioned it.  But we''re still in high school."


    "He''s fixated on the idea.  What did you do?  Tell him you''re pregnant?"


    "Jerry!" Mrs. Fisher scolded. "This is dinner, not an interrogation!"


    Mr. Fisher held up a hand to his wife.


    Irene stared at him, jaw hanging open in astonishment.  She was blindsided by how quickly Mr. Fisher jumped to that conclusion.  Had Jordan indicated their relationship had become that intimate?  She was at a loss whether to feel vexed or bemused towards her boyfriend, if that were indeed the case.  But there was no doubt how she felt towards his father at that moment.


    Irene firmly closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a taut line as she steeled her expression, locking her eyes with his. "No."


    Mr. Fisher waited, as if expecting her to elaborate.  But none came.  While still keeping eye contact, she ate another piece of ham to indicate to him he was not getting another word from her.


    "I don''t want my son throwing his life away."


    "Jerry!" Mary protested again in a higher pitch, this time being the one to slam her utensils down.  "That is uncalled for!"


    Irene looked at what remained on her plate, then stood up. She felt raw, and these cutting words were carving away at parts of her that were still healing.  She would not take any more.  No one was forcing her to be there; she wasn''t powerless this time.


    "I came here because I thought I was welcome."


    "Irene, you are..." Mrs. Fisher clasped her hands together.


    Irene held up her hand. "I don''t think I am."  Mrs. Fisher looked hurt, while Mr. Fisher just looked affronted.  Irene gave Mrs. Fisher a haphazard smile.  "All the same, thank you for the lovely meal."


    "Now look what you''ve done," Mary berated as Irene took her plate over to the counter.  Mr. Fisher crossed his arms and snorted. Mrs. Fisher turned to Irene again.  "I am sorry about all this.  Will you let me drive you home at least?"


    "Thank you, but no," Irene responded. It sounded as though the rain had let up.  She needed time alone to think.


    Mary frowned and then gave her husband another sharp glance.  He calmly resumed eating his dinner, sandy eyebrows raised. It was a scene Irene was eager to leave before it escalated further. Maybe one day they would be her in-laws, but until then, their disagreements were none of her business, even when she was the topic.


    <hr>


    Butterflies fluttered in Irene''s stomach as she walked home from the bus stop.  A sparsely lit road stretched ahead of her.  There wasn''t much traffic in this area; to Irene it appeared as daunting and impassable as the sea.  She regretted refusing the offer of a ride.


    Irene saw her driveway in the distance.  She was almost home.  As tired as she was, fear spurred her into a run.  All she could think of was racing into her house, locking the doors, and jumping under her covers where it was safe and warm.  The gravel on the narrow shoulder of the street crunched under her feet.


    Almost there!


    A barking dog caused her to falter, but she regained her step and sped up. Just a dozen more metres and she would be home.


    One moment she had a clear view, the next a silhouette barred her path.  Her feet slipped on the gravel as she tried to stop, but she ploughed face-first into someone.  Before she could step away and apologise, one of her arms was grabbed and she was roughly spun around.  Shock and pain blazed as her arm was twisted behind her back.  Irene opened her mouth to scream but an earthy taste and a leathery texture halted her attempt.


    Gripping her umbrella, Irene tried to jab it at her assailant over her shoulder.  Her hand shook with impact, but then she felt the umbrella moving.  The water had made her grip slippery, and the umbrella was easily wrest free.


    Irene whined through her nose and bit down hard on the cold leather obstructing her mouth.  In response she felt another leather clad hand clamping on the sides of her neck.  Vice-like, the grip pressed harder and harder and she felt as though her head was going to explode.  Dark spots formed in her vision, eclipsed in a sparkling glow.  Irene tried to make sense of what was happening, but everything faded rapidly.

 Chapter 9: Dungeon of Dead Ringers

    Groggy, aching, and disoriented, Irene finally regained consciousness. A hard, cold surface registered before her headache. What pressed against her skin was smoother than wood, rougher than metal. Cement?  Her shoulder ached, and the ground had wicked away all warmth from her body.


    These sensations reminded her of when she''d slept on the floor in her basement. Am I home? Irene sniffed the air hoping to smell laundry soap, but instead her olfactory senses were assaulted with metal, sweat, and something fruity but artificial. An involuntary groan escaped her lips.


    ¡°Oh¡­ she woke up," spoke a feminine voice. Reflexively, Irene turned towards the speaker and immediately winced as her neck burned. She corrected her movements to prioritise keeping her head still.


    In the sparsely lit room, Irene first saw a fellow teenager crouched beside her.  Her eyes were struggling to adjust; the girl was too close.  Watery eyes wandered beyond her in search of something easier to focus on.  Several feet away two other girls sat together.  One had her knees up, arms wrapped about them.  The other had one leg straight out, which she was rocking side to side.


    Irene rubbed her sludge-crusted eyes.  ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know,¡± the girl hugging her knees answered in a hushed voice.  She looked vaguely familiar.  Is she from school?


    ¡°Irene, right?¡± the individual closest to her asked.


    Irene strained her memory for where she knew this girl from, but her headache thwarted her attempts. ¡°Yes. Have we met?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, at a hockey game.  Keith introduced us.¡±


    The name Keith, one of Jordan''s friends, immediately gave Irene the context she needed.  A memory of someone at a hockey game tapping her on the shoulder, calling out a name that was not her own.  Shoot.  What was it?  Her name must be... "Tiffany?"


    "Tina, actually."


    "Right... I remember now.  Keith''s your step-brother, right?" Irene received a confirmation from Tina by way of a nod.


    "Are you two done gossiping?"


    In the current conditions it wasn''t easy to discern the features of her fellow captives, but Irene could see that the one who interrupted them rather rudely had a messy ponytail and a long face.


    ¡°I''m scared,¡± the other girl moaned. Unless it was a trick of the lighting, her braided hair was slightly fairer than the rest, strands fraying around her large ears.


    Tina sighed and curled her knees up to her chest. ¡°We''re all scared."


    "Um so... maybe we should introduce ourselves?  I''m Katie," the mousy one volunteered, and she then tilted her head to the surlier of the four.  "And that''s Ashley."


    Ashley folded her arms and slouched forward.


    Tina placed a hand to her chest and announced, "I''m Tina..." then placed a hand on Irene''s shoulder, "...and this is Irene."


    After saying their names, all four of the girls were silent. Irene looked around at the room they were in.  There was no window, and only a single door in or out.  A half burnt light hung crookedly above them, flickering.  Paved floors, no windows, and dank air led Irene to the conclusion they were in a basement somewhere.  She stood up and approached the door, trying to open it.


    "Don''t you think we already tried that?" Ashley scoffed. Irene sighed after twisting the knob a few more times.  The room was rectangular, and there wasn''t a lot of room to get a running start to try and break down the door.  Even if I had the space I feel too weak to try.  She shuffled away from the door and began pacing.  The unfurnished room contained only two buckets in a corner.


    ¡°Um¡­ where do you all live?¡± Katie asked.


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± Ashley snapped.


    ¡°I am just breaking the ice,¡± Katie murmured.  Ashley went quiet.  After a brief pause, Katie lifted her head. ¡°I live past the river¡­ on Guernsey street.  Wait, we''re all from Centreville, right?  I''m sure I''ve seen some of you around Lydia High."


    Irene frowned. ¡°Guernsey?  By the lake?¡± Irene squinted her eyes at the girls again.  Maybe they were a bit familiar.  "And, yes, I go to Lydia High."


    "I only started going to Lydia this year, I was at Centreville Secondary before," Tina explained.  "But I did recently move back in with my Dad over on Lindsay street."


    Ashley, who had been sitting with a sour expression, lifted her chin as her mouth hung open.  She looked around.  "I live on Main street, but I work part time at the Sleepy Hollow Motel."


    "Really?" Katie''s eyes widened.  "That''s not too far from either of us."  The three girls then looked at Irene.  "What about you?"


    "I live on Sleepy Hollow Road..." Irene admitted, her eyebrows furrowed as the wheels turned in her mind.  Lindsay and Guernsey are off of Sleepy Hollow.


    "So... we''re all here... because we were, what, in the same general area at the wrong time?"  Ashley got onto her feet and walked over to a wall, leaning against it.  She jerked forward and then craned her neck, trying to examine the back of her upper arm.  Nose wrinkled, she cast a scathing glare at the wall.  "It''s sticky."


    "I don''t even want to know why." Katie scooted closer to the middle of the room.


    Irene furrowed her eyebrows and looked at all the girls present.  "Could... could everyone please stand up?"


    "Why?"


    "I''m working on a theory," Irene answered.  Ashley was already standing and shrugged.  Katie and Tina got to their feet.  Irene gestured to them, "Stand in a line, please."


    "What are you thinking?" Katie asked as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Ashley and Tina on either side.  Irene then walked and stood beside Tina.


    "We''re all about the same height.  Brown hair..." Irene squinted at the door as she thought this over.


    "What, think we''re here because of some kind of fetish?" Ashley asked.  The other two girls gawked at her and Irene''s stomach felt tight.  Seeing everyone''s dismayed reactions, Ashley scoffed.  "Oh come on, what did you honestly think anyone would abduct four teenage girls for, if not for sex?  Unless one of you is rich, but I doubt it."


    Katie cleared her throat.  "The thought had crossed my mind but... I didn''t want to actually say it..."


    Irene shook her head.  She had her own theory, but as it pertained to vampires, she was going to keep it close to her vest.  "If we''re here for that, wouldn''t our health and hygiene be of greater concern?"


    Ashley burst out laughing, and Katie bit her lower lip, glancing at the pair of buckets in the corner.  Tina looked confused and perplexed, and Irene felt annoyed at the reaction to what she considered a reasonable supposition.


    "Not really..." Katie crossed her arms.  "Men aren''t picky.  We might be drugged and prostituted, or sold overseas.  We''ll get used up and thrown away like trash."


    Ashley raised an eyebrow.  "How do you know so much about it?  You''ve always been such a goodie-good."


    "My uncle is in the RCMP.  He''s always telling me horror stories like that to keep me out of trouble."  Katie looked down.  She wiped her eyes and sniffled.  "Fat lot of good that did."


    "Well I''m sure he''ll come looking for you."  Tina clapped a hand on Katie''s sagged shoulder.  "Let''s try and think positive."


    Irene preferred realism over optimism, but saying such wasn''t going to help anyone.  Ashley rolled her eyes, then caught Irene staring at her and squinted. Irene ignored her and began to walk around the edge of the room, inspecting the walls.  A few fuzzy patches suggested mold.  But the sticky spots were dark.  Blood perhaps.  Which meant they were not the first captives, and the fates of those who came before weren''t pretty.  Her mouth felt dry, but the lump in her throat had her trying to swallow what little moisture she could muster.


    "How long have you three been here?" Irene asked as she returned to the center of the room, where the girls sat in a circle.


    "Uh... I don''t know.  I don''t even remember how I got here," Katie answered first.


    Ahsley shrugged her shoulders.  "Maybe a few hours.  I don''t know.  Katie was already here when I got tossed in.  The brute who brought me here didn''t say much."


    "I didn''t see who got me.  I was coming home late from the movies.  Then someone''s hand was over my mouth and then my eyes.  Then I woke up here," Tina recalled.


    "You were the only one awake when brought in here?" Irene tilted her head towards Ashley, then cringed as pain shot through her neck again.


    "Sorta.  I was getting some fresh air while waiting for my aunt to give me a ride.  Then suddenly, ew, this rag was shoved over my mouth." Ashley scrunched up her face in disgust.  "My eyes stung and I felt really queasy.  I kinda fainted, but I was aware of being carried and then just dropped like a sack of potatoes on the hard floor."


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Hmm.  I was walking back from the bus stop and a man stepped out and grabbed me." Irene rubbed the back of her sore neck.  "I tried to get away, but he knocked me out."


    "Don''t know why it matters, though," Ashley grumbled.


    "It matters if some of you have been here for days or weeks," Irene said, trying to keep the crossness out of her voice.


    "No, I don''t think it''s been more than a day.  Maybe?" Katie looked around the sparse room.


    "Well I don''t know about Katie, but it''s definitely only been a few hours.  Tina got dropped in not long after me, and you were last, Irene."  Ashley dug into her pockets and took out some lip gloss, applying it nonchalantly to her lips. It smelled of watermelon.


    "Are you seriously worrying about your lips right now?" Tina stared incredulously at Ashley.


    Ashley shrugged.  "It makes me feel better.  Want some?" She held out the tube.


    Tine frowned. "No thank you."


    "Hey, I thought you were supposed to be Miss Sunshine.  Well, this is how I stay positive," Ashley retorted, kissing the air mockingly.


    "This is serious," Katie reminded everyone, as if they were unaware.


    "It is, so let''s try and keep cool until we know more," Irene butted in before Ashley could add more fuel to the fire.


    "Keep cool?  We''re locked in a room by God knows who for God knows what," Katie said, her voice growing louder.


    "Oh we know what for."  Ashley slipped off her scrunchy and ran a hand through her hair.  "But what difference does it make?"


    "You''re right, it doesn''t make much difference.  But we need to get out somehow," Irene rebounded, trying to keep the conversation from derailing.  She could see Tina and Katie fretting whenever Ashley brought up the likelihood they''d be forced into prostitution.


    "Yes, well, let me know when the mighty wise Irene has figured out a plan.  Or maybe Tina can just defeat the bad men with positive vibes." Ashley turned away from the girls, taking off her coat and bundling it up as a pillow.


    "Sure, leave us to do all the work..." Katie grumbled.


    "Let''s not fight," Tina chimed in.


    "We probably should take turns resting. We need to know how often they come back, and if there''s an opportunity for us to get away."  Irene took off her jacket as well, folding it up to sit upon.  The cold cement floor was making her butt ache.


    "See?  If we work together, we can get through this," Tina insisted.  The other two followed suit, removing outer layers to provide insulation against the ground.


    "Whatever."


    The girls had all settled to take turns remaining vigilant.  Irene frequently checked her watch to measure the passage of time.  The monotony led to her frequently getting lost in her own thoughts and worries.  Cyrus is gone.  Why was I taken?  This has to be connected to the vampires.  But why the other girls?


    Irene looked again at Tina. In a written description, she and Tina would be described the same.  They were both roughly 1.6 metres, with brown eyes and light brown hair. Tina''s hair was shoulder length, just long enough to tuck into a ponytail.  The shade of brown was similar enough that in the low lighting they looked the same.  She wasn''t overly pale or tanned, and her build was solid.  Tina was perhaps a bit thinner than Irene, but Irene could never get a tiny waist no matter how active she was, due to her short trunk.  Irene''s height was all in her legs, whereas Tina was more evenly proportioned. She remembered that she had been mistaken for Tina before.


    Irene looked at Ashley and Katie again.  Ashley was a bit curvier than Katie, Tina, or Irene, with wavier hair.  They all had long faces, but Ashley''s just seemed more prevalent due to a more pronounced chin.  Katie had noticeably large ears, not helped by her plaited tresses.  Her hair was a bit lighter, but not fair enough to be considered blonde.


    Does this mean I''m the reason these girls were taken? Irene rubbed her temples, glaring at the door.  Apparently she was mistaken in believing her troubles had ended the moment Cyrus left.


    Clack.  The door handle moved.


    Irene straightened up in surprise.  She reached over and shook the shoulder of Tina who was laying down beside her, trying to get some rest.


    "Wuh...?"


    "Shh.  Look!"


    The door swung open, light streaming in and outlining the silhouette of someone.  Irene expected to see Gabriel, but the figure was not tall enough.  He wasn''t quite as short as Cyrus, however.  Irene felt Tina move closer to her, but she didn''t dare look away, waiting for her eyes to adjust as the man closed the door behind him.


    "What do you want from us?" Katie asked, eyes wide and pleading.


    The man shrugged his broad shoulders.  He took out a notepad and wrote something down, squinting at the huddled group of girls.  He seemed disinterested in the lot of them, as if he were merely cataloguing inventory.  The girls all waited for an explanation, but received none.


    Irene noticed a satchel looped over his shoulder. He stuck his pen behind his ear and it quickly vanished in his mop of tight, orange curls. He then reached into the bag at his hip.  Irene edged away, expecting him to brandish a weapon. There was a crinkling noise and he produced some sort of packaged food item, a bar of some sort.


    "Whoever answers my questions gets to eat."


    Irene furrowed her eyebrows, glancing at the other girls'' faces.  Ashley looked interested in the food, but Tina and Katie turned slightly away.  She was sure they were hungry as well, but perhaps, like herself, did not trust any food their captor would offer.


    "What do you wanna know?" Ashley asked.


    "I''ll start easy.  What are your names?"


    "I''m Ashley Williams." The lack of hesitation was stunning.  Irene, Katie, and Tina were less eager to share their identities with their captor.  As promised, the man tossed Ashley her prize. She squinted at the package, flipping it over a few times, inspecting it closely.  "Protein bar?  Eh, food''s food."


    The curly-top man looked at the rest of the girls expectantly.  Seeing that Ashley was rewarded, Tina stood up. "My name is Tina."


    The man looked Tina over for a moment or two, then nodded and took out another protein bar and tossed it to her.  Tina caught it and put it into her pocket.  Ashley was already tearing hers open and taking a bite.


    "I''m... Kelly," Katie said after some hesitation.  "Kelly White." Irene gave her a side glance, and the other girls looked momentarily confused, but no one outed her lie.  The man tossed her a bar as well.


    "And you?"


    Irene resolutely remained silent.  If the worst that happened was she didn''t get fed, she wasn''t too concerned with refusing to cooperate.  The man snorted.  He shrugged, retrieved the pen from behind his ear, and wrote a few things down on his clipboard. "Your loss."


    The man turned to leave, but then paused.  "Oh right." He procured a bottle of water from the satchel.  "Share this.  Or don''t." The man caught Ashley''s eye before tossing it to her.  He then left.  Irene heard the click of a lock and footsteps fading away.


    "This tastes like chalk," Ashley remarked after swallowing her last bite.  She twisted the bottle cap off of the water and took a thirsty swig.  The other girls looked at her expectantly.  She paused and then sighed.  "Oh right.  Here." She passed Tina the water.


    "Are these that bad?" Tina looked down at the packaged ration in her hand before taking a sip of water.  She then passed the bottle to Katie.


    "You''ll have to see for yourself." Ashley shrugged.


    "I think I''ll wait.  My stomach doesn''t feel great," Tina muttered.


    Katie took a swig of the water and passed the bottle to Irene.  Less than a quarter of it was left.  She sniffed the water tentatively then swirled it around while holding it up to the meagre light.  She didn''t trust it either and set the water down beside her.


    Tina shuffled over to Irene.  "Why didn''t you give him a name?  You could have lied, like Katie did.  I wish I''d have thought of that..."


    Irene tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and brought her knees up high, hugging them.  "I couldn''t think of a name..."  The only name that came to her was Monica.  She did not want to sully it. "Besides, even if I was given food, I wouldn''t trust it."  Irene tilted her head towards Ashley, and whispered, "Let''s just wait and see if Ashley gets sick."


    "My thoughts exactly," Katie whispered back, eyeing Ashley.  "Though I suppose the water also could have been drugged..."


    "That''s... I hope not." Tina looked nervously towards Ashley, and then at the remaining water in the bottle.  "But I think I''d rather get a little sick than go thirsty."


    "Missing a meal won''t kill me." Irene tried to curl up as tight as she could to preserve her own body heat.  Tina sat close beside her, their arms touching.  Normally Irene would move away, preferring to have her own space, but at the moment huddling close was safer.


    "Well I haven''t fallen over frothing at the mouth yet," Ashley concluded after she had paced in silence.  "Chances are he wants more than our names. When he comes back, I say we rush the bastard. There''s four of us, and only one of him."


    Tina clapped her hands together.  "Yes!  One girl on each arm and someone to go for the legs, and a fourth to clock him!" Tina pantomimed a couple jabs then finished with a hook.


    Katie scrunched up her face.  "If he sees us coming he could take one of us hostage."


    "A hostage might give him a false sense of security." Irene lifted her head and looked at the door.  "But I doubt any one of us would be willing to risk getting killed for the rest of us to go free.  I know I wouldn''t." Doing the right thing led her into this mess in the first place.  She was loath to put herself at risk for mere acquaintances.


    Tina put a hand on Irene''s shoulder.  "I don''t think it should come to that, if we work together.  But maybe a direct attack isn''t the best.  Could one of us fake an illness?"


    "Oh hey, looks like you got a few thoughts in there after all, Shiny," Ashley pointed to Tina, cracking a broad grin. Her eyes then narrowed as half of her smile fell off, the rest remaining in a mocking smirk.  "Too bad it''s a garbage idea.  I mean, it''s so obvious.  Don''t you think he''s seen the same movies where the heroes pull that?  We need to do something unexpected."


    Tina''s mouth opened and closed a few times like a bewildered trout.  Irene glowered at Ashley, but didn''t defend Tina. The denigrated girl finally found her voice after clearing her throat noisily.  "Okay, unexpected.  Like what?"


    "Well, I could try to charm him."  Ashley put her hands on her hips.


    "I don''t think that''s a good idea," Katie responded. Irene nodded in agreement.


    "Well, do either of you have a better idea?"


    Irene stared back at the door, letting out a long sigh.  She did not wish to bring any of them harm through reckless actions, otherwise she''d tell Ashley to offer to let him bite her..


    "Any idea is better than that!"


    "Oh yeah?"


    Katie cleared her throat.  "If we''re here for... what you said we are, then I doubt they''ll be easily distracted by a little flirting.  That''d be like... like... I don''t know..."


    "Trying to bargain with a teacher by actually doing your homework?" Tina offered helpfully.


    "Uh... sure," Katie raised an eyebrow at Tina.  "Point is, you suggested we do something unexpected.  That''s just as predictable as the faking sick."


    "At least I''m trying here, rather than sitting around twiddling my thumbs!"


    "Hey! We''re also trying to come up with a plan!  Your plan just sucks!"


    Ashley made a rude sound and the conversation derailed into an exchange of insults, but by then Irene''s thoughts had taken center stage. Fighting with her peers would be a waste of energy, and such analysis of the situation was the better course of action.  There were four teenage girls, who all seemed to have fairly average builds.  Irene was active, but she was unsure as to the other girls.  Any escape plan oughtn''t rely on physical prowess to succeed.  Despite a lack of evidence, she still strongly believed vampires were responsible, but she entertained that Ashley''s theory may be correct.  Either way, she dreaded her fate, and needed to think how to either get out of the situation, or best prepare herself for whatever came.


    Irene''s stomach growled and she began to doubt whether it was wise to refuse to eat, or merely stubbornness.  Pride wouldn''t do much to ameliorate an empty stomach.  She put her hand to her belly and glanced at the girls as their words got sharper, and body language more hostile.


    "...That''s it!" Irene blurted out.  They all stopped and stared, or in Ashley''s case glared, at her.  "I might have a plan."

 Chapter 10: Chaos and Chowder

    "Mmm.  Okay, Katie, tagging in..." Tina yawned and tapped Katie on the shoulder.  In response, she stretched and roared out a yawn of her own.  Irene set an alarm on her watch, nodding to both of the girls as they switched posts.


    "Did you get any sleep at all?" Irene put her arm out.  Tina sat down beside her, and they huddled close. She felt no particular affection for the other girl, but it was cold, and a warm body was welcome.


    "Not much," Tina admitted.  She glanced at Irene shyly a few times, trying to find somewhere to put her arm that still respected boundaries, but still facilitated the sharing of body heat.


    "Well... that''s to be expected," Irene muttered, holding her body tense.  She was trying very hard to focus on the practicalities of the situation, and not on the discomfort of having a near stranger so close.  She turned her attention to Ashley who was pacing and rubbing her arms constantly, trying to keep warm by other means.


    "I, uh, never got a chance to say I''m sorry about Jordan.  Keith told me that he''s been in and out of the hospital.  The team really miss him."


    Irene shrugged her shoulders.  "Thanks."  She let out a long yawn; a somewhat delayed reaction. "You and Keith seem to get along."


    "Yeah..." Tina glanced away.  "He''s a dumb-dumb most of the time, spending too much time chasing girls."  Tina smiled wryly.  "But he can be sweet in his own way."


    Irene raised an eyebrow at Tina.  "That sounds like Keith." She looked back at Ashley who had sighed noisily.  She was staring at them, but upon seeing Irene look her way, she quickly turned and walked to the other end of the room.


    "I heard you and Jordan went on a double date with him and one of his flavours of the week.  Apparently, she got even more competitive than he did at paintball and it wasn''t pretty."


    "It wasn''t."  Irene remembered the date well.  None of them were at their best behaviour that day.  She was annoyed that Keith and his date tagged along.  But Jordan insisted it would be fun.  They never tried a group date after that, much to Irene''s relief.


    "Keith was so embarrassed that he got hosed down by a pair of girls, with one of his teammates there to witness."  Tina looked at Irene, then followed her gaze to Ashley, her voice lowering to a whisper.  "Keith went out with Ashley once, too... but she dumped him for a college student."


    Irene frowned.  She really did not care for this gossip, but it might just be what Tina needed to pass the time. "I wondered why Ashley was so hostile to you."


    "I stayed well out of it.  So I don''t know what her problem with me is." Tina frowned and quickly looked away when Ashley turned towards them.


    "Association, maybe," Irene whispered and then looked towards the door.  She cleared her throat, speaking at a normal volume again.  "You mentioned that you moved in with your father over the summer.".


    "Oh..." Tina''s lower lip pouted for a moment, but then she wore a weary smile.  "Well, I got into a fight with my mother.  Sort of.  Well.  Keith''s Dad was snooping in my room.  Which is not cool.  And he found some weed I had.  I know it''s not entirely legal... I just get high with my friends once in a while for fun, you know?  Nothing harmful. I mean some of my friends rave about E, but that''s not for me."


    Maybe not harmful but not harmless either. Irene curled in her lips, opting not to say anything.


    "Anyway, Mom took his side over mine; he should not have been in my room in the first place.  So.  I packed up and moved in with my Dad until things cooled over.  It was only supposed to be for the summer, but then September rolled around and I just stayed. I mean, I''ve more or less patched things up with Mom.  We''re cool.  But I think the only way for us to stay cool is to not live together." Tina shrugged.


    Irene tilted her head, reflecting on Tina''s response.  "That''s... surprisingly mature."  She still had a lot of bitter feelings towards her own mother.


    "Surprisingly?"


    "I mean, for a teen."


    "You''re a teen too, Irene.  Or did you forget that?" Tina asked playfully.


    Irene tensed and she removed her arm from Tina''s shoulders.  Tina blinked a few times, and did likewise.  Instead both girls hugged their knees sitting side by side. "No, I never can forget it," Irene muttered gravely.  She held the conviction that if she were legally an adult she would not be in this current mess.  She would have had the autonomy, confidence, and resources to have dealt with the situation differently from the start.


    "Hush! I hear footsteps!" Ashley hissed, suddenly turning to them.


    "Positions!" Irene called out.  Tina shook Katie awake while Ashley and Irene moved to either side of the door. Irene held her breath as the footsteps paused just outside.


    "This better work, Irene," Ashley whispered as they waited, listening to the door unlock.  There was a pause, but the door did not swing open immediately. Irene and Ashley exchanged glances, then looked at the door handle.  Katie and Tina bulked up the pile of coats to try and make it appear like at least one of them was curled up on the floor under them.


    "I can''t... I can''t get it to look right!" Katie panicked as the pile topped over into a flat, unconvincing mess.


    "Oh!  Let me handle it!" Ashley said, marching over.


    "Hold your position!" Irene hissed, remaining on the far side of the door.  Ashley flashed Irene a middle finger and then shoved Katie aside, hastily trying to make a convincing dummy.  Tina placed a hand on Katie''s shoulder.


    "Why hasn''t he come through?"


    "Hurry!" Katie urged Ashley.


    "I''m doing my best!" Ashley snapped back.


    "You''re doing worse than I was!  Just get back to your job and let me do mine!" Katie placed her hands on Ashley''s shoulders to try and guide her away.  Ashley slapped her hand.


    "Back off!"


    "Please, don''t fight!" Tina pleaded.  Irene cupped her ear to the wall, hearing a snicker on the other side.  She smiled.


    Before the man even had time to enter, Ashley screamed in frustration.  She turned on Katie and pulled her down, hands poised to claw at her.  Katie stumbled to her knees, landing amid the clutter.  She turned and slapped Ashley with a shriek of her own.  Meanwhile the man stepped in, thumbs tucked into his belt loops as he shook his head at the two girls fighting.


    "That''s enough now." The man projected his voice without shouting, causing the two girls to freeze and look at him.


    "She started it!" both of the girls insisted, pointing at the other.


    The man snorted.  The door didn''t quite click close, and Irene held her breath and kept her body flat against the wall as she shuffled towards the exit.


    "Liar!" Ashley screeched, grabbing Katie by the hair.


    "I said that''s enough!" The man''s voice took on a sharper edge as he stepped towards the girls.  Irene glanced over to Tina and nodded.  Ashley and Katie, upon being grabbed and forced apart both squirmed to get a hold of one arm each.  Tina lunged at the man''s legs.  Irene was supposed to jump on his back. But the possibility of escape enticed her - the idea was to get the man''s keys from him, and escape together.  The fact that he failed to lock the door behind him was not considered.


    No.  Stick to the plan.


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    Irene pushed off from the wall to give herself a faster start.  In the second it took to come up behind him, she saw the man lifting both Katie and Ashley off the ground.  Irene didn''t have time to change direction.  She tucked her head to one side and drove her shoulder into the man''s back.


    If this were a mere mortal, with Tina holding his legs, he should have fallen.  Instead Irene felt a crunch in her shoulder as she ploughed into him, and though he did pitch forward, he didn''t stumble.  But that kinetic energy needed to do something, and so Irene found herself thrown back, landing on the hard pavement.


    Katie''s feet dangled.  Ashley''s eyes grew wide moments before he tossed her down onto the unforgiving ground.  Despite shrill screaming, the crunch of her bones was audible.  Irene stared at her, dumbstruck.  She heard the other girls screaming, or talking, but all she could see was Ashley lying on her back dazed.  Flickering, her mind superimposed the memory of Jordan lying on the ice, red on white, eyes wide and unfocused.  Irene shook her head to try and banish the vision.


    "Nice try."


    The voice brought Irene back into the present.  Tina  crouched in a corner, holding Katie who had a bleeding nose.  Ashley wasn''t breathing, but her lips were moving, the muscles in her neck straining.


    The man stood over the winded girl, one hand perched on his hip, the other toying with the zipper tab of his fly.  Irene struggled to her feet, her knees shaking. Just as the impulse to strike at him again arrived, he turned towards her.  Her wide eyes fixed on his impassive, bored expression.  He lifted his chin, nostrils flaring as his mouth twisted in contempt.


    "Pathetic.  Not worth my time..."


    Irene''s wide eyes narrowed and she tilted her chin down, a disgusted snarl poised on her lips.  Scathing words were at the tip of her tongue, but she looked at the battered and frightened girls, and kept quiet.  Instead she moved to Ashley''s side, crouched beside her protectively, watching the red-head closely.  She heard Ashley finally gasp for air, her back arching.


    The man stepped back towards Ashley, and Irene stood up, putting herself between him and the downed prisoner.


    "You stupid girls..." he said, his hand going into the satchel.  He took out a bottle of water, twisted the top, and then splashed Irene with it.  She gasped at the cold shock, but remained where she was.  He then poured out the rest of the contents, getting their sleeping pile wet.  "If you hadn''t been so disobedient..."  Irene''s knees grew weak again as she realised just how parched she was.


    "What would you do... if you were in our position?" Irene looked up at the man.  He met her cold stare with his dark brown eyes.


    "I''d win." The man tossed the empty bottle down.  "Wise up; next time I won''t be so nice."


    Irene watched the man leave.  As the clicking of the lock resounded through the room, she fell to the ground beside Ashley, who was coughing.


    "I''m sorry, everyone."  Irene wiped her eyes and sighed before helping Ashley roll over into a recovery position.  She could feel the blaming glares on her, but no one spoke a word.  They didn''t need to. Irene''s exhausted brain used what little reserves remained to rake her plan over the coals. A quiet yet wry chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head, staring at the door.  At least now I know I''m right.  We''re up against vampires.  So the shame of a badly executed plan won''t last long.  I''ll be dead soon. Irene sighed.


    Nerves were frayed and bodies were sore after their failed escape attempt.  Katie folded in on herself, assuring that the best action was to have faith that her Uncle would come save them.  Tina bought into this, holding out for help to arrive.  Ashley split her time between blaming Irene and trying to find another way out, to no avail.  Irene kept to herself, despite Tina''s attempts to convince her she did her best.


    Irene sat near the door, on constant guard.  During one of her vigils she heard a grinding, rolling noise.  Soon, voices joined the din.  She strained to make sense of the sounds, but could not identify it.  The door swung open, and the red-haired vampire stepped in.  And then he stepped in again.


    The girls looked up and blinked, Katie going so far as to rub her eyes.  There were now two of him.  Although on closer inspection, one of the two men was a bit leaner.  Nonetheless, they had identical faces.


    "Against the wall!"


    All girls complied.  The leaner twin stepped out into the hall.  The noise started up again and Irene realised it was the sound of something on wheels.  In he came, rolling a trolley with four large mugs on it. The man who remained got out his clipboard.


    "Ashley.  Come."  Ashley gave the man a most heinous stink eye, but complied.  He passed her a steaming mug.  She sniffed it and screwed up her face.  But she walked back to the wall when she was bidden to do so.


    "Okay, Tina, you''re next," the other man said, peering over his double''s shoulder at the clipboard.


    "Ffft.  Keep to your job, Flynn," the stouter of the two men hissed.  Tina cautiously approached and was handed a mug.  "Drink up. Or else."  Tina balked and then took a sip.  Her eyebrows rose in surprise.


    "Thank you..." she muttered and slunk back to the far wall.


    "See?  They can be taught manners if you know how to deal with them." The two men laughed.  "Oh, right, ahem, Kelly."


    Katie didn''t respond right away.  Irene gave her a nudge and she perked up.  "Oh yes, that''s me..." she whispered and approached to receive her mug. She blew on it before slurping noisily as she walked back to stand by Irene.


    "And you!" The one with the clipboard pointed at Irene. "Have you decided to share your name yet?"


    Irene shook her head.


    "Ah.  Too bad then.  Come on, Flynn, let''s go."


    Irene could smell the aroma of soup and her stomach grumbled.  She sighed.  "Fine.  My name is... Mina Stoker."


    The two men turned and looked at Irene.  They looked at each other, then back to Irene.  One of them laughed, but the other picked up the mug.  "Alright, Mina.  Have your chowder."


    Irene approached warily.  Once the mug was in her hand, she stepped back quickly, not wanting to be within reach of either man longer than necessary.  The warm mug felt wonderful in her cold hands. She sniffed it, savoured the aroma, and finally took a sip.  Clam chowder.  It wasn''t the canned variety either.  The chunks of clam were large and plentiful, although the tomato base was a bit watery. But it was warm, and it was food.


    Both of the men watched the girls closely, waiting for them to finish.  Irene wondered if the mugs were drugged, but she was beginning to care less.  Perhaps having a foggy mind wouldn''t be so bad.  It would stop her from worrying for just a moment.


    No.  Don''t think like that.  You need to be alert.


    "I love clam chowder..." Katie whispered quietly. "...but this is less chowder and more clam with a bit of tomato juice."


    "It''s not bad," Tina whispered back.  "But I wouldn''t criticise the food with them still in the room."


    Katie shrugged.  "No it''s not bad."


    "Ugh... I hate clams..." Ashley griped even as she slurped down another mouthful.  She was finished first, presumably to get it over with.  She walked over and put the empty mug on the trolley.  Irene stared at her, surprised she would approach the men with such a cavalier attitude.  They didn''t seem to mind, watching her with raised eyebrows.  One of them looked into the mug then wrote something down.


    "Come on, hurry up and finish, the rest of you.  You''re going to need your energy for tonight."


    Tina gulped down what remained in her mug, nearly choking.  Katie patted her back until she managed to breathe again.  The men watched both of them warily.  Once Tina finished coughing, she held out her mug.  Katie took it and hers to put on the tray.  Again, something was written on the clipboard.  Irene watched all of this with suspicion.


    "Awful..." Ashley muttered.  "I swore I''d never eat another clam after my mother used to force feed them to me.  Who cares if they''re good for anemia?  Disgusting..."


    "Wait... clams are high in iron?" Irene had a sinking feeling.


    "Well, yeah!" Ashley scoffed, as if it were common knowledge.


    "So... what happens tonight?" Katie asked.  The other girls glared at her for asking.  Irene, for one, doubted they''d be honest.  As for the others, she supposed they didn''t want to know.


    "That''s when the boss arrives.  You''d better be on your best behaviour," the one often referred to as Flynn said with a wink.


    The girls all looked at each other.  Ashley then stepped forward again.  "Boss? Who''s that?"


    "You''ll find out," the other man drawled dismissively.  He then pointed at Irene who had been chewing on a particularly large morsel.  "Hurry up, or we''ll force the rest down your throat."


    Irene quickly finished the rest of the lackluster clam chowder and set the mug on the trolley.  The last note was made, and Flynn rolled the cart out, while the other man stayed behind to watch the girls. Once they had both left, Irene sighed and crouched down.


    "We''re running out of time.  If only the plan had worked..." Tina lamented.


    "We probably would have just ran into Evil Carrot Top''s double," Ashley groused.


    "There''s probably more than just the two of them," Irene murmured.


    "Damn it.  We are so screwed."


    Everyone glared at Ashley.

 Chapter 11: Torn and Bound

    When the door opened again, all of the girls froze and watched with anticipation.  Irene''s heart was pounding, filling her ears with the rush of blood as a man stepped in.  She had expected to see one of the red-heads, or Gabriel whom she suspected to be behind all of this.  It was neither.


    Standing in the doorway was a finely dressed man of average height and build, with brown hair that hung down to his shoulder in loose curls. "Ah mesdemoiselles! Queue up and follow moi." An icy needle wove discord in Irene''s stomach.  She recognised his voice.  It was one of the men who had attacked Cyrus.


    The girls all looked at each other, hesitating to move.  The man clapped his hands three times while stomping his foot.  "Vite vite vite!"


    This startled the girls and they shuffled around, brushing against each other and nearly stepping on each other''s toes.  No one wanted to be first.  Irene sighed and took the lead, and the other girls followed. Shuffling forward, each step more difficult than the last, she stepped through a narrow corridor with the other captives hobbling behind her.


    Another door was opened in front of them. The first thing that impressed upon Irene was red.  It was all just too red.  From the patterned red wallpaper along the far wall, to the red lanterns that hung from hooks in the ceiling, making the pale cement floor take on a rosy hue.  The next thing to attract Irene''s attention, and stop her in her tracks, were the bars that cut through the center of the room.


    "Entre! In you go."


    Tina, who had taken up the rear, took one look at the cage-like room, and promptly ran in the other direction.


    "Tina!  Don''t!" Irene yelled.


    Within the blink of an eye, the man had caught her and lifted her off her feet.  The other girls didn''t dare move.  It didn''t stop Tina from kicking and flailing the whole way until she was tossed into the cell.  The man cleared his throat and gestured again into the room, his tone acrid and insincere.  "Je vous en prie."


    Irene and the others filed in.  They all stood in a line as the man closed and locked the door behind them.


    Moments later there was a loud bang, and a flash of light.  Irene raised her hand, eyes squinting from the visual shock as floodlights basked all of them.  She heard some whimpers and grumbles from the other girls as they, too, shielded and rubbed their eyes. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw a door on the other side of the bars swing open.


    A man with short, slicked back sandy hair stepped in.  Irene trembled as he leered at the lot of them, grinning.


    ¡°Come in, sire,¡± the man called.  Through that same door entered a familiar figure. Irene''s eyes narrowed as she recognised that overbearing swagger and shining blonde locks.


    Gabriel.  She quickly averted her gaze, staring at the floor and trying to look less conspicuous.


    ¡°Are any of these fine ladies the girl you were looking for?¡±


    Gabriel took his time examining each and every quivering girl.  Finally he gave a nod.


    ¡°The one on the far right."  His cold gaze rested on Irene.


    "Very good, sire." The slighter man bowed.


    Immediately, he entered the cell.  The other girls looked alarmed, but just shuffled away from him as he strode over to Irene. She backed away, but he clicked his tongue at her disapprovingly, snatching her arm. In vain she dug her heels into the ground, but it made no difference.  She felt as though her arm may come out of her sockets if she resisted any harder. Frantically, she looked at the other girls, desperate for help.  They looked horrified, but none of them had an ounce of defiance left in them.  Perhaps, and it may have been Irene''s imagination, but she thought she saw relief on Ashley''s face.


    ¡°Got her,¡± the sandy-haired man said, dragging Irene through the steel cage door.


    Gabriel nodded, putting out his hand to seize Irene''s chin. ¡°Yes, good work Guy.  This is the one who was with Cyrus.¡± Gabriel flashed a twisted grin.  Whispers, like rustling leaves, erupted behind her. ¡°Take the shift off, tell Louis to fill in for you.¡± He took Irene by the arm and turned to leave.


    ¡°But sire¡­¡±


    Gabriel waved his hand in a dismissive motion at Guy. ¡°Fine, fine, have it your way." Impatience was clear in his tone. "But only one.  We have to be careful with the local supply."


    Irene heard the barred door creak open as she was being led away. She shuffled into the hallway, again trying to drag her heels.  Shivers racked her spine while screams echoed behind her. Shuddering, sickness and disgust oozed into her heart. She heard one of them scream out Ashley''s name and another screeching a demand to be let go.  Images of what their fates may be flooded into her mind.


    Irene was dragged into a room with a receded cement floor, a drain sitting like a dimple on the spattered ground.  The cement had dark stains and a fetid yet metallic smell filled her nostrils. She instantly felt sicker.


    Without a word or warning, Gabriel grabbed her around the waist and lifted.  She tried again to fight, jabbing her elbows at him and trying to kick, but it made no impact. She didn¡¯t stop struggling until she was forced to prostrate herself on the ground. It took Gabriel little time to bind her arms behind her back. Once she was securely restrained he walked over to a small table.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t any point in wasting your energy, girl.¡± Gabriel turned around with a knife in his hand, twirling it effortlessly between his gloved fingers. Terror filled her chest as he approached.


    ¡°Get away from me!¡± Irene commanded in a deep, but shaky voice. Gabriel grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her upright.  She scrambled back into a sitting position, and the tall vampire crouched beside her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you just what you¡¯ve allied yourself with,¡± he sneered. His breath reeked of decay. Irene tried to pull back, but could not. With nowhere to flee, she firmly banished fear from her face and stared straight into Gabriel''s ghastly pale eyes.


    ¡°What I allied myself with?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Gabriel pulled again at the collar of her shirt, slipping it down, exposing her shoulder. His eyes ran all over her form, searching. He pulled the collar the other way, scanning her neck and shoulders. Irene went still, breathing shallow, but rapid breaths. His eyebrows drew together, looking perplexed. Muttering preceded a rough hand snatching Irene''s chin.  He stared intently at her for a while, before his gaze shifted, seemingly lost in thought.


    ¡°Do you know what that man you were with is?¡± Gabriel asked, as he stood up, pulling her to her feet. It took her a moment to find her balance, arms bound as they were.


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    ¡°You¡­ you mean Cyrus?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that pathetic, greasy weasel,¡± Gabriel spat the words disdainfully.


    Irene drew in a slower breath to calm herself.  ¡°A... vampire?"


    Gabriel leaned down, so that their noses were almost touching. She did her best to stare back without going cross-eyed. It was a futile endeavour, as his putrid breath caused her eyes to water, forcing her to blink.


    ¡°Good.  You passed the first test.  I would have known if you were lying.  But... how much do you know?¡±


    ¡°About what? What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Answer my question."


    Terrified as she was, Irene falsified cold confidence as she relaxed her eyelids, letting them droop. ¡°As you said, he''s a greasy weasel.  I don''t care to know anything else."


    "Has he fed from you?"


    "...Once." At least, once was all she remembered.


    "Hmm.  Once," Gabriel''s eyes narrowed.  The answer did not seem to please him. "Has he made any promises or bargains with you?"


    "I wouldn''t believe any promise he''d make."


    Gabriel raised his eyebrows and snorted, again invading her olfactory senses.  Irene wondered why he smelled so terrible.  Cyrus didn''t smell like this. She couldn''t attach any particular smell to him.


    "I don''t know what you want.  If it''s Cyrus, I can''t help you.  I haven''t seen him in days." Irene saw just a slight smirk surface upon Gabriel''s lips.  What''s there to smile about?  Agitation flared up and Irene felt her cool melting into a muddle on the floor. "I don''t know anything.  Let me go; I promise I won''t say anything about any of this."


    Gabriel grabbed the knife again.  Irene¡¯s eyes went to it, then back up to him.  He poked his finger gently with the sharp tip. ¡°Something isn''t adding up.  But if you know nothing, you''re useless." He glanced over his shoulder then peered back at his captive.  "Well you may have one more use."


    Gabriel slashed at her with the knife, cutting her just under the clavicle.  She tried to scream, but the pain was so intense that her throat constricted.  Instead a squeak was all she produced. She remained with the full scream trapped in her lungs, until the air released in a long, raspy breath.


    Gabriel cleaned the blood off of the knife and headed for the door. Irene stared in disbelief and shock as all other sensations fled, leaving only hot pain and cold sweat. Her heart pumped furiously, and with each beat, her shirt became more saturated.  She bit her lip and fell to her knees.


    Irene wasn¡¯t sure how long the pain throbbed in her before she heard the click of a door opening.  No.  The echo.  Two doors.  Her eyes shot open and she peered in desperation at a man who lay crumpled on the floor.  He looked malnourished and scrawny, but despite being nearly skin and bone, he still had a strange amount of muscle definition on his bare back. Red streaks contrasted brightly across his china white skin, interspersed with red splotches and burn blisters. His pants were torn and tattered, and his bare feet had nails jutting out from them.


    He wasn''t alone.  From another door a second figure was tossed in, rolling like a ragdoll until he came to stop.  He looked even more emaciated than the first man, but had fewer wounds. He curled up tight and then rolled onto his hands and knees, retching and heaving like a cat about to expel a hairball.


    The man with the nails in his feet groaned and groggily lifted his head.  Irene gasped.  Although gaunt, she could tell it was Cyrus.  He was in worse shape than he had been in when she had first encountered him.  He looked like he¡¯d been starved for months¡­ but he couldn¡¯t have been in this god-forsaken place for that long! At that moment she knew she had been hurled into the shark tank.


    Cyrus stared at her long and hard, his face seeming contorted and wild.  He struggled onto his perforated feet and shambled towards her, his eyes fixed on her cut.


    Irene felt panic strike her, and she began backing up, until her hands felt the wall.  She slid back down, trying to make herself as small as possible. Movement in her peripheral vision caused her to seize and shut her eyes in fear.  There was a pattering noise, followed by a thunk and an inhuman snarl.


    Irene''s eyes peeked open as she saw the two men rolling on the ground, fangs bared like rabid wolves.  The taller man had a choke hold on Cyrus, who was reaching in vain to try and claw at his assailant''s face.  Due to this smaller stature, he could not quite reach.  It was almost sad to watch him try.


    But Irene could not watch.  Her eyes looked at one door, and then the other.  They both looked heavy.  But she didn''t have time to worry about whether it could keep her in.  She needed to try.  She ran for the closest door and desperately tried to pull her wrists free from their bonds.  She strained and rubbed and squirmed but made no progress.  Shifting tasks, she attempted to kick the door handle, but that just unbalanced her. She fell hard on her backside yet again. Still lying on her back, she began kicking the door in desperation.


    Irene flipped herself over, considering trying to make it to the other door.  But it was likely just as unassailable.  A scream caused her to shut her eyes again and cringe.  No.  She needed to be alert.  She searched for somewhere to hide.


    There was a table in one corner, but otherwise it was a fairly empty room.  Irene looked up, to see if perhaps there was a vent.  Signs of ventilation were evident, but the grates were much too small for her to fit, and too high to reach.  While searching the ceiling, she noticed a camera perched in one corner.  Irene glared directly at it, mouthing words she was normally too well-behaved to say.


    Irene ducked as something went sailing past her head.  There was a wet, slapping noise and then something red and lumpy plopped down at her feet.  Sour bile burned her throat and coasted the back of her mouth.  She barely managed to keep it down.  She had no idea what she was staring at, but her best guess was some sort of organ.  She didn''t really want to see where it came from, but despite her better judgment, she looked over to the two brawling vampires.


    To her surprise, Cyrus had somehow got the upper hand on the other blood sucker. He was on the ground, prone and eviscerated.  Cyrus had one foot on the man''s throat, and was leaning down, yanking entrails out of the other man''s gut as he howled and gurgled in pain and outrage.  Irene quickly looked away again.  She could not witness any more of this brutality.


    Irene hobbled over to the table, crouching down and awkwardly shuffling beneath it.  She shut her eyes tight, the stinging in her breast reminding her of her own peril.  Hiding would do no good.


    How did it come to this?  I should never have helped Cyrus.  I should never have gone out late at night.  I should have just stayed home, hidden away.  I''m going to be eaten alive!  What kind of sick cosmic joke is this?


    Irene''s blood roared in her ears, as dismay surged across her synapses.  It took her a while to realise the screaming and snarling had ceased.  She blinked her tear-crusted eyes, then slowly turned to peer out from under the table.


    Irene screamed.  Covered in blood, Cyrus was standing right there, staring at her.


    ¡°Cyrus," Irene peeped his name, pleadingly.


    Cyrus crouched down, peering under the table, a vacant expression in his dark eyes.  There was none of that smug superiority.  There wasn''t even an oily leer.  Just starved desperation.  He licked his lips and reached for her.


    ¡°CYRUS!¡± Irene screamed.  The loud sound made him shrink back, startled. His head jerked up and he gazed at her face blankly. She stared at him intensely, trying to force him to keep eye contact with her.


    A memory of Merle''s old guard dog summoned itself.  How that Rottweiler would bark its head off whenever she approached.  Usually if she gave it an authoritative look, it stopped dead in its tracks and stared back.  The moment she looked away, it would pull against its chain and growl. Thus Irene continued to captivate Cyrus with the very same expression.


    For a while everything devolved into a staring contest.  However, his eyes slowly drifted back to the blood on her shirt.  He craved it. He needed it. All of this was evident in his wild eyes.


    ¡°Cyrus,¡± she repeated loudly.  ¡°Cyrus, wake up!¡± she urged frantically. ¡°Cyrus¡­ it''s me, Irene!  Peaches!¡±


    Mad eyes looked up at her, and for the tiniest moment, Irene thought she saw a hint of cognizance, maybe even fear, in his eyes.  But they glazed over and his focus returned to her wound.


    He lunged.


    Rip.  Crash.


    Irene shut her eyes at the sound of fabric tearing and the clatter of the table being knocked over. Lips pressed around her cut, her shirt in tatters.  She could not come to terms with all of the thoughts and feelings whirling around her.  First came the disgust and horror.  Then there was a sharp sting caused by suction and further gnawing of teeth at her wound.  Soon the pain was all-encompassing; she didn''t just feel it on her chest but around her whole body. Following this was a sedating sensation and she could almost hear music somewhere in the distance, but it was a superficial tranquility over an ocean of terror.


    Irene''s entire body relaxed.


    No.


    Her whole body stopped.

 Chapter 12: Tainted Blood

    Irene sat bolt-upright in her bed; the room spun. She fell back onto her pillows and waited out the dizziness. It was a great strain to read the green numbers on her alarm clock, which danced in odd spirals. Irene squinted and tried to remember what significance the alarm clock held. All she could think of was the sense of danger. Surely, no significance. She was dead after all.


    Wait. Irene squinted again at the alarm clock, staring hard at the numbers. 3:06 am. If she was looking, she couldn''t be dead. Irene continued breathing hard. If she was breathing, she was still alive. But how? No. Everything was as it should be. She was in her room, safe.


    What a nightmare.


    Irene closed her eyes, but then the image of Gabriel holding a knife flooded back in. She could hear a chorus of girls screaming. Irene rolled onto her side, covering her ears. "It was just a dream... it was just a dream..." Irene moaned and wasn''t sure if she was saying those words, or if someone else was beside her, telling her that. It was reassuring to think it wasn''t real.


    Irene''s mind drifted to the stressful and awkward dinner she had shared with the Fishers. But as she replayed the evening, her recollection became fuzzy. When did I get home? Did I go straight to bed? Nausea struck before the image of Cyrus, emaciated and brutalised, flickered in her mind like a stop-motion animation. It shuffled with the memory of running down the street, and fighting with an unknown assailant near her home. Where does the memory end and the nightmare begin? Unless...


    Irene sat up again and looked down at herself. Her pyjamas were mismatched, and buttoned up crookedly. Sticky sweat covered her, and her scalp itched. She scratched her head, fingers swimming through greasy hair. Her mouth was dry, and she became aware of a grungy, stale taste. Her hands itched. Everything itched. Even the air around her was itchy. She didn''t have enough hands to scratch everywhere. Irene clawed at the air ineffectually.


    Vague fear and anxiety floated about Irene, and yet the images were rapidly fading. Staggering with a lopsided gait, she tried to leave. Dizziness stymied her progress. She steadied herself in the doorway, and when the room stopped spinning, she stumbled with determination to the bathroom. She wasn''t sure why she was going there. But it suddenly seemed very important.


    A face stared at Irene. A girl''s face. Greasy, blotchy. It took her a moment to realise she was staring at her reflection. It didn''t feel like that was her, but it must be. What should be golden, healthy skin was pasty and sallow. She had an awful squirming sensation, like a bug trying to burrow in her flesh, though she wasn''t sure if it was digging in or breaking out. She frantically pulled at her pyjama top, fumbling until she pulled the buttons free and stared at the puckered skin around a scab just under her collar bone. The image wavered and she blinked a few times, trying to focus. She ran her finger over it, the rough surface catching the dead skin.


    "Ow..." Irene whimpered as a delayed response, seeming surprised at the pain. Attention shifted to her hands; they seemed unusually large, and the red splotches shouldn''t be there. Whose hands are these?


    Irene''s mouth felt disgusting. Toothpaste will make it better. But as she reached for the white tube a pang of nausea and weakness overcame her. She steadied herself against the counter, taking in deep breaths. The lights in the bathroom were too bright and her head hurt. Need water. Cool water splashed against her face, only then she realised how warm her skin felt.


    What was I doing? Irene buttoned up, turned off the light and shuffled out of the bathroom.


    "Irene?"


    Irene let out a startled gasp and stumbled against the wall. Then recognition prompted a flood of relief. "Dad?" Irene could scarcely believe what she heard. Questions. She had them, but she found it difficult to form words. She repeated ''dad'' a few times, then added weakly, "When did you...?"


    "Around midnight. I didn''t want to wake you." The hall light came on, and sure enough, the paunchy figure of her father stood there in his robe and boxers. He looked so far away, and yet she could see his face clearly. What started as a smile on his face quickly transformed to concern. He walked over, placing a hand on her forehead, then on her cheek. "You''re burning up. Do you need me to take you to emergency?"


    Irene shook her head. "No... not yet... you just got back... I don''t want to go yet... please don''t go..." Irene rambled. She felt herself entering a swoon, an odd fuzzy sensation at the corners of consciousness as her vision tunneled on her father''s familiar countenance. Again she felt a surge of nausea, but she couldn''t bring herself to run for the bathroom. Instead she fell into her father''s arms.


    <hr>


    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    A rhythmic electronic sound was the first sign of consciousness that won Irene''s attention when she woke. Weightlessness clashed with emerging awareness. Soon, more sounds crowded her senses. Distant voices, shuffling, clicks and clacks, and the rumble and growl of weight-bearing wheels on a hard surface.


    Irene drowsily opened her eyes, shuddering at the light that surrounded her. She took a deep breath, moving one hand to her face. Her other arm stung, and she felt resistance when she moved it too much. She shut her eyes again, groaning softly.


    "Honey, you''re awake!" Irene turned her head to the source of the voice and cracked one eye open. The fuzzy visage of her father came into view.


    "Dad..." Irene croaked softly. She tried to sit up, but her body hurt too much.


    "Take it easy, Irene. Do you know where you are?" came an unfamiliar voice.


    Confusion ensnared Irene, but she doubled down and concentrated on listening. Taking turns fading in and out of focus among the din were footsteps, banging vents, beeps, and voices mixed with other human sounds such as coughing and moaning. Acrid, sharp, and musty, there was a smell of body odor, disinfectant, and vinyl. "Hospital." Irene looked over at her father again, eyes drawn to a bandage around his arm. "Dad?"


    "Don''t worry, kiddo, I''m not hurt. Just giving back in gratitude," her father responded, gesturing to his arm.


    "You needed a blood transfusion. You came in with septicemia," the nurse explained.


    "Septi... what?"


    "Septicemia. It''s an infection of the blood. A doctor will come by to check on your progress; he can answer your questions."


    "Infection? Uh... isn''t that... what antibiotics are for?" Irene''s words felt blurry as she was saying them, thoughts like pond minnows that scattered at the slightest movement.


    "That''s right. But your case was acute; the transfusion was necessary to stabilise you," the nurse responded as she kept her eyes on the vital monitors.


    Irene let out a long sigh, easing her head back into her pillow. Irene''s memories were foggy. Impressions of red. Yes. A red room, Gabriel, and her shirt covered in blood.


    "You really had me worried, Irene," came her father''s voice. His elbows rested on his knees as he slumped forward. "If only I made it home sooner..." her father''s burry voice trembled.


    "Yeah... I guess... sorry... my head''s all fuzzy," Irene muttered softly.


    "Just rest, kiddo, rest. I''m here now," her father reassured her. She didn''t want to argue. She didn''t want to think. She checked her confusion in at the lobby and embraced the feeling of safety her father provided.


    Irene slipped in and out of consciousness while she got her strength back. When she was more awake, her nurses got her up and moving as much as possible, encouraging her to sit in a chair for her meals instead of in her bed. Sometimes her father was by her side, making small talk. She could sense there was a topic he was dancing around, but she wasn''t ready to pry. There were other times, however, when it was just her - her and the rest of the patients in their curtained off cubbies.


    To Irene''s relief, her father was absent when the doctor came to speak with her. He opened with a lot of the standard questions. Irene provided him with relevant medical history that couldn''t be collected before. He reviewed her latest lab results, reporting that her numbers had improved.


    "Now, then Miss Locklyn, I need to ask. How did you get that cut below your clavicle?"


    Irene traced over the mostly healed wound. "I... don''t..." Irene floundered. Irene wanted to go home as soon as possible. Thus, she carefully considered what answer would help achieve that goal.


    "It''s okay, anything you tell me is confidential."


    "It was an accident." Irene tried to imagine a whole scenario that could end in a cut. The skeptical lift of the doctor''s eyebrow set her one edge.


    He frowned, clearing his throat as he pulled up a chair and sat, staring at her with a look of pity. "An accident? We see a lot of ''accidents'' in here."


    Oh no. Does he think my Dad did this? Is that why he waited until I was alone to talk to me? Irene coughed and looked away.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Yes. Um. I was drinking with some of the other drama students and we decided to do a scene from Shakespeare with real knives. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and didn''t want anyone to get in trouble, so I tried to clean and dress the cut myself." Irene had never been drunk in her life and wasn''t sure how credible her story was. But from the amount of dumb things other students claimed to do under the influence, she hoped it would be believable.


    The doctor studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to accept her admission. He sighed and wrote something down on his chart, eyebrows furrowed. "I shouldn''t need to remind you that the legal age for drinking is nineteen. And as a doctor I suggest you avoid drinking alcohol, even when you''re old enough. It''s bad for your liver and can lead to... accidents." The doctor looked up over his clipboard. "I also hope that in the future, even if it happens during a misdemeanor, you will seek medical attention more promptly. I won''t bandy about it. You could have died."


    "Thanks for your concern," Irene muttered. The doctor studied Irene a moment before his expression softened. There was a soft grating sound as his pen rubbed against his five o''clock shadow. "Doctor?"


    "Yes?"


    "...The nurse told me that blood transfusions were not uncommon to treat sepsis, but... was I anemic?" Dealing with vampires, it felt like a very relevant question.


    "Your RBC and hemoglobin were critically low. Which is why I will be prescribing iron and B12 supplements in addition to antibiotics. Now, everything is looking better and you will be discharged soon." The doctor looked down at his chart again. "I would suggest following up with your GP and getting additional blood work done in a week''s time."


    Irene nodded. "Of course. Thank you, doctor."


    It was a relief to be in her own clothes again. Irene hated hospital gowns, although it was a sentiment she was confident many shared.


    "Ready to go, kiddo?"


    "Why don''t you go get a coffee? I want to check in on Jordan before I leave."


    Her father raised his pale eyebrows. "Are you sure you wouldn''t rather go home and get some rest first? You can always come back."


    "I''d sleep a lot better after checking on him," Irene responded.


    "Alright, sweetie. Let me at least walk you to his room. You still don''t look too steady on your feet."


    When Irene reached Jordan''s private hospital room, he was dozing. She gently put her hand on his. After a silent moment of admiration, she felt his hand squeeze hers. She leaned closer to him as he opened his eyes. A smile spread across his blanched lips.


    ¡°You¡¯re here¡­¡± he croaked in a quiet, raspy voice. Irene¡¯s eyebrows furrowed, but she forced her subtle smile to maintain her morale.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here,¡±


    Jordan looked at her, then at her hand that he was holding. Immediately, he frowned. Irene also looked at her wrist; she had forgotten to remove the hospital bracelet. "Irene? Are you... are you okay?"


    "Just an infection. Just stopping by on my way home," Irene said, taking the initiative to banish his concerns. Jordan stared at the ceiling for a moment and closed his eyes. Irene¡¯s smile dropped and she knelt beside his bed. How she wished she could bring him home with her. She did not want to stay in the hospital, but she did not want to leave his side, either. Something lurched in the pit of her stomach and she winced.


    ¡°Irene¡­¡± he breathed her name, then opened his eyes and turned to look at her. ¡°You''re hiding something... aren''t you?¡± Jordan asked in broken up sentences.


    ¡°What makes you..." Irene began to object, but then she took a deep breath and looked down. There was no point in assuring him she was fine. She crossed her arms on the bed, then rested her chin upon her cradle of arms. "Yeah, I guess."


    ¡°Wanna talk about it?¡± Jordan invited in a hushed voice. Irene slowly nodded her head, her eyes already going moist at the scant recollection. Not all of it was quite clear yet. She couldn¡¯t remember how she got from Gabriel slashing her to sitting in a hospital bed, but she could find fragments that terrified her.


    ¡°Jordan¡­ remember what I told you?¡± Irene began, but trailed off, imploring Jordan to speak.


    ¡°What you told... you mean about the immigrant?¡± he whispered. Irene nodded her head and rested it again atop her arms. "Did he hurt you?"


    Irene sniffed and took in a deep breath. How could she talk about something she couldn''t fully recollect? She looked back at him, then suddenly Keith of all things sprang to her mind. Why him? As Irene focused on it, she suddenly saw his step-sister. She was there.


    ¡°Actually... have you heard anything lately about, uh, Tina was it?¡± Irene asked. Jordan¡¯s pupils contracted. He nodded silently. Irene closed her eyes, straining to remember more. ¡°What did you hear?¡±


    "...That she died from a drug overdose," Jordan furrowed his eyebrows. "But... Irene... what would that have to do with..."


    "An overdose? Really?" Irene''s eyes burst open and her head popped up. "Where''d you hear that?"


    Jordan rolled onto his side, searching Irene''s face intensely. "Keith. He was pretty shaken up." Jordan exhaled something between a snort and a sigh. "What does Tina have to do with that guy? Unless... he''s not from a cartel... is he? I know you''d never use, but..."


    Irene sat up straight, leaning away from the bed. "But?"


    "He hasn''t been bringing drugs into your house has he? Or... he hasn''t forced you to be a mule, has he?"


    Irene was struggling to keep up with the direction the conversation was going. Drugs were the least of her concern. Jordan thinking she was involved with them was something she was unprepared for. But then again, she wasn''t prepared to accept that vampires were real either. Again, Irene''s hand went to the scab on her chest, feeling its rough texture beneath her thin t-shirt. The longer she remained silent, the more tense Jordan became.


    "No, nothing like that..." Irene swallowed hard and looked away, trying to stop her eyes from watering.


    "Have they... did he... have you been checked for..." Jordan grew more apprehensive as he tried to bring his question to fruition.


    Irene leans forward, gathering both of his hands together and looked him straight in the eyes. "Stop."


    Jordan winced. After floundering with clearly confused and painful thoughts, he sighed. "I''m sorry Irene. You were trying to tell me about Tina. Go on..." Jordan dropped his gaze.


    Irene closed her eyes, steadying herself. "I don''t think her overdose was an accident. I think she was forced to take the drugs," she affirmed in a stern, matter-of-fact tone.


    ¡°What? How would you... I mean you wouldn''t make up... have you told the police?¡± Irene opened her eyes, flinching at what she saw. He looked ghastly and spooked. "If you know something about Tina..."


    ¡°No. I can¡¯t."


    Jordan continued to stare at her unblinking. ¡°You must. Her parents have a right to know. Keith has a right to¡­¡±


    ¡°No, Jordan. They''re better off not knowing."


    "Not knowing that she didn''t take a lethal dose of meth? Irene, what do you know? What happened to Tina?" Jordan''s voice was going from prodding to interrogative. It vexed her, but she couldn''t blame him.


    ¡°Because Tina was attacked by vampires! And so was I!" Irene blurted in a fury of vexation.


    Jordan stared at her, astounded. He remained silent for a good long while. Each second that passed by without a word spoken was hardly bearable for Irene. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists. She willed him to say something, but he just looked away.


    ¡°I don''t know what happened to her, or to them..." The faces of two other girls she vaguely recognised from school taunted her. "¡­I can¡¯t remember what happened to me!"


    "To you? I thought you had an infection..."


    "I did! But... oh Jordan! It was awful! I was restrained and injured¡­ and then¡­ everything from then on is a mess of disconnected flashes that make no sense! It makes my head spin to even try to connect it all, and I feel so strange and sick¡­ but I heard them screaming as I was led away. I still hear them!¡± Irene rambled, her throat becoming tight. She bit her lip so as not to cry, but there was still a wavering in her voice. She felt Jordan¡¯s hand gently touch her shoulder.


    ¡°Irene, I wish I could take all that scares and haunts you away¡­ I wish I could protect you.¡± Jordan reached out and gently stroked her brow.


    ¡°Jordan... I...." He probably thinks these are delirious ravings. But maybe that is for the best. "I need to go¡­ I hate to let you see me like this.¡±


    Jordan looked up at her, eyes misty and brow furrowed in consternation. However, he didn¡¯t do anything to stop her. Tears quietly invaded his eyes, and it was all too much for Irene. She hurried away, pausing in the doorway to wipe her eyes. Although quiet, she could hear his voice drawling in a tired, half-asleep murmur.


    "But¡­ I just want to be there for you¡­ especially when you''re like that¡­"


    Irene squared her shoulders and left before she broke down and said too much more.


    <hr>


    "Well, this has been a crazy fall." The voice of her father intoned over the car''s engine. Under Irene''s distracted gaze, buildings zipped past in a blur. When she didn''t respond, he shrugged. "I, uh, met your tutor. He was asking how you were doing."


    "That''s nice," Irene muttered. Then she replayed the sentence in her mind. "Wait, who?"


    "Your tutor. Cedric or maybe it was Sydney..."


    Irene fixed her father with a stare. "Cyrus?"


    "That''s the one." Still gripping the steering wheel, Mr. Locklyn lifted a single finger. "He dropped off a card for you last night."


    Irene swallowed hard and then looked back out the window. Her first impulse was to immediately tell her father Cyrus was not to be trusted. But she was tired and sluggish, and the most she could manage was a garbled sound of dismay. This earned her a brief glance of concern from her father.


    Irene closed her eyes, flashes of Cyrus closing in on her flickering through her mind. Either he was himself again or her memories exaggerated his monstrosity.


    "Oh. Sorry. I''m tired."


    "Yeah, I can see that." Mr. Locklyn drummed his steering wheel. "But since when have you needed a tutor?"


    "The AP courses were tougher than I..." Irene trailed off. No. Her knuckles became white as she clenched her fists and stared out the windshield. "It''s all lies!"


    Her father''s plump hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. "What do you mean? What''s going on, Irene?" He glanced at her quickly then back to the road, a tell-tale tick in his cheek.


    "Cyrus isn''t a tutor. He''s..." A vampire? No. Time to start telling the truth without telling the truth. "He''s in a cartel."


    "A cartel? Him?" Her father scowled as he pulled to a stop at a red light. "The argyle sweater vest was a bit over-selling the part."


    Sweater vest? Irene cleared her throat.


    "But what do you have to do with him?"


    "He needed help, and I helped him. But then things started getting weird," Irene shook her head. "I didn''t know what I was getting into, I was just trying to be a good person."


    "You are a good person. It''s just... as I keep saying there are wolves out there." Her father rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. "But why lie to me?"


    "I was scared you''d overreact and start driving crazy, like you did when Monica told you that Benny pantsed her." Mr. Locklyn swerved ever so slightly, but immediately corrected the course.


    "Of all the things to remember..." he muttered. "We''ll talk about this when we get home."


    Irene closed her eyes and leaned against the window.

 Chapter 13: Dead Flowers and Dilemmas

    Irene heard the familiar grinding noise of tires on gravel. She knew she was home. Her father opened the door and took her things, and Irene tiredly shuffled up the old porch to their front door. Mixed feelings began to stir as she stepped over the threshold. Although her basement had been purged of vampires, she still felt as though her home had been tainted by association, and it would never feel quite the same again. But at least, now, with her father back from his business trip, it felt just a bit more safe.


    Irene expected her father to head for his old pleather chair, but instead he grabbed the newspaper.


    "I might be a bit, then we can talk."


    Irene was about to head to the living room when something caught her attention. On the table she saw a green envelope with her name written in fancy cursive. She picked it up, flipping it over. For me? She was about to open it when she remembered her father mentioning that Cyrus had left her a card. Angrily, she tossed the envelope into the wastebasket.


    Irene waited for her father in their cozy living room, stretched out on the plaid loveseat with her feet up on the arm rest. She stared at a crack in the ceiling as she ran through her thoughts. Bits and pieces of her abduction were still missing, but she remembered enough to be worried that whatever trouble Cyrus was in, she was still entangled in it. Which meant her father was at risk. She needed to figure out how to keep him safe. How strange it was to be the one worrying about protecting her father, when usually it was the other way around.


    "Alright, kiddo," came her father''s voice as he walked into the room. He grunted and eased himself into his chair, pleather squeaking. "Tell me more about Cyrus."


    Neither anger nor dread would be summoned. It was just as well, Irene did not wish her father to see that side of her ever again. Hollow and numb, she relayed what she could, as if it were someone else''s tale.


    "He was injured. He got agitated when ambulances or hospitals were mentioned. That should have been a red flag." Irene shook her head, brushing the bangs out of her face as she sat up. The snort and way her father shook his head told her he agreed. "I thought maybe hospitals made him anxious, like me." This excuse was effective; her father''s face softened and he glanced down. "Although he later admitted he wasn''t a Canadian citizen."


    Her father palmed his face and sighed, then nodded for Irene to continue.


    "Once he was better, he started hanging around. He wouldn''t leave me alone, even after I repeatedly told him to leave. He''d follow me places, or bar me from entering doors, or tell lies to my friends..."


    "Did you tell the police, or your teachers, or someone?" Her father lifted a pale eyebrow, looking grim.


    Irene shook her head. "No. I didn''t... I didn''t know what to do. There was no evidence he''d done anything wrong," Irene remembered how her neck had healed soon after she was bitten. Yet, oddly, the cut on her chest did not. Was it because it was caused by a knife and not a vampire''s teeth? "I guess I was waiting for you to get home; you''d know what was best."


    Mr. Lockyln''s face grew very grave, and he began thumping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He glanced away a moment, then looked back at Irene. "Did he hurt you?"


    Yes, he did. But just as she struggled to talk about it with Jordan, it was even harder with her father. He''d fly off the handle, and maybe get himself hurt. Irene chewed on her lower lip. "He... said a lot of things that made me uncomfortable. And some of it didn''t make sense. I don''t think he''s quite right in the head." The tapping grew more rapid and the tick returned to her father''s cheek.


    "And this cartel you mentioned. Who are they? You haven''t been involved in any crimes, have you? You can tell me; I won''t be angry." Despite his words, her father barely contained the strong emotions roiling deep within. Irene could sense it was difficult for him to keep calm, but she was unsure if it was fury or fear that he was holding back.


    "No! And I don''t know. He was following me around one night when a big man showed up and they were talking trash at each other. It sounds like Cyrus tried to leave and he got thrashed for it, but now they were trying to get him to return. They danced around the topic of, uh, procurement and sourcing. But they were careful not to outright say what they were trafficking, since I was not one of them."


    Mr. Locklyn rubbed his jaw and took time to process everything Irene relayed. "This isn''t something I ever thought you''d have to deal with," he lamented. "I know you said you didn''t have any evidence, but we need to contact the police. If there''s any other letters, like the card he sent you, bring that."


    "I tossed it."


    "Then go fish it out!"


    Irene flinched. Her father muttered something akin to an apology, but urged her to go with the wave of a hand. Once her heart stopped racing, she got up and retrieved the envelope. She returned and sat down, holding it in her hands. "I don''t want to open it."


    "Pass it here." Her father held out his hand.


    Irene''s hands shook as she stared at her name. Sighing deeply, she handed her father the envelope. He tore it open and took out the card. Something fell into his lap and he had to shake out the folds of his shirt to find it. It appeared to be dried flowers, pressed into wax paper. He examined them for a moment, then handed them to Irene.


    Irene inspected the pressed flowers. One was a purple bloom that may have once been vibrant when it was still fresh. Its petals were broad, and she was unsure just what it was, though she knew for certain it was not a bluebell. The other flower had some purple on it, but was predominantly white. She immediately recognized it as an iris. Irene glanced up, watching her father''s brown eyes darting hither and thither as he read the card.


    "Well I''m definitely going to have words with him if he shows up again," Mr Locklyn growled. A prickling sensation arose on the back of Irene''s neck, and she wondered if it was wise to expose her father to anything Cyrus wrote.


    "Okay now I am curious." Irene held out her hand. Her father hesitated, then passed it over.


    The outside was a typical greeting card one could pick up at any store. Gold print on a pale green background said "Get Well" with some watercolour floral designs. Inside the card was a neat and tidy handwritten message.


    Best wishes for a speedy recovery, Irene. An Angel has his eye on you. I hope we can meet and discuss your further education when you get home. Stay safe.


    In Eastern lands they talk in flow''rs


    And they tell in a garland their loves and cares;


    Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowr''s,


    On its leaves a mystic language bears.


    - James Gates Percival


    Regards,


    Cyrus


    Irene squinted at the card a moment or two. Flowery poetry was not what she expected. She looked at the flowers in her hand for a moment. Is this a message? If it was, she had no idea what an iris meant, or even what the other flower was. Irene looked up at her father.


    "Grown men sending highschool students love poems... disgusting." Her father''s knuckles cracked. "I don''t think you need any further ''educating'' from him."


    "I certainly do not." Except, perhaps for her survival.


    Irene rose to her feet.


    "Where are you going?"


    "I''m going to put this somewhere safe, in case I need to hand it over as evidence." Irene was more concerned with puzzling out what it meant than handing it over to the police, but her father needn''t know that.


    "Ah. Good. We''ll go to the police once you''re ready." Her father stood up, walking over to the entertainment stand, and turned on the radio to listen to the latest sports broadcast. "Oh, I''ll probably pick up some Chinese later, if you feel up for that."


    "That''d be nice," Irene responded, a yawn sneaking up on her.


    <hr>


    Things were feeling normal again. There was great comfort in sitting on the couch, eating a TV dinner, and watching television. Her father liked to watch sports, and Irene just liked to watch him. Defenses came down, and his endearing inner child came out to play. The way he clapped his hands in delight when his team scored, or the small tantrums he threw when the referee made a call he disagreed with amused Irene. Yet he was never so engrossed that he''d snap at her for striking up conversation during the game. As such, it was valuable bonding time.


    However, there was an undercurrent of tension as they sat and watched the latest NHL game. Irene was silent, turning events over in her mind. Her memory hadn''t entirely returned to her, but she knew she had been abducted, and that she was held in a basement with other girls. However, she could not bring forth any recollection of getting back home again. The last she remembered was believing she was going to die. It made it hard to keep up a pretense that everything was fine.


    During a lull in the game Irene finally voiced a decision. "I think I am ready to talk to the police."


    Mr. Locklyn looked up from the game, seeming a bit surprised at first, but then he smiled. "We''ll go tomorrow."


    Once her meal was done, Irene grabbed a bag she''d left beside the couch, taking out a library book. She glanced up at her father, who was engrossed in his game. Satisfied, she opened the book, and out slipped the card and the flowers.


    As she suspected, the one flower was an iris. It took Irene some time to identify the other flower as Aconite, or Wolfsbane. This made Irene pause. Wolfsbane was poisonous. Irene set the book down and grabbed another, glancing up when her father let out a cheer. He looked over at her, and she quickly tucked the card and flowers back into the book.


    "What''s that, kiddo? Thinking of taking up gardening?" her father asked.


    "No, just reading for my own edification," Irene responded. He gave her a side-glance, somewhat perplexed, but his attention was quickly ensnared by the game. He hollered at the players on the screen. Meanwhile, Irene swapped out her book for another: "The Language of Flowers". She picked it up once she identified the poem''s title, and saw a book of the very same name.


    Irene now had the missing pieces. She eagerly looked at the information on the iris flower. The entry she found told her that an iris meant to convey a message, which seemed redundant to her. Further in the entry was a discussion on the iris in blazonry, particularly of the French nobility. Gabriel''s slight accent came to her mind. The way he pronounced his R''s was reminiscent of a French accent, but it was too watered-down to really tell.


    Irene sighed and went searching for wolfsbane. There was no entry. She snapped the book shut in frustration. This is probably just another one of his games. Irene snorted and watched the tiny men on the screen exchange the puck a few times. Her curiosity overturned her frustration and she opened the book again, looking up aconite instead. To her satisfaction, there was a listing.


    Misanthropy. Beware. An enemy is near.


    Irene looked back at the card. Only now she realized the word Angel was capitalized. Angel. One of the most famous angels in Christian lore leapt to her mind. Gabriel.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Just as she was trying to form thoughts on what this could mean for her, the doorbell rang. Her father leaned forward, but then he shrugged and leaned back. "I''m sure it''s nothing important." After a brief pause he sat up straight again. "I wonder if it''s Girl Guides? They usually sell those mint cookies this time of year."


    Irene had gone back to staring at the card when she heard her father''s booming voice. "You have some nerve coming back here!"


    Uh oh. Irene sprung to her feet.


    "I know you aren''t a tutor! If you come near my daughter again, you will have to answer to me!" Irene hurred to her father''s side. Sure enough, illuminated by the flickering porch light was Cyrus. He was wearing an olive green polo shirt, a brown coat, and khakis. Her father was right. He looked like he was trying too hard to cultivate a conservative, intellectual look. The worst part were the spectacles with thick, square frames.


    Cyrus stood, mouth agape. Then his gaze shifted beyond Mr. Locklyn to Irene. She crossed her arms, glaring at him. He returned her glare for a brief moment, looking accusatory at her. She just arched an eyebrow. Then he took a step back, bringing his hands up in a placating manner.


    "Mr. Locklyn, please, I''m sure there''s been some misunderstanding here." Cyrus stepped back, one hand raised defensively. His other hand ran through his hair, which was slicked back exposing a pronounced widow''s peak. It gave him a more severe countenance, even if better groomed. Oddly, he didn''t bother to remove the single gold earring, which contrasted with his egg-head costume.


    Mr. Locklyn thrust a thick finger at Cyrus accusingly. "There''s no misunderstanding. Who do you think you are, sending a teenage girl love letters?"


    "What, my card? That wasn''t a love letter, I assure you. You''ve got it all wrong. That-"


    "Oh and that poem you slipped in?"


    "Relevant to our studies," Cyrus responded, laughing sheepishly. It was unlike the unfettered chortles or mocking snickers she''d heard from him before.


    What is he playing at? Irene had always feared an encounter between him and her father would end in violence. But Cyrus was behaving like any cowed suitor when confronted by a protective father.


    "If you''d please let me explain..."


    "I don''t want to hear anything from you. I''m going to count to ten, and if you don''t leave my property, Irene will call the police, and if you still don''t leave, she''ll be needing to call an ambulance too." Mr. Locklyn cracked his knuckles. While her father was not necessarily imposing, he easily had some considerable height on this particular vampire.


    Irene felt anxious, but also hopeful. Cyrus was giving ground. This reinforced the idea that Cyrus was a coward and a bully, quick to drop his pretense of ferocity the moment he wasn''t up against someone weaker.


    Cyrus took a few steps back, palms still out. Defiance flashed in his face. Irene''s father took a step farther, warning him to continue his retreat.


    "Ten..."


    "I am only here to help..."


    "Nine..."


    "I don''t know what she''s told you, but..."


    "Eight..."


    Cyrus''s frown deepened, and she saw just the briefest twitch of a snarl on his lips, before he turned it into a smile. He took off his prop glasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. "Your daughter is in danger." Mr. Locklyn took another lunging step forward.


    "Not anymore! I''ll protect my daughter at any cost!" Her father said ferociously. "Seven!"


    "Oh yes, you''ve done a bang-up job of protecting her thus far. Where were you when she needed- urk!"


    To Irene''s horror, her father grabbed Cyrus by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Irene could never move him, and here her father was, in the process of throwing him down. Cyrus landed on the gravel with a crunch. He looked up, legs splayed and hands in the mud. He glanced at Irene a moment from his prone position, and she shook her head. The greasy vampire ceased all efforts to hide the snarl on his lips. "You leave me no choice."


    "Cyrus, don''t!"


    Cyrus jumped up and lunged at her father. In seconds he had Mr. Locklyn''s shirt in his fist, forcing her father to bend down to his eye level.


    Irene was terrified he was going to bite him. She rushed out. "Please!"


    Cyrus''s other hand easily caught Irene, keeping her at an arm''s length as he continued to stare at her father with an eerie intensity. Her father''s gaze was locked on him, no more words passing his lips. She looked at her father for signs of pain, but instead his eyes appeared glazed and compliant. "As I said, it''s all a misunderstanding." Her father continued not to react. "It''s understandable, my actions could easily have been misinterpreted."


    Irene shook her head, glaring at Cyrus. No, his actions were quite clear to her. "Don''t listen to him!"


    "Irene saved me, I''m trying to return the favour. Your daughter was recently unwell, so I made sure she got home safely. In her feverish state, she became very paranoid and refused my further help." Cyrus wove this alternate story, and she could see her father becoming more and more calm. The vampire eased his grip on Mr. Locklyn.


    "I... I see." For the first time since the exchange, her father blinked and his brow furrowed. "But she wasn''t mistaken about you being in some sort of gang or cartel?" Again, his hackles raised. Cyrus briefly narrowed his eyes, but kept his gaze intact.


    "No. And yes, I lied about the tutor thing." Cyrus smiled and gave a small shrug. "Mia culpa. But I didn''t want to alarm you. Nonetheless, Irene is in danger. And I have been trying to protect her, and I can only do that if I can remain close by."


    Irene scowled, the palpitations in her chest rising in intensity. Certainly her father would not buy this bowl of tripe. And yet, when she looked to him, seeking out a sign that her father was ready to toss Cyrus onto the street, all she saw was heavy-lidded compliance. Irene''s heart skipped a beat.


    "That makes... sense..." Mr. Locklyn sounded uncertain. Again he blinked and his eyes seemed to come back into focus. "If you really wanted to protect her, you would go to the authorities, turn yourself in, and hand over evidence about whoever is threatening my daughter!" Her father swung out his hand, gesturing vaguely off into the distance.


    Cyrus hissed, but then quickly smoothed out the wrinkles forming on his brow, trying to maintain calm. Her father had broken eye contact, and this clearly vexed Cyrus. He thrust up a hand, grabbing Mr. Locklyn''s chin, forcing him to stare the vampire in the eyes.


    "Stop it!" Irene demanded. She wasn''t sure exactly what Cyrus was doing, but he was doing something. "Resist, Dad!" Irene reflected back to the times when she had felt paralyzed during eye contact with Cyrus.


    "The authorities can not help. My... gang, sure, let''s call it a gang. Why not? That gang has contacts in the RCMP. Contacting them would put everyone in danger." Cyrus released his grip on her father, but not his hold on his mind. Irene began clawing at his wrist to no avail. "You need me. From now on, I will be a boarder at your house. That is the new narrative. You will trust me."


    "I... yes. You''re my... boarder. I trust you." Mr Locklyn finally relented to whatever power Cyrus was exerting over him. Irene''s eyes swelled up with tears. Her father was supposed to protect her, not side with her enemy. "Thank you for looking after her."


    Cyrus grinned one of his horrible grins. Rage peaked. Ferociously, Irene sank her teeth into his hand. For this first time, she got a reaction from him, feeling him jump and pull away. He looked at her, appearing as surprised as she felt herself. After a moment, he laughed. "Well I guess what goes around comes around." Cyrus shook his hand, then looked at the little dimples her teeth had created, seeming almost endeared by them.


    Irene tugged at her father''s arm. "Father, snap out of it! Cyrus is NOT to be trusted!"


    Mr. Locklyn turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Irene, I know you think I''m making a mistake. When you get older and have a family yourself, you''ll understand. We have to trust him, for both our sakes." If he had just blankly told her that he trusted Cyrus in a monotone voice, it would have given her more will to fight. But the fact he now looked lucid, and the way he spoke was entirely like him, it broke her heart. Whatever Cyrus had done, it had moved past whatever barrier he''d been putting up, and nestled itself into his core.


    Irene pulled away from her father, and ran inside. Just before she closed the door, she heard Cyrus ask how much rent her father wanted, as if everything were perfectly normal. Irene slammed the door and ran to her room.


    <hr>


    Irene wasn''t in her room long when she heard a tapping at the door. Hesitantly, she called out, "Come in." To her relief, it was her father''s head that poked in. She sat up, hugging Silver who had been laying beside her, purring.


    "Hey, kiddo. I''m just checking on you before heading to bed. I''ve got a headache." He rubbed his eyes tiredly.


    "Are you really letting Cyrus stay here?"


    Mr. Locklyn sighed. "Yes, Irene. It''s for the best. The company is a stone''s throw from bankruptcy and I could use the extra income."


    Irene looked down, just focusing on the vibrations from her beloved pet. "You never told me it was that bad."


    "I didn''t want you to worry." He shook his head, his lower lip tucked in and chin thrust out. "I know I haven''t been here for you. But I''m trying to be a good provider." Her father massaged his temples with his ring and pinky fingers.


    "I understand. Get some rest, Dad."


    Meekly, he nodded and her door shut with a nearly inaudible click. Irene continued petting Silver, who began to knead her thigh with her tiny paws.


    "You''re still on my side, aren''t you?" In response, the gray tabby lifted her tail, crooking it at the very tip and headbutted Irene in the stomach. "Gee, thanks."


    Abruptly, that crooked tail straightened out and puffed up. A sharp sting on Irene''s thigh resulted in Silver''s sharp claws digging in as she turned around on Irene''s lap. The little cat hissed at the door. With this sudden change in demeanour, it didn''t surprise Irene when the door swung open, and Cyrus stepped in.


    "Get out of my room!" Irene hardly looked at him as she worked on smoothing Silver''s tail. Silver''s ears swiveled back and she crouched on Irene''s lap, letting out a throaty growl.


    Cyrus made no response, and she heard a few heavy steps as he lumbered further into her room. She looked up again, and he plopped down beside her on her bed. The cat hissed and scratched Cyrus'' hand.


    "Silver!"


    In the pale moonlight that streamed in through her window, she only briefly got a glimpse of Cyrus''s face before she realized the danger. The dark circles, the gauntness. Before Irene could react, he had grabbed her cat by the scuff of the neck and held her inches from his face. Silver continued to hiss and squirm, trying to get free. He bared his fangs.


    "Cyrus stop! Don''t you DARE eat my cat!"


    "I need blood..." Cyrus said between clenched teeth. Irene grabbed for Silver, but he moved her out of Irene''s reach. The cat yowled and swore at this indignation. "Choose. Cat... father, or..." he trailed off, shaking his head, struggling to speak. "I''m too weak... hunt."


    Irene stood up. "Leave my father out of this!" This was a plea as much as it was a demand.


    "Choose!" Cyrus growled. Silver managed to finally slip out of Cyrus grasp and she hit the ground running. Cyrus just fell onto his side, laying his head on her pillow. Irene did not understand what was happening, just that she needed to do something. "Need..."


    "Go to hell!"


    Cyrus propped his head up briefly, fixing her with an intense stare. "If you don''t... hell... will come... here." He then let his head drop again into the pillow, closing his eyes.


    Irene drew in a breath, shaking. She could not subject her father to this. Irene trembled, hating what she was about to do. She knelt down beside Cyrus, pulling her hair to one side and exposing her neck. "Then bite me."


    Cyrus opened one eye and peered at her. "You''ll die. Too soon... since... last..." Cyrus closed his eyes again, turning away from her. "GO!"


    <hr>


    Irene shivered, rubbing her hands together. Her heart was racing, and she felt sick to her stomach with what she was about to do. She paced outside of a nearby motel and wondered what happened to Ashley. She was sure this was the motel she worked part time at. The ground didn''t feel very firm beneath her feet and Irene''s knees knocked together. It took all of her concentration to stay upright.


    Irene turned, about to walk away. What she was about to do was wrong; Irene wondered if perhaps she ought to kill Cyrus while he was weak. The trouble was, she still didn''t know how to kill a vampire. A vague recollection of Cyrus fighting another starved vampire hung in the back of her mind. In his state, he might be even more dangerous, not less.


    A warbling, uncertain voice soared to high pitches of song, and then sputtered into sobs. Irene sighed and watched as a familiar disheveled, pot-bellied man ambled into the parking lot, his sandy beard and curly hair giving him a wild appearance. For once, Irene wasn''t going to walk away. Again her stomach lurched.


    "Robin?" Irene called. He lifted his head, mid-verse and looked around. It took a while for his puffy eyes to find her. Not recognizing her, he looked around as if expecting there to be someone else named Robin. He then looked back at Irene, one bushy eyebrow lifting as he gestured to himself, mouthing ''me?''. Irene nodded, beckoning him.


    "Whah... wha''can I, urf, d''you for, young lady?" The drunk swayed on his feet, trying to give her polite attention.


    "Would you like a warm meal?" Irene asked, her voice trembling. The man looked at her, giving her a measured assessment, albeit several times having to blink, squint and wipe at his eyes.


    "Well. Tha''s kindness, li''l chickadee, buh... ah... I got all''er warmth I need, right here," Robin dribbled, holding up his bottle of vodka. He then took a swig to demonstrate his point. When he pulled the bottle away, he sighed, forlorn. "Is th''only warmth I feel now, sin'' she left."


    Irene wasn''t sure what to do. She thought for sure the promise of a hot meal would have been irresistible. How was she going to lure him away now? He took another swig, about to turn away, but then pulled the bottle away, staring at it. He gave it a one eye squint, then turned it upside down. Nothing but a sorry dribble dripped out. Irene looked up. "Are you sure?"


    "Well I..." He stumbled over his own feet, barely catching himself. He let out a belch, and it was all Irene could do to not wrinkle her nose in disgust as his smell reached her. "Well, it woo''n be ''propriate, young lady. Hey. Hey. What''re you doin'' out this late?"


    "I can''t sleep." Irene answered grimly.


    The man nodded, lifting up a single finger as he continued to bob his head. "Ah, yeah... yeah... I know that. I know that well." He brought the bottle to his lips again, only to remember it had no succor for him. He let out a nasally whimper and dropped the bottle.


    Irene jumped at the sound of the glass shattering, looking around alertly lest someone come out and see what the noise was. Her guilty conscience would not let her forget that she did not belong there.


    No one came. The man began sobbing. Irene''s lip curled in contempt. Not at the man''s uninsulated display of emotion, but at her own scheme. She walked over to the man, holding her breath so as not to gag, and wrapped an arm about him. He continued sobbing, muttering half sentences about the family that had left him. She rubbed his back soothingly, and in his despair, he was easy to herd. Slowly, she guided him towards her home.


    There was no going back after this.

 Chapter 14: Four Letter Word

    Rushing water roared.  An old drain swilled pink lather, as the water oppressed the bubbles.  Raw hands rubbed together, chanting a mantra for cleanliness.  Soap oozed into a pair of eager hands.  No matter how much filth poured down the drain, not a single crimson stain was lifted from the chafed skin.  The hands stopped for inspection.  Wrinkled skin clung tightly against every contour of bursting blue veins.  Suddenly, a ghastly gurgling erupted from the sink.  Gunk sprayed up from the old pipes.  After the first volley, thick red liquid spurted forth, drenching the hands.


    Irene sat up in her bed.  Cold sweat clung to her body, and she quickly brought her hands up for examination.  They were spotless and just as youthful as ever.  It was just a dream.


    Irene gently rubbed her eyes, and then let her fingers travel to her temples.  Massaging them, she tried to sort out her feelings. Am I a killer? Thoughts, such as having no choice, that she was preventing a catastrophe, and that it was survival, kept springing to her mind.  However, no matter how much she tried to make the guilt go away, it whispered ''murderer''.


    Just as Irene was about to try and go back to sleep, she felt a familiar presence.  It was closer than usual.  She slowly turned her head and saw a white, expressionless mask in the far corner of her room.


    ¡°What are you doing here, Cyrus?¡±


    The smooth texture of the ghastly face slid into a wide grin before becoming serious and neutral again. ¡°You seemed distressed."


    Irene drew the sheets tighter about herself. ¡°So?¡±


    The face grew closer and more defined, until fragments of moonlight highlighted his dark form. "I am just checking on you.  I do need to protect the goods.¡± He sat down at the foot of her bed.


    ¡°The goods?¡±


    ¡°No need to get defensive. Well, actually, do.  Do get defensive.  That''s more like you."  he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees.  "You haven''t been yourself.  Drop the self torment, already."


    Cyrus leaned closer.  Irene shrank and bundled herself as tight as she could against the wall. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my call.¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah, it was."


    She shook her head and then sunk it into a nest of arms. ¡°I killed a man!¡±


    ¡°Oh stop this moaning!" A rare sound of contempt entered Cyrus''s voice.  He placed a hand over his chest. "I¡¯m the one who killed him!"


    Irene swallowed hard. "He didn''t deserve that."


    Cyrus crossed his arms.  "So what?  You let a man die in your father''s place.  Own it, move on.¡±


    She lifted her head and stared at him, her eyes burning. "Move on?  That''s something Robin can never do now!"


    Cyrus grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the corner. Nose to nose, Irene shut her eyes.


    ¡°Don''t feed your guilt, Peaches.  It will grow into a nasty little imp that revels in destroying joy." Cyrus straightened up, leaning back to give Irene some space to breathe, so to speak, but still held her arms firmly.  "Don''t let it take control, or you''ll always be miserable."


    Irene tried again to pull away, but there was no escaping his clutch.  This was the way it had been since he had arrived.  Why do I bother? She reluctantly looked into Cyrus¡¯s dark eyes, as they stared into her with inexorable intensity.


    ¡°If you say so¡­¡± Her voice sounded coarse, cracking a little towards the end of her meek statement.  She didn¡¯t want to admit that he was right; she hated to draw strength from him, but there was no one else there for her at the moment.


    "I know so."


    Irene wondered why her father hadn''t come to check on her.  But, she was also relieved.  She couldn''t confide in him about any of this. ¡°You made your point, Cyrus.  Please, let go.¡±


    ¡°Cute.¡± His grip did not loosen nor did his smile fade.  Rather, it intensified. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve come to your senses.¡±


    Irene opened her mouth to remind him to let go of her, but her words could not get past the two lips that pressed against her own.  Her entire body tensed up as her mind raced so fast that a single thought could not be processed before being replaced. She felt her body leaning back, guided by Cyrus.  He broke the labial contact to gaze into her eyes again.  She wanted to resist, but every impulse in her body was a jumble of confusion. She tried to slap him, but instead her toes curled and her back arched.


    "Relax," Cyrus whispered.  Immediately, the tension melted away. He smiled in evident delight and kissed her neck.  Irene tilted her head to one side reflexively.  She felt trapped and distant from herself, as if she were standing across the room, watching with contempt.  Contempt equally for Cyrus and herself. He didn''t deserve her.  And Jordan didn''t deserve this.


    Depressions on the mattress; his knees on either side of her hips, his hands on the pillows.  He leaned down closer, their chests pressed together.  Irene lifted a hand sluggishly, and it hung in the air, uncertain what to do as another volley of confusion and mixed signals cascaded through her nerves.  Skin on skin; his hand slipped beneath her pyjama top and slid up her torso. At that moment everything came into razor focus, and she found herself again.


    ¡°Off.¡±


    That single command fell onto silence and hesitance.  Cyrus¡¯s hesitance to stop, and Irene¡¯s hesitance to slap him if he didn¡¯t. Dejectedly, the vampire rolled off to the side and stood up.  She glared up at him, bringing the sheets up around herself once more.


    ¡°Yes¡­ you certainly are back to your old self¡­¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Get out!¡± Hues of red tinted her vision.


    ¡°Calm down."  Cyrus snorted and crossed his arms.  "Besides, Jordan isn¡¯t here.  Where''s the harm in a little fun?"


    Irene¡¯s gibbous eyes widened fully, then ebbed to narrow crescents. ¡°I never told you his name."


    Cyrus leaned against her bedroom wall, only a vague outline of him showing against all the blackness. ¡°True.  However, a certain Jordan Fisher is the only patient to be visited by Irene Locklyn."  He folded his arms, one hand fiddling with his earring. "It¡¯s a shock to see how seldom you visit your boyfriend.¡± Cyrus smirked.


    Irene responded with a commanding finger pointing to the door.


    ¡°There''s a cute little name that pops up even more than yours: Merle Crowe.¡±


    Irene drew in a deep, long breath. ¡°So what?"  She waved her arm in the air and pointed again at the exit.  "You think I don''t know?  That I''ll be jealous and, what, get revenge with-with you? You are pathetic!"


    Cyrus leaned forward, away from the wall, a sneer deepening his nasolabial crease. ¡°Pathetic?  Stop blinding yourself with your moral superiority, and be more grateful you didn¡¯t wind up like those other girls."  Irene inhaled sharply and held her breath at the recollection of the other girls. "I can take what I want whenever I want!¡± He pivoted on his heel and headed for the door.


    Irene stared wide-eyed, holding back a sob. His words hung menacingly like a sword of Damocles.  She was under his protection, but she was also completely at his mercy. It was a frightening thought she''d often tried to push aside, but now he gave her no choice but to look up and see how close she was to disaster.


    But then a different thought bubbled to the surface.


    "You could.  So... why haven''t you?"


    Cyrus scoffed, hand on the door handle. "You have to ask?" He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and turned back around.  "I don''t want to hear you scream ''please stop'', but to whisper ''don''t stop''."  He squinted a moment, glancing to her window.  In the dim lighting she wasn''t sure, but his face seemed pensive if only for a moment.


    With a fluttering in her chest, Irene sharply looked away, putting a hand to her bosom.  Why won''t he leave me alone?  Why me?  Her mind leapt to a far more urgent concern. What just happened?


    "What were you doing to me?"


    "I don''t know what you''re-"


    "Don''t play dumb! You affected my mind or body somehow.  What did you do?"


    Cyrus quickly looked back at her, crossing his arms and turning away. "Ah, that... you caught on to my little trick." A broken chuckle tried to materialize, but there were gaps in the mirth, leaving a hollow sound in its wake. "It''s pretty neat.  But..."  He looked at Irene over his shoulder.  "Ah, nevermind about that."


    Irene crossed her arms, staring at him critically, silently demanding an explanation.


    Cyrus shrugged his shoulders and faced her once again.  "I thought if you relaxed enough to get a little taste, you might change your mind.  Then we''d both be a lot less tense.  Can you blame me for trying?"


    "YES!" Irene then covered her mouth.


    Cyrus opened her door, and leaned out into the hallway, watching silently for a moment or two.  He then stepped back in, grinning. "All''s clear.  Now where were we?  Oh, right, discussing the elephant shaped sexual tension in the room."


    "Se- this is NOT sexual tension!  You yourself claimed you could take what you want!  Can''t you tell the difference between terror and arousal!?"


    "Actually, they''re very close from a physiological standpoint."  Cyrus stroked his chin, peering at Irene. "But, I admit, I may have threatened you a little.  In retrospect, probably not the most suave move on my part."


    "Not just threatened. Attempted! Just because I couldn''t fight back or say ''no'' didn''t make what you were trying to do any less... it was still... still..." Fluttering sensations erupted whenever Irene tried to say the word she was thinking.


    "Rape?"  Cyrus scoffed and flung an arm out.  "Come on, Peaches, it''s only four letters long, you can say it.  Of course, I''d respectfully disagree with your assessment."


    "It''s nothing to be flippant about! Have you no shame?"


    "No.  I don''t," Cyrus responded curtly.  He walked back closer to Irene, and she drew her covers tighter about herself as if they could actually protect her. "But shamelessness is just a mere quirk.  I''d be more concerned about what Gabriel has in store.  He won''t be so lenient next time."


    "Lenient?  He tried to feed me to a pair of deranged vampires.  And how did you... wait!  Don''t change the subject!"  Irene glared at Cyrus who smiled at her sweetly.  He brought his hands up under his chin, batting his eyes in mock innocence. Contempt bloomed anew in her and she did not hide it, a sneer curling her upper lip.  "Using vampire mind tricks is no different than drugging a drink!"


    "Uh-huh.  Sure.  We can equate my magnificent abilities with something as common as tipping a bit of powder in a drink.  But what''s your point?"


    Irene grit her teeth. "My point is it is still a violation!"


    "Tch!  Enough with the pious school girl routine.  If you''d get over yourself, you''d realise there''s nothing to fear or be ashamed of.  We can either be at each other''s throats..." Cyrus smirked as his eyes drifted to her neck, "...or you could have some real fun.  If it benefits us both, how is it a violation?"


    "Because I am just a school girl and you''re... who knows how old!" Irene''s voice was getting higher pitched, but she was still trying to keep her volume low to avoid summoning her father.


    "Hey! In my day, ladies younger than you were married to older, well established men.  Try to be more culturally sensitive." Cyrus waved his hand in the air. "Anyway, this conversation''s going nowhere.  Let''s just forget the whole thing and start fresh."


    "I am not going to forget this, Cyrus." Irene was having a hard time controlling the exasperation in her voice, as she found his blunt and insensitive bantering distasteful at best, and mortifying at worst.


    "Suit yourself. Anyway, I''m not in the mood to pull any more shenanigans tonight."  He stood up.  "Unless you want to hear about my valiant rescue from Gabriel''s Lair of Horrors, trademark, then I think I''ll go get a drink."


    Irene remained with her knees up and her covers up around her neck.  She bit her lip, combating the conflicting desire to get away from Cyrus, and for the truth. In the end, her need for safety won.  "Get out."


    Cyrus swung the door open, but before he stepped through, he sighed and sagged his shoulders.  He looked over his shoulder.  "I''ll do my best to keep Gabriel''s men away but, just as an added precaution, I suggest you hang up some mistletoe."


    "No more of your jokes!  Go!"


    "I''m being serious for a change.  Vampires cannot pass under mistletoe.  Don''t know why.  Don''t care.  I just know it works." He shrugged.  "Put it around your room and you''ll sleep better at night."


    Irene glared at him, unsure whether this was a prelude to mischief.  She had no reason to believe him.  But it wouldn''t hurt to do a little bit of research on the matter and come to her own conclusions.


    Saying nothing more, Cyrus finally left her room.

 Chapter 15: Memory Shock

    "What''s all this?" Mr. Locklyn stepped into the kitchen where his daughter was packing a lunch. Her bulging backpack slumped on one of the dining room chairs.


    "No need to call me in today. I''m going back to school," Irene announced as she cut up some apple slices, spritzing them with lemon juice. Her father snagged a piece and popped it in his mouth.


    "I am glad you are feeling better, Kiddo. You know where your doctor''s note is, right?"


    "I''ll be fine," Irene insisted as she filled her water bottle.


    "Take it all the same, just in case," her father cautioned. With a sigh, Irene fetched the doctor''s note and wove it in front of her father to appease him. He walked over and kissed the top of her head.


    "Take care. I need to get to work. After school we''ll go to the precinct."


    As Irene was tying up her shoelaces, she heard footsteps behind her. She groaned and looked over her shoulder. There stood Cyrus, the last person she wanted to see. The sun had not yet fully risen, but he was cutting it close. Irene was certain that he was staring at her backside, and it made her skin crawl.


    ¡°Going back to school?¡± he inquired. Irene sighed and nodded her head. ¡°Be sure to come back home before it gets dark.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± Irene muttered as she lifted her school bag and left.


    The day had just begun, but Irene was already tired upon arriving. Passing through the school lobby, a table set out with a brilliant red cloth caught her eye. She walked over to inspect it and saw portraits of Katie and Ashley, surrounded by flowers. Irene hadn''t heard their fates, and it caught her off guard to see memorials to these two girls. But what about Tina?


    Flashes from that horrid event assaulted Irene''s mind. She put her hands to her ears in a futile gesture. Screaming! Moaning! Such pain and agony. Weak knees, shivering spine. Heat throbbed through her body, but spread out in icy echoes. Faces of her cellmates paraded behind her closed eyes. Irene let out a sharp sound that was neither a scream nor a gasp, but something in between.


    Reality was reunited with her at the touch of a hand and the sound of her name. Irene hadn¡¯t any idea how long she had been like that, nor how long someone had been calling to her. She opened her eyes and saw the concerned face of a friend.


    ¡°M-Merle¡­?¡± Irene muttered, uncertain. Merle had been all shades of red with her. However, Irene hadn¡¯t the capacity at that moment to hold it against her. She sniffled, holding back a sob. Merle peered at Irene silently for a moment, then wrapped her arms around her. Irene didn''t question, she placed her head on Merle''s shoulder.


    ¡°Irene¡­ now you are really starting to scare me¡­¡± Merle said in a shaky voice. Irene shook her head and looked down.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine¡­ I need to get to class,¡± Irene finally managed to mutter. Merle shook her head vehemently, clutching Irene¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re going to take a walk! It¡¯s only P.E. after all!¡±


    Irene stared at her friend, wide eyed. ¡°I can¡¯t skip¡­¡±


    ¡°Irene, a smudge on your record won¡¯t kill you! You need a friend right now, and I''m here¡± Merle coaxed.


    After a moment''s hesitation, Irene meekly nodded. Merle took that opportunity to seize her arm and lead them outside to a shady patch of trees. The silver birches were almost naked and offered little cover, but the Japanese maple still had brilliant red leaves clinging desperately to its branches.


    ¡°No one should bother us here.¡± Merle stepped over some overgrown foliage. She sat down on an old bench, and patted a spot beside her. Reluctantly, Irene sat down. ¡°I couldn¡¯t get anything from Jordan when I asked him about you¡­ since I figured if you weren¡¯t gonna talk to me, you¡¯d at least talk to him¡­¡± Merle gave a unilateral shrug.


    Irene barely nodded as she let out a stony gaze towards the tree in front of her. ¡°Jordan¡­¡± Irene repeated softly. Irritation resurfaced, remembering Cyrus''s observation that Merle visited Jordan more than her. However, she wasn''t going to rise to the bait. They were all friends, and she trusted Jordan. There was no room for jealousy.


    Merle cocked her head to the side, staring at Irene curiously. Since only silence followed, she took it as her cue to continue. ¡°He seemed really worried about you though. I don¡¯t blame him. Irene, you¡¯ve been in the hospital, and I haven¡¯t heard why."


    Irene lifted her head, raising her eyebrows. She turned her head to stare at Merle, her eyebrows furrowed. ¡°I thought you were still mad at me.¡±


    Merle¡¯s large eyes also narrowed for a moment, before she let them pop to their usual wideness. ¡°Oh, you know me, I''m always flying off my handle," she shrugged and folded her arms. "But when have I ever stayed mad long?¡± Her tempestuous friend shook her head. "You looked like you were about to break down. Is this because of the dead girl''s pictures? Is it reminding you of losing Monica?"


    "No! It''s not that!" Irene blurted, not wanting anything in the present to touch her sacred memories. The teenagers stared at one another. Following a silent interval, Merle leaned in closer, with wide, expectant eyes. Irene sighed and glanced down. ¡°I was thinking about Ashley and Katie,¡± Irene finally admitted.


    Merle¡¯s eyes grew even wider, and they seemed to dominate her round face. ¡°But you didn''t really know any of them,¡± she leaned closer still, wrapping an arm about Irene''s shoulders.


    ¡°No, not really. But... Tina, Keith''s step-sister, also died recently too. It''s just too much.¡±


    Merle shook her head and continued to press on Irene. ¡°Are you sure this isn''t about Monica?¡±


    Irene let out an aggravated sigh. ¡°This is nothing like that. Monica died peacefully, lobed, surrounded by family. But these girls, they died horrific deaths,¡± Irene growled. She whipped her head around to stare fiercely into Merle¡¯s bewildered eyes. ¡°Why couldn''t they have been saved, too?¡±


    Merle pulled back away from Irene, cringing from the sudden outburst. ¡°What do you mean? Saved too?¡±


    Irene relaxed, letting the tension flow out of her frame. With a sigh, all the aggression in her mannerisms deflated, leaving a defeated looking Irene. ¡°Never mind. I just... I don''t know." She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.


    "Something''s going on. Do you... do you know something about their deaths that I don''t? Or... is there someone else you''re thinking of? Who needs to be saved? Are you in trouble, Irene?


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The shaken teenager''s mouth opened and closed a few times, an elastic feeling in her jaw and a throbbing in her skull. "I might be. A bit. But... don''t worry, really, don''t. Dad and I are going to deal with it soon." Irene wrapped her arms around herself, and felt her friend pull her close.


    "Hey, hey, you know you can talk to me right?"


    Irene gave Merle a sideways glance. No, because you always get too emotional and jump to crazy conclusions. She sighed. "I am right now."


    "I mean really talk to me. Tell me about your troubles," Merle urged.


    "I don''t want to say anything until it''s resolved."


    This time it was the red-haired friend''s turn to sigh heavily. "Fine. Whatever. But I bet this has something to do with Cyrus, doesn''t it?"


    Irene shook her head and stared up at the sky. ¡°I wish I had never met Cyrus¡­¡± She curled in her lips for a moment, thinking about all of the unsettling chaos she had been through since that morning in the woods. Mornings had always been sacred to her, and he defiled it.


    ¡°Really¡­ because the way you two were walking so close to each other that one evening¡­¡± Merle muttered.


    Irene turned and glanced at her sharply. ¡°He was walking close to me,¡± she clarified, a bit of injury in her tone. She then frowned and rubbed her temples with her hands. ¡°Listen Merle, I can¡¯t tell you everything, but Cyrus is a bad man, and he¡¯s associated with criminals who hurt those girls. I don''t know what the news said, but I doubt it''s the truth.¡±


    ¡°This sounds like something right out of a movie, Irene,¡± Merle reflected. She had a peculiar smirk on her face, as though she was uncertain whether to be excited or skeptical.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying.¡±


    ¡°Of course you aren''t! But it''s thrilling!¡± Merle exclaimed, a twinkle in her eyes.


    Irene drew away, a look of contempt tugging at her lips. ¡°This is serious!"


    Merle flinched, and stared at Irene for a long moment. She sobered up a little, a gentle blush fading onto her freckled cheeks. ¡°Sorry,¡± Merle stood up and stretched. ¡°Well, alright, you can¡¯t tell me everything¡­ I just wish you would have told me at least THIS much sooner.¡±


    Irene shook her head and also got onto her feet. ¡°I¡¯m going to P.E. now.¡± A doctor''s note was not going to excuse her from tardiness. "But... thanks for the talk, Merle. You''re right, I do need a friend." Irene just needed someone who wasn''t seeking vicarious thrills through her suffering. However, she didn''t wish to set off another tantrum by pointing this out.


    "Any time, Irene."


    <hr>


    Irene tossed her gym clothes into her locker and slammed it shut. She was tired from the laps she had to walk as punishment for missing the first quarter of class. Normally it would have been easy for her, but her stay in the hospital had affected her more than she thought.


    Nearby a gaggle of gossipers were milling out their usual rumours. Normally, Irene would ignore them, but then something caught her attention.


    ¡°Yes, Katie¡¯s dad is going nuts over her death!" spoke a curvy blonde.


    ¡°Well can you blame him? I¡¯d be heartbroken if I lost my only daughter,¡± another chimed in, twirling her curly brown hair between her tanned fingers.


    ¡°Well, word is that Katie¡¯s dad won¡¯t even talk to her uncle until he finds the person responsible. She was an excellent swimmer and he insists she didn''t drown,¡± the fairest of the group twittered.


    ¡°What does he expect? These things take time. Besides, they are focusing on catching Ashley''s killer.¡±


    ¡°Well, if we had a decent police force, things like this could be prevented. I had no idea we had sickos around here, though,¡± a third finally piped in, pulling a bright yellow shirt on which contrasted brilliantly with her dark skin.


    ¡°There are people like that everywhere!¡± the sporty brunette added, exasperated. "Besides, remember that psycho pig farmer from PoCo?"


    "Yes but that''s not here!" the girl in the yellow shirt shot back as she fixed her black hair into a frizzy bun.


    The blonde ringleader tied her shoelaces, then looked up and continues to dispense a juicy revelation. ¡°There''s rumours that Ashley and Katie''s deaths might be connected, somehow. They both didn''t come home the same night, according to Jim."


    "Jim?"


    "Katie''s cousin."


    "Oh. Maybe. But Ashley was always running away. I still think her creepy ex did it. But he''d have no reason to stab Ashley, then drown Katie. She was such a goodie-good, and Ashley, well, was not." The frizzy-haired girl concluded. The blonde nodded in agreement.


    The tanned teen glanced over at Irene. ¡°Speaking of goodie-goods..." she remarked, and the other girls looked as well. Irene busied herself with tying her own shoes. "Come on, let¡¯s talk somewhere else."The trio of girls nodded in agreement, grabbed their bags, and left.


    Irene sighed.  So, they made one girl appear as an overdose, one as an accidental drowning, and let another be a murder? Irene tapped the toe of her shoe on the ground to get a more snug fit. Why not make them all appear as accidents? Unless Gabriel and his men were getting sloppy.


    Irene picked up her school bag and left the changing room.


    All through math class the topic of Katie and Ashley buzzed around her. No one said anything about Tina. Irene tried to hide within herself as she worked through a very wordy math problem. She wished that all she could think of were the cost of tennis balls and golf balls, or how much distance a canoe traveled in a river with a fast current. However, it was to no avail. Katie and Ashley¡¯s names followed her.


    Irene''s preoccupation with the girls, and with trying to avoid a similar fate caused her to forget she had agreed to go to the police after school. Instead, she walked to the public library. She was determined to research mistletoe.


    After a long study session, Irene stretched and leaned back in her chair. She never knew much about mistletoe other than people kissed beneath it at Christmas. But learning its power over vampires was oddly ironic, considering the plant itself was a vampire of the botanical world. It drank the life out of its host tree, remaining young and vibrant in the winter while its host withered and shed its leaves.


    Culturally, mistletoe was regarded as a very sacred plant, despite it being a weed by modern standards. Myths of mistletoe, killing the unkillable Baldur, being the substance of Christ''s cross, or allowing Aenas access to the underworld all seemed to point to a connection to life and death, not just for the mortal but the divine as well. It left Irene wondering... just what is a vampire? Irene doubted any of the books had an answer.


    Irene''s next task was to research if mistletoe could be found locally. To her disappointment, the most common form of mistletoe found in British Columbia was invasive dwarf mistletoe, known for its explosive green berries. She was unsure if all mistletoe was effective against vampires, or only Viscum Album, the white-berried mistletoe found in Europe.


    Irene''s next step was to hit the computers. But there was a waiting list to use one. Irene sighed, looking out the window. It was getting dark. She could not risk staying much longer. She gathered up her notes and left, hurrying for the closest bus station.


    The wait for the bus was nerve wracking. The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, casting a long shadow over the valley she lived in. Irene anchored herself by clinging onto a sign post. By the time the bus did show up, she realized how cold and sore her hand had become. Although it wasn''t a long bus ride to her own neighbourhood, it was mostly dark when she got off. She walked as fast as she could, her heart racing. When she turned onto her home street, she nearly choked. She had been abducted from here before. Regardless of the instructions to take it easy, Irene broke into a run.