shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

Rath and I are on our way home from a charity function he talked me into attending with him when he decides to drop a bombshell on me. This was the first time I'd ever mingled with English "quality" and I was contemplating how much I wished I hadn't. I'd been bored senseless. The only reasonable entertainment had been watching a crowd of desperate debutantes trying to pick up on Rath; he blew them all off so smoothly most of them didn't even know it had happened.

"I hope you don't think I'm going to let that vampire freeload off of me for the next hundred years. If he is going to insist on living in my house, he is going to work." Rath's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I'm not really surprised by this announcement, though, I've been expecting him to do something about Iain, and I'm prepared to fight back.

"Actually, I did. After all, it's your fault."

"Pardon?" Rath glares at me, taking his eyes off of the road - dangerous since he's the one driving. I shriek to let him know we are about to go into a ditch. God, they should issue disaster warnings when he's behind the wheel. Once we safely have all four tires on the asphalt again, I elaborate on my theory.

"Look, if you hadn't ripped the head off the vampire leader, Simon, three hundred years ago, then the current leader, Romany, wouldn't have turned Iain into a vampire to get the head back. Which, in my book, means you owe him."

A cynical snort from Rath is his only response. This part of the roadway is rather narrow and curving, with plenty of hills, so he's actually concentrating on what he's doing with the car. When we finally reach a straight, flat stretch he gives me his full opinion.

"Bullshit, as you are so fond of saying. I did not force the boy to come into my home and attack you. The fact that I didn't turn his entire body into ashes and spread them in the pasture where they would do some good should be ample repayment for any debts you think I owe him."

"Well where, exactly, do you expect him to get a job? It's not like he can do gardening during the day, or work for the local grocer."

"He will work as a night guard, making sure the other vampires do not take vengeance by harming anyone in the village. It will keep him occupied, as well as allow him opportunity to hunt vermin."

"Gee, work him for his room, but making him hunt his board, how generous can you get?"

My smart mouth earns me another glare. Since we're still on a straight stretch of road I let Rath do it uninterrupted. Privately, I admit it's a good idea. I've been concerned about how to keep Iain fed without having to resort to breeding small animals for him. Roaming the village and adjoining lands will give him the chance to hunt in private and everyone will benefit. Besides, Iain probably could use an occupation. Now that he has a body again he's been antsy to do something.

"I will pay him a fair wage, Eva."

"Really? What's the going rate for slavery these days? Since a crust of bread wouldn't be appropriate I suppose you could hand down the occasional scraps of clothing, though yours don't fit him well."

Rath isn't exactly mad at me, I know for a fact he enjoys our verbal sparing; he is, however, annoyed, and he gets revenge in a particularly mean fashion. The road is rather curvy and hilly once more, but instead of slowing down, Rath floors the accelerator. I swear I feel the wheels on my side leave the pavement as the car takes a sharp right turn at obscene speeds. Approaching a hill, he accelerates even more; I close my eyes and scream as we go airborne off of the crest. Metal crunches as the car connects with asphalt.

Rath looks calm, like James Bond after a missile attack, when I open my eyes again. He's also slowed down; I can once more distinguish individual trees instead of seeing only a green blur as we drive by.

"Alright, you win!" I concede. "Next time I'm driving the damn car when we go somewhere, though."

I get an evil laugh in response. Typical. We manage the rest of the drive in silence and relative safety. Rath lets me out by the servant's entrance before parking in the barn/garage. Before I can get inside the house, he calls out to me.

"Have Iain come to my office when he wakes up."

I wave acknowledgement, then hasten inside. "This should be an interesting evening," I think, as I head upstairs to change into something more comfortable.

Iain is less than surprised, that evening, when I inform him of the conversation I'd had with Rath, though he is surprised when I mention Rath intends to give him wages.

"Generous of him, that. I'd expected him to put me to work sooner or later, but this is better than what I'd hoped." As we head down the stairs, Iain tosses me a sly grin. "Unless, of course, he was lying to you, lass."

"Don't start with that, Iain." We'd made assumptions about Rath before with disastrous results, I don't plan to make the same mistake again. "Rath was sincere, well, as sincere as he ever gets."

We're both grinning when we reach Rath's office. The door is open, so we don't bother knocking before entering. I have to admit, Rath looks slick and professional sitting at the huge mahogany desk; makes it hard to believe he's a two thousand year old Celt who collects heads for a hobby. Hearing us, he picks up a folder and waves for us to sit.

"I don't recall inviting you to participate, Eva."

"You didn't, but I'm here anyway." I have no intention of leaving Iain to face Rath alone.

"I am giving him employment, not ripping his head off again."

Iain winces visibly at the reminder, while I just settle more comfortably in my chair. I have no idea why my presence is bothering Rath, but I know Iain wants me here and that's what matters. Sighing, Rath opens the folder and gets started.

"Iain McAlistair. Born in Glasgow, Scotland on October 15th, you are currently 22 years old. Approximately a year and a half ago you were reported, by your mother, as having disappeared. Glasgow law enforcement took all the standard measures to locate you, all of which were ineffectual. As you disappeared the same evening your childhood friend, Keith Evans, was murdered (by persons unknown) it was presumed you may have been involved - as a victim, not a perpetrator. At this time your status is listed as 'missing, presumed dead' although an official declaration of death will not be made until the standard legal period has passed."

My jaw drops. I had no idea Rath was looking into Iain's past. I mean, I knew most of this information, but only because Iain told me himself. I didn't even think Rath knew his last name. Iain is as stunned as I am; he is frozen, and more pale than normal. Ignoring our reactions, Rath continues.

"At the time of your disappearance, your Mother was working as a waitress at a local restaurant to support your four younger siblings. Unfortunately, the restaurant closed its doors, due to failing revenue, two months ago and she has been unemployed ever since. Rent on her flat is currently severely in arrears and despite a sterling history of payment the landlord is preparing to put her out."

Iain's fingers press so hard into the fabric of the chair I'm certain any moment he'll tear through it. Though I knew about his mother being a waitress, he never told me about any brothers or sisters, and never told me how close to poverty they must be living. I start to rise, but Rath immediately gestures for me to sit back down. I do so.

"Fortunately, an anonymous person has since paid the back rent as well as an advance of several months, although your mother is not aware of this fact yet. While she is making do for food and clothing with what little she has saved, her situation will become desperate shortly if she does not find employment, or some other source of income. Which, is where you, Iain McAlistair, come into the picture again.

"I have established an account, in your mother's name, at the Bank of Scotland. Into it I will deposit the bulk of your weekly wages for acting as night security for this house and the neighboring village. How your mother is made aware of the money, and whether she is ever told the source, is your decision."

Rath sets a handful of papers in front of Iain, along with a pen. "These are all of the requisite forms I need you to complete in order to put you officially on my payroll or rather Edward Ratheson's payroll. Finish them as soon as possible, and let me know how you wish to notify your mother of her change in circumstances."

With that, Rath rises from the desk. Walking out of the room, he doesn't even give us a backwards glance, just leaves Iain and me alone. Iain doesn't move to take the pen or look at the papers, he's still frozen, a look of infinite sorrow in his eyes. I go to his side, settling on my knees by his chair, taking his cool hand in mine to let him know I am there. At my touch he looks down. Pinkish tears slip down his cheeks. As I move to wipe them away, he slides down, joining me on the floor, where he cries in earnest on my shoulder.

"She depended on me," he sobs. "She depended on the money I brought in from odd jobs or the dole, and I let her down. I let them all down."

"No, you didn't, Iain. You thought you were going to go back to them, you were looking for a cure when you came here. It wasn't your fault." I can't think of anything more to say, any more reassurances to give, so I just hold him. Eventually, the initial burst over, Iain pulls himself together. I get some tissues from Rath's desk so he can wipe away the pink tears.

"I didn't think your brother knew about Mum and the kids," he mumbles.

"Neither did I, though, we shouldn't be surprised. Don't worry, Iain, your family will be fine. Rath has already seen to that."

"Aye, that he has, lass. How will I repay him?"

"You don't, idiot. You fill out those papers and get to work so you can earn that money." I push him back into the chair and put the pen in his hand. "Now get on with it." I'd prefer to stay, but I think Iain would feel better if left alone for a while, so I go out into the drawing room.

Rath isn't there. Sniffing the air, I pick up his scent and follow it. Up the stairs, into the east wing of the house, his trail leads me to Hannah's door. With a soft knock to announce my presence, I slip inside. Brigid isn't there, she must be taking a break, or perhaps the night off. Hannah sits in the middle of the floor amidst a shower of multicolored flower petals. Rath is on the floor nearby, watching her toss them into the air. An expression of unadulterated joy lights Hannah's face as she looks up to face the cascade of color. One pink petal goes astray, drifting far to the right where it settles in Rath's hair.

Smiling, I walk to his side, plucking the petal off before sitting down beside him. In silence, we watch Hannah play with her petals, oblivious to our presence. It's soothing, somehow, as well as sad; I wish she would see us. I wish she knew how much we long to have her come out of her hidden world and join us. As if she hears my thoughts, Hannah suddenly turns, staring straight at me. For a moment she seems confused, then a brilliant smile lightens her expression.

Before I can react, she throws herself onto me, wrapping incredibly strong arms around my shoulders and squeezing them hard enough to bruise flesh. I'm so shocked by the action I don't respond in any way. She shocks me even more by speaking.

"Fire Fox!" she joyously cries, rubbing my head as though I were a dog. Then, as suddenly as her notice hit me, it turns away. Releasing me, Hannah goes back to the petals, organizing them, now, into piles according to color and shape. I look, in amazement, to see Rath's reaction. He is smiling sadly.

"You've been assimilated."

"What?"

Rath sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Eventually, anyone who comes in contact with Hannah on a regular basis gets included in her fantasy world. We learned that when she started calling Brigid, Singing Bird, years ago."

"I didn't think she could talk."

"Most of the time she doesn't. When she does it is usually nonsense, like trying to read Lewis Carroll poetry. Now and then, though, she does call us by those fantasy names. At least it proves she knows we are here."

"Fire Fox eh? I suppose I can live with that." Hannah giggles as one of her petal piles overbalances, spilling onto the floor. An evil thought hits me. "So, if she calls me Fire Fox, and Brigid Singing Bird, what does she call you?"

"None of your business." It must be obscenely cute for him to sound that annoyed. I'll have to make a point to drop by here with him more often to catch her using it.

Together, we watch Hannah play with the petals for another hour until, growing tired, she lets the petals come to a rest on the floor. Recognizing this behavior as a signal, Rath rises, scooping Hannah off the floor, and carrying her to her bed. As soon as she is lowered onto the mattress, she lifts up her arms allowing him to remove her dress without difficulty, and slip a nightshirt onto her. Pulling the comforter up, Rath tries to get Hannah to lie down, but she resists and begins stroking his arm as though it were a cat's back.

It must be another signal he has learned to recognize. Sighing, Rath sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Though she is too big a girl to do it, Hannah crawls into his lap, curling up with her head on his shoulder. Slowly, softly Rath sings a lullaby. No wonder his voice is so beautiful, he's been singing to her like this for decades, no doubt.

When Hannah is asleep enough for Rath to move without waking her, he tucks her in and slips into the chair beside the bed. I rise, stiff from having sat still for so long on the floor. Walking to his side, I am careful to move silently.

"Can I get you anything?" I whisper.

"No, Brigid will be back in a few hours."

"How long did you know, Rath?"

"That Brigid would need time off tonight?" There's a glint in his eye, he's playing with me.

"No. About Iain's family."

"Ah. Since about a week after I decapitated him." My surprise at this confession must show. Rath, throws me an irritated look. "I'm not human, Eva, not inhumane. He wasn't the first unwilling vampire sent here to get the head."

I don't ask what happened to the others, I really don't want to know. Giving Rath a kiss on the forehead I leave the room, closing the door softly. It's time to see how Iain is doing with all that paperwork, and whether he needs any help.

Iain is waiting for me in Rath's office, the papers finished in his hands. I pull them free, tossing them onto Rath's chair where he'll be sure to find them. Iain grins, following me as I head out of the room. Together we go outside to enjoy the cool night air.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Not yet, lass. I'll let you know." Iain doesn't like me around when he feeds, and to be honest, I don't care to watch.

"Shall we take a tour of the village? Familiarize yourself with your new job?"

"Sounds like a pleasant walk," Iain laughs.

It really isn't very late yet, and we pass a few villagers returning home from visits, or running last minute errands. All of them greet us with courtesy, but they don't pause for long and they all throw suspicious glances towards Iain. I presume they know he is a vampire. Neither of us can blame them for being nervous in his presence, it will take time for the people hereabouts to realize he's not a threat. Still, the encounters make us both uncomfortable.

Iain and I don't say much as we walk along. I point out the different homes, give him a little rundown on those occupants with whom I'm familiar. When we pass the household of one prolific villager, Iain's eyes well up with tears again at the sight of the children racing through the yard in the moonlight. They range in age from 5 to 12: I wonder if his siblings are that age?

"Have you decided what to do?" I finally ask the question I've been wanting to.

"I don't know. What choice do I have?"

"Well," I start, taking his question seriously, "As I see it, you have three. First, have your mother notified of your death and pass the money off as something unconnected with you. Second, let your mother know that you are alive, and the money is coming from you, but don't give her any details. Or, third, go to her, tell her the truth."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" We've reached the outskirts of the village. Only the vicarage and church remain between us and the open fields beyond. "Iain, I regret every day that I didn't tell my mother the truth about what happened to me, about what I am. Don't leave yours wondering. It'll just eat at her like a poison until it kills her."

"She'll never believe me."

"She's your mother, Iain. Mother's believe everything." My attempt at lightness fails to make him smile. "It isn't easy to hide being a vampire, Iain. You'll be able to give her proof enough."

"Then what happens? What if she thinks I'm a monster? What if she throws me out? What if she says she wishes I were dead?"

"What if the world is just a piece of lint in a giant's bellybutton and he decides to clean it out one day?"

"Huh?" Well, at least I've made him look me in the eye now.

"The point is, Iain, you'll never know 'what if' until you face the situation. Trust me, the worry is far worse than what actually happens." We've reached the church now, giving me an idea. Grabbing Iain's hand I pull him forward. "Come on, Iain, let's go inside and say a prayer. God will give you an answer."

"Are you crazy, Eva? I can't go in there!" He jerks me back, stopping me abruptly at the door.

"I'm sorry. I forgot." Rath told me once that religious symbols will only hurt a vampire if they believe. Unfortunately, Iain does. "How unfair."

"What?"

"That the very fact you believe in God, denies you the ability to step inside His house, while an atheist vampire could walk in here without feeling a twinge of pain."

"He'll hear me just fine outside, if you want to go in, Eva."

"No, it wouldn't be the same."

We stand outside the church instead, each silently making our own prayer. A light breeze blows by with a scent of cut grass on it. Finally, we move away, back towards the house. About halfway through the village I hear someone calling my name.

"Eva, if you're going home can I join you?" It's Brigid, done with whatever called her away from the house tonight.

"Sure." I gesture for her to walk beside me. "This, by the way, is Iain. Iain, this is Brigid, Hannah's nurse."

"Pleasure, Ma'am."

"Please, just call me Brigid. You're living in the house as well, aren't you?"

"Aye, that I am."

"Iain is a vampire, Brigid." Beside me, Iain tenses up, ready for a strong reaction.

"Yes, I know," she says, smiling. "Don't look so surprised, you two, Master Rath would hardly allow a vampire in the house if it weren't safe. He told me about Iain weeks ago."

Iain smiles back, relief plain on his face. Brigid's easy acceptance is like a breath of fresh air to him after his past year of troubles. I give her a look full of gratitude as well.

"I wish we had a decent laboratory here in the village. I'd really love to get tissue and blood samples from you to run tests on."

"What for?" Iain asks, in surprise.

"To find out what makes a vampire tick. To see if maybe there is some sort of cure. I wonder if Master Rath would finance a study."

Iain and I give one another amused glances, as Brigid mumbles to herself about tests and labs. As if Rath would provide money to find a cure for vampirism. He has a cure - kill them. Reaching the house we say goodbye to Brigid, as she returns to take over watching Hannah. Turning towards the pastures, Iain and I sit on the fence, watching the horses who remained outside tonight. Most are inactive, sleeping like the rest of the world, but one or two graze. They don't approach us, however; horses, like most animals, sense and fear vampires.

Lost in our own thoughts we don't talk, just stare at the stars and moon in companionable silence. Off in the distance I catch a movement, quick and close to the ground. A rabbit probably, there are dozens around the fields. Iain must have seen it too, slipping from the fence he looks me in the eye. I understand, climbing down the opposite side and heading back to the house, I leave him alone. Behind me, I hear Iain move with deadly swiftness through the pasture. A few seconds later my sharp hearing picks up the squeal of the rabbit. Shuddering, I go inside the house, returning to my room.

An hour later I head downstairs to make a sandwich. Rath is in the drawing room, going over some papers, probably Iain's. "Do you want anything from the kitchen?" I ask in passing. He shakes his head, so I move on. Before I can leave the room, though, Iain enters from the opposite door. I pause, wondering if he has made his decision. From the look on his face, I would guess that he has.

"Rath, Sir?"

"Yes." Rath looks up, giving Iain the courtesy of his attention.

"I'd like to have a week free, before starting my job, so I can go up to Glasgow and talk to my Mum." My heart skips a beat with excitement: I'm so proud of him.

"A week? Were you planning on walking?"

Iain actually blushes before answering, "I can hardly take public transport, sir."

"I should hope not. I'm sure they would greatly appreciate having to vacuum vampire ashes off of a Britrail seat." Rath does seem to enjoy making Iain squirm. "Take one of the cars, and Eva. If you get in the boot during the day you'll be fine, and it will take considerably less than a week for you to go there and back."

"Thank you, sir!" I'm not sure whether Iain is more excited about being allowed to use a car, or being given me as company. Nice of Rath to hand me out like a set of keys. Of course, he isn't stupid, he knows I'll go whether he wants me to or not.

"Would you please stop calling me 'sir'. You are not a servant, and even if you were I don't like it."

"What should I call you then."

"Preferably nothing, now take Eva into another room before she starts hugging me."

I laugh. Rath knows me altogether too well, I'd been planning to do exactly that when Iain finished talking. Instead, I stick out my tongue at him before leaving the room. Iain follows me to the kitchen. We make plans for the journey while I fix my sandwich. We finish just in time, folding up the map just as Iain breaks into an enormous yawn. Outside the horizon is becoming visible.

"See you tomorrow night, Iain. I'll have everything ready in the car."

"Thanks, lass."

I never realized Glasgow was so big, or maybe I've gotten so used to living near a village in the boonies that everything seems huge in comparison. Just before we arrived Iain took over driving, which is a good thing since I'm sure I'd be lost here in seconds. He points out various sights of interest as we pass by them in the pre-dawn hours, before finding a safe place to park the car. It's far too close to daylight for us to visit Iain's family now, he climbs into the trunk after giving me directions to a shopping district. I may as well enjoy myself during the daylight hours.

Having a filthy rich relative is something I occasionally take advantage of. Using my "emergency" credit card I stock up on wool sweaters, gorgeous tartans and sundry gift items for my friend's in the States. I always thought the English were friendly people, but as I wander through Glasgow I find the Scottish a hundred times moreso, gracious and helpful, their soft burring voices a pleasure to hear. None of the TV stereotypes here, just a myriad of accents and smiles. By the time the shops close, I have enough to pack the back seat of the small car to bursting. When Iain gets out of the trunk after sundown, his eyes go wide at the sight and he grins from ear to ear.

"Your brother will revoke your credit after this."

"Hey, I bought a few things for him." Rummaging through the bags and boxes I pull out several items, thrusting them into Iain's arms. "And here, these are for you. We don't want your Mom seeing you in those baggy castoffs of Rath's. I think I got the size right."

At a nearby public toilet, Iain changes. The clothes are a perfect fit, yet they disguise how thin he still is. I'm sure his mother will be proud, and tell him so. Blushing, Iain starts to mumble thanks, but I brush them off.

"What are friends for?" I ask, grinning as I pull his old clothes from his grasp and stuff them into a nearby garbage container. "Shall we go now?"

Iain maneuvers the car expertly through streets which I find confusing and narrow. Housing is so different here from what I am used to in Denver, or even the village. We pass affluent areas as well as middle-class, but the housing district where Iain's mother lives turns out to be a poorer one, though, by no means a slum. I sense Iain's embarrassment of my seeing the truth in his total silence. Finally, he pulls into an open spot along the curb.

"This is it?" I ask.

"Close. You park a car where you can here." Iain looks at me, his usual smile replaced by a determined set to his jaw. "Eva, wait for me here, please? It'll be hard enough explaining things to Mum, without explaining you too."

I didn't count on this. I want to be there, to give him moral support when he tries to explain being a vampire to his family, yet I understand his reluctance. Bringing an outsider, a crutch, would be a sign of weakness. Assuming I've acquiesced, Iain opens his door, stepping out onto the curb. An idea hits me at the same moment. Leaping, I make it out the car door before he closes it, landing on the sidewalk with four paws, not two feet. I grin up at Iain as I stand beside him in the shape of a big shaggy dog. For a moment, he looks at me in surprise.

"No, Eva." He's trying to be firm, but I can tell it will take only a little persuasion to make him give in. I decide not to verbally argue, though I can speak even in animal form. Instead, I give him one of those endearing doggy looks; head tilted sideways, ears alertly perked. I always melted when my dog, Sasha, did that.

"Don't look at me that way, lass. Get back in the car." Nope. I sit my butt firmly on the cool concrete and tilt my head in the opposite direction. A couple of older ladies stroll by and snicker as Iain tries, in vain, to push me back in the vehicle.

Recognizing obstinacy when he meets it, Iain gives up, locking the car door and proceeding to a nearby building. Happily, I follow, full of doggy pride at my achievement. When we stop at a specific door, my canine hearing picks up the sounds of children from within, and a television set blaring out some sort of program. After Iain knocks I distinguish adult footsteps coming closer. I brace myself as the door opens.

She looks old, the woman who answers the door, older than she should be. Gray hairs have almost taken over what must have once been an elegant head of auburn hair, to judge by the remaining color. Worry lines mark the corners of her eyes and mouth, but there are laugh lines too. The look of polite inquiry she wears when she first sees us, changes to confusion, then doubt, then joyous surprise, all in an instant.

"Iain!" she cries, pulling him into the house and clutching him in a tight embrace. It's a good thing dogs don't cry, or I'd be making a mess of myself right now. "Oh, God. Oh, Iain." She keeps repeating the words in a choked, sobbing voice. "I thought you were dead." Iain says nothing in response, I don't think he can. Besides, from the shaking of his shoulders I'm sure he must be crying too.

The children I heard earlier respond to the noises in the entryway, clustering around Iain and shouting questions one after another. Afraid of being trampled, I remain just outside the door, watching. I'm surprised at the obvious age gaps between the kids. I know Iain is 22, but the next oldest is another boy who can't be more then 15, then a girl of around 12 and two more boys, perhaps 9 and 6. There is the possibility they have different fathers, yet, the resemblance between them is so strong I'm sure they must have the same parent.

Released from his mother's grasp, Iain is trying to hug all the kids at once. I hear names as he greets each one, but except for the girl, Molly, I can't determine which belongs to what child. There is so much joy here, I find myself envying Iain his family.

"A dog!" The littlest boy has noticed me sitting on the doorstep. Rushing over, he gives me an enormous hug, then scratches behind my ears while planting a sticky kiss on my nose. Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do; I lick the kid across the side of his face and am rewarded with a squealing peal of laughter. "It yours E N?"

"Sort of, but don't be bothering her too much, Will, she's not used to urchins." Oblivious to Iain's request, Will continues to scratch around my neck and ears. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot I almost wilt at how good it feels. I never realized how intense canine erogenous zones could be; I'll be far more respectful when scratching a dog in the future.

When everyone moves further into the house, I detach myself from Will and go inside. At once I can tell the place isn't nearly big enough for such a large family. To one side is the kitchen, where a table is cramped into a small dining space with little elbow room between the chairs. On the other side is the sitting room, where a tattered sofa faces a small color TV. Iain's mother pulls him to the kitchen, pushing him into one of the chairs before turning on the crowd of youngsters.

"Time for you to get into bed," she orders. A chorus of groans greets the announcement, they all want to stay and hear Iain's story. "You've got school tomorrow so get going. There'll be time enough afterwards to catch up."

Slowly they shuffle out, except for the youngest who has latched onto me again. "Kin she sleep wi' me, E N?"

"Not tonight, lad," Iain grins as he answers. I'm sure he knows I'd let Rath behead him again if he said yes. "She's a bit shy of strangers. Maybe another time."

I receive another squeezing embrace from the little one, before he follows the others to their rooms. Sighing, I settle down on the floor beside Iain's chair, glad to be alone with him and his mother. She, meanwhile, absently fills a bowl with water, setting it near me on the floor before taking a seat across from him. Though I don't drink, I wag my tail in thanks for her thoughtfulness.

"Where have you been, lad? Why have you never called? What happened?" The questions all spill out of her in a rush. "Did...did it have something to do with Keith?" She asks this, the hardest question of all, hesitantly.

"Aye, you could say that, Mum."

"That's what the police thought. Oh, Iain, were you there when they killed him? Did you see who did it?"

"Aye," he mumbles. I sit up and lean my head against his leg, providing what comfort I can with my touch. Iain had told me long ago, that he had killed his friend rather than allow him to become a vampire. I can feel the tension in his muscles as I press in. Absently he reaches down, petting me.

"Why didn't you go to the police, lad? Did they kidnap you?"

"No. Not exactly. They..." Iain is struggling, helpless to find the right words. Suddenly, he slips from the chair burying his face in the fur of my neck. "I can't do it, I don't know how, Eva."

"Iain?" Chair legs scrap on the tile floor, as his mother reacts to his distress.

Softly, so she will not hear, I whisper into his ear, "Just say the words, Iain. I'm with you."

Before he can rise, his mother joins us on the floor. Her face is streaked with tears as she pulls him into her arms and cradles him. "It doesn't matter, luv. You're home now and you're alive. All this time thinking you were dead, but no body, no closure, no truth to mourn. I've lived for the others, but I've missed you so much. I don't care what happened if it's that hard for you to say." Gently, she kisses him on the forehead. "Your bone cold, lad. Get back in your chair and I'll make you some tea." Releasing him, she rises.

He is cold, I can feel it through my fur. The last time he fed was the night before, when we stopped in a wooded area. The two small rabbits he'd been able to catch would not be enough to sustain warmth in him for very long, but there will be no feeding for him until we leave.

"Don't bother, Mum," Iain says as he sits back at the table. "I can't drink it."

"Coffee then? Or something stronger?"

"Nothing, Mum. Anything I eat or drink will only make me sick."

"Why?" she asks, sitting back at the table.

"I'm a vampire, Mum." Iain is looking down at me, not at his mother, when he finally says it. We both wait in silence for her reaction. It isn't long in coming.

"Is that what happened then? You got pulled into one of those cults, full of fanatics who think they are really blood drinkers? Are you running around, all dressed in black with long fake nails, and sleeping in a coffin somewhere?" Her voice is rising steadily along with the accusations. "I suppose you've gotten your teeth filed too? Are you killing people, Iain? Did you kill Keith? He had a bite mark on his neck, you know, and the police said he'd been drained of blood! Was is some sort of initiation?"

Furious at the onslaught of venomous questions, my hackles rise and I growl threateningly. Iain places a hand on my muzzle to silence me, and finally looks up to meet his mother's eyes.

"Stop it, Mum. You're only making this harder."

"I'm sorry, Iain, but you can't expect me to believe such nonsense. Vampires!" Pushing away from the table she goes to the stove again, slamming the kettle of water onto it violently after lighting the burner.

"Just listen, Mum," Iain pleads. "Five nights before Keith died, a woman I'd never seen before cornered me in an alley and bit me in the neck. Everyday afterwards I felt sicker and sicker, and I got more and more sensitive to sunlight, until I was afraid to go out."

"I remember," The words slip from her softly, and she still has her back turned towards Iain, but at least she is listening.

"When I went out that last night she was waiting for me. I chased her halfway cross Glasgow, until she stopped where Keith was." Iain pauses. I wonder what he's going to say now. Will he tell her the full truth? Again, I lean against his leg, letting him know, the only way I can, that I support any decision he makes.

"The woman said if I agreed to help the vampires get back something that had been stolen from them, she'd let Keith go, and show me how to become human again. She'd already bitten Keith, and he was dying when I got there. I thought, if I agreed maybe she'd leave him at a hospital, or call an ambulance, but she just left him there and dragged me off.

"I spent the past two years trying to get back what the vampires wanted, only to find out the woman had been lying to me all along. There is no way to turn back. It was all a lie to make me do their dirty work."

Well, his story isn't exactly the truth, but it isn't really a lie either. The whole thing is farfetched enough without him adding details like talking vampire heads and shape-shifters like Rath. Meanwhile, Iain's mother has left the stove, returning to her seat. I raise myself enough to see her face across the table and gauge her reaction. I don't like what I see, and my fears are confirmed by her words.

"Is that all the story you can make up, lad, after two years to prepare yourself?" Angrily she pushes away from the table. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd turn into your father, but bad blood will out I suppose."

Iain looks stunned. Since he's never mentioned his father I always assumed, that like my own, he was dead.

"That's not fair, Mum. I'm not like Dad."

"No? Running off for two years without a word. Coming back and expecting me to believe every wild story you spit out, just because it's your mouth telling it. What's that like then, if not your Da? You'll probably end up in a cell right next to him as well. Maybe he'll teach you the tricks of his trade, so you can make a better liar when they set you free."

Oh, my God. Iain's father is in prison? I push my nose urgently into his hand, trying to make him unclench it and let me give him comfort, but he is like a stone on the chair. No wonder he wanted me to wait in the car.

"I'm not Dad," he repeats. "I swear to you, Mum, I'm telling the truth."

"Likely." Turning, Iain's mother leaves the kitchen, pausing in the doorway long enough for one last remark. "You might as well have stayed gone, then. I'd rather think you dead, then see you turned into him." Without waiting for his answer, she runs up the stairs, leaving us alone.

Iain's silence frightens me. I want to take my own shape, but so long as we stay in the house the risk is too great. Still, even in dog form I can speak.

"Iain, please don't worry. She's just upset, I'm sure she knows you aren't lying."

"No, Eva. She means every word." Rising, Iain moves into the sitting room, dark now that the lights and TV have been turned off. Stopping at a wall of framed photos, he selects one, taking it down and bringing it over to show me. A man stares up at me, a goofy smile lighting his face. He's Iain, or at least, he looks like what Iain will be, when he is much older. No wonder his mother is so willing to believe the resemblance is more than just skin deep.

Quietly, Iain returns the photo to the wall, then settles himself on the sofa. Jumping onto it as well, I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. We sit that way for hours, silent as the night passes by. I want to ask Iain what he is thinking, what he wants to do now, but I don't disturb him. At last, when the room begins to lighten, showing signs that dawn is beginning, I nudge Iain to remind him of the danger. Smiling, he puts the car keys on the sofa cushion between us, and rises.

"You'll need those, to get home."

"What are you talking about?" I ignore the keys, jumping off the sofa and following him up the stairs. "Where are you going, Iain, it's almost daylight!"

Unerringly, he selects the right room. Sitting in the center of her bed, her back against the wall, Iain's mother looks as though she has spent the entire night weeping. I'm sure she has gotten no sleep. Iain goes to her side taking her hand.

"Come with me, Mum. There is something you need to see."

At first she looks like she's going to argue, but the determination in Iain's voice and eyes quiets her. She follows as he leads the way downstairs. As Iain reaches for the door handle, I finally realize what he has planned. Growling, I grab his wrist, pulling it away before he can open the door.

"Let go, Eva." I continue growling, my hackles raised; I'm not going to let him do it.

Kneeling, Iain braves my anger, putting his mouth close to my ear. "Better this, than have her believe me a liar and spend the rest of her days hating me." I feel the moisture of tears dripping on my fur. "Please, Eva. What if it was your Mum?"

Damn him. I let go and back away.

Opening the door, Iain steps outside. Direct sunlight hasn't yet made it over the surrounding rooftops, and the sky is still mostly darkish in color. Iain's mother steps out to stand beside him on the landing. I crowd between them protectively.

"What is it, lad?" she asks, suspiciously.

"Just wait, Mum." With a sigh, she complies.

The sky changes color slowly, blues and violets being pushed back as the pink and orange dawn makes its presence known. I realize that I'm shaking, whining in anxiety at what I know is going to happen. Looking down at me, Iain smiles, then rests his hand on my head.

"Don't worry, lass. It's better this way."

I want to shout, no it isn't, but I can't in front of his mother. A strange smell tickles my nose, making me sneeze. The sky is a strange orangey blue, and smoke is rising off Iain's skin. Seeing it, I howl. Her attention caught by the sound, Iain's mother turns her eyes away from the sunrise to look at her son. She gasps at the sight of black oily smoke curling from every inch of exposed skin.

As the first rays of sunlight strike the pavement nearby, and the sky turns bright blue, Iain's skin begins to bubble like pancake batter and the smell of burning becomes intense. Grimacing he can't quite stifle a cry of pain. I don't give a damn anymore about what Iain wants or what he thinks is right. The door behind us is still open so, grabbing his sweater in my jaws, I pull him backwards. Losing his balance he falls, allowing me to drag him quickly into the darker hallway and away from the sunlight.

Mama, help me, I pray, where can I move him that will be safe?

Leaping over his prone body with surprising grace, Iain's mother jerks open a nearby closet throwing boxes, buckets and all sorts of items across the floor to make room Understanding, I drag Iain towards her. Moaning, he's gone fetal, and the stench of burnt flesh is pungent in the air. Helping me, Iain's mother pulls him from me, maneuvering him into the small closet space. I leap in after him, unwilling to be left outside, and she slams the door shut. Moments later, the tiny strip of light at the door's base is snuffed out, as she pushes a rag into the space. With my canine hearing I can make out the sounds of her sobs on the other side.

"I'm sorry, luv. Oh, God, Iain, I'm sorry," she cries.

"It's all right, Mum," he manages to whisper, but I'm sure she doesn't hear through the thick door.

Secure in the knowledge that no one will open the door before nightfall, I take my own form. Space is so limited I have to literally straddle Iain's body to avoid knocking something else on top of him. He continues to shake and moan with pain, an I know I have to do something. But what? As carefully as possible I touch his right forearm. The texture of the skin reminds me of a well-done Christmas turkey.

"Think, Eva, think." We did so much reading about vampires when we were learning how to get his body back, I must have read something about healing a burn. Shifting to relieve a cramp in my leg, I accidentally scrape my hand on a protruding nail. Automatically, I press on the cut with my other hand to stop the bleeding, and I have my answer.

"Blood," I whisper. It's so obvious I'd kick myself if I had space.

Searching the shelves above and around me, I look for anything with a sharp edge. Luck is with me, there are scissors in a box of sewing goods. Razor sharp, the scissor blade cuts a deep furrow in my left palm with little effort. Though I know it will hurt him, I run my bleeding palm on Iain's blistered skin. Forcing him to roll onto his back, I coating his injuries then, I force Iain's mouth open and allow some of my blood to pour down his throat. For a moment he chokes, then his moaning stops and he seems to fall in a peaceful sleep.

Using a rag from the floor, I press my wound until the bleeding stops. When I am sure it will not start again, I change back into a dog, draping myself across Iain's uninjured chest. The rhythm of his breathing soothes me as I keep watch throughout the very long day.

Iain begins stirring, alerting me to the coming of nightfall. I'm cramped from having been in dog shape, and still for so long, but I manage to rise and look him over. The blisters have disappeared, as have all traces of my blood. Though he is still asleep, I give him a quick lick on the cheek. Footsteps are audible approaching the closet door. I hear the handle turn then the door slowly opens.

"Iain? Are you well, lad?" Her voice is low, but anxious.

"Aye, Mum." I almost collapse with relief when I hear Iain's voice, strong and healthy.

Carefully, I back off him, as he sits up on the closet floor. His mother earns my gratitude by helping me unstiffen my limbs, before turning back to her son. Helping him out of the closet, she leads us to the kitchen once more. In the sitting room beyond, the TV blares out with the noise of a comedy program. No doubt the younger ones have been banished there to keep them out of the way. I settle beside Iain's chair and once again Iain's mother places a dish of water near me.

"Would she like some food, luv? She was in that closet with you all day and must be starved. I've some leftover haggis that Mrs. Tinheath brought."

"She'll be sick the whole drive back if you give her haggis! If you've a scone with a wee bit of orange marmalade, I think that'll do her fine." I'm not sure what haggis is, but I'm pretty certain I've been saved from a fate worse than death. Of course, I hate orange marmalade, but when the scone is set before me I don't refuse.

"Sorry we haven't any real dog food," she says, scratching my ear.

"I'm not," I mumble through a mouthful of scone, forgetting, momentarily, that dog's don't talk. From the corner of my eye I see Iain's mother look at me strangely.

"I'm sorry, Iain. I shouldn't have doubted you," she says, putting her arms around his shoulders. "I shouldn't have said all that about your Da."

"It's alright, Mum. It's not an easy story to believe. Even I have trouble with it sometimes."

"If I'd not seen you burning with my own eyes, I'd never believe it. There's not a trace now." She runs a finger down his cheek. "You're even a little warmer."

How's he going to get out of this one, I wonder? I put my head on his lap again to remind him of the perfect excuse.

Iain grins, "I had a warm dog on me all day, Mum."

"I thought animals don't like..." she pauses, struggling to get out the word.

"Vampires, Mum."

"Aye, lad, vampires. It's just so hard to believe." Pulling out the chair beside him, Iain's mother finally sits. "Couldn't you have found an easier way to prove it, lad?"

Iain shakes his head. "Not really, Mum. If I'd shown you my teeth, you'd have called them fake. I could have tried holding a cross for you, like I did for... someone else, but there isn't one around. The only options left would be to go out in the sun, or... or bite someone, Mum. And I don't feed on people. Ever."

I can almost see worry leaving her, like a drift of smoke. "I'm glad to hear that, lad. There are plenty of vermin around here, so you'll never have to be hungry. And we'll fix up that closet good and tight for you. I just don't know what I'll tell the other..."

"Nothing, Mum. I'm not staying."

She wasn't expecting this. Her eyes go wide and tears begin to form.

"Why not? Where are you going?"

"I've a job down in England, a job with good wages. My boss knows what I am, but he's willing to let me stay on, and maybe help me find a way back to normal. It was his sister who convinced me to come here and tell you the truth, and he loaned me a car so I could." Iain pulls some papers from his back pocket, handing them to his mother. "This is the information on a bank account that's been set up in your name. My wages are going straight into it, Mum, for you and the kids. My boss already advanced me enough to pay off your back rent, and a few months ahead. You'll be fine now, whether you get work or not."

"He must be a very kind gentleman, Iain."

I almost choke on my last bite of scone. Rath? Nice? To a vampire? If she only knew the truth.

"Is the dog alright?"

"Aye, Mum." I can hear the laughter in Iain's voice; he knows exactly what I was thinking. "She's reminding me I have to go, if I want to make it back before dawn."

"A smart dog."

"Aye, that she is."

They rise, and I follow to the door. Iain hugs his mother tightly, and from where I stand I can see the pale pink tears on his face.

"Come visit again," she murmurs into his shoulder.

"I will, Mum, whenever I can. Say bye to the bairns for me, I'll never get loose if they start."

"Aye, lad." As I watch her wipe tears away from her eyes, I realize that Iain's mother looks younger now than she had when we first arrived. I'm glad that Iain didn't leave her wondering, that he told her the truth.

Since she watches as we walk to the car, I stay in dog form, climbing into the passenger seat. "Hurry up, I'm tired of being a dog." I mumble, as Iain buckles himself in.

Laughing, Iain starts up the car and pulls into traffic. As we pass his mother, standing in the open doorway, he waves, and I bark. When we at last turn a corner, I take my own form for the first time since that short period in the closet.

"God, that feels good," I say, stretching out my arms and legs luxuriously.

Iain chuckles. "Thank you, lass. I know what you did in the closet, giving me your blood. If your brother knew..."

"Fortunately Rath isn't omniscient; at least, I don't think he is. Anyway, ignorance is bliss and I propose he remain very ignorant on this point. Besides, you didn't bite me, I bled on you and he didn't forbid that." I grin, to show Iain I'm really not concerned about what Rath might say.

"True, lass."

I wait until we've left the evening traffic of Glasgow behind, before starting up conversation again.

"You're Mom is a nice woman, Iain. I like her."

"She liked you too."

"I was a dog, Iain. What's not to like in a dog!" All I get in response is laughter. "Well, next time I'm walking through the door on two legs, not four."

"Next time?"

"After that sunrise performance of yours do you think I'm letting you travel on your own again?"

"I suppose not," he chuckles, then gets very serious. "I had to, Eva. I couldn't have lived if she thought me like my Dad."

"I understand." I don't, really. I loved my Dad, he was a good man, but obviously Iain's life hasn't been the storybook that mine was. One day I'll get him to tell me all about it, but not now. Now we keep driving into the night, heading home.

episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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