The first sign to Dwayne Mathers that life was going downhill was when he wrote that letter to his little sister.

Isabelle lived in Arizona with their father. Dwayne had moved to the little town of Santa Carla six months before for work, finding it in the hotel built just a few years before, the Riolta. He lived in a very small townhouse on the outskirts of the city, but he managed to scrounge up enough money to buy the paper and stamps to write Isabelle every week. His last letter had been written to her on the seventh of April, 1906 He had received no response, which he found odd, until he found a letter to him a week later from a law firm, telling him that his sister and father had died in a fire. The house was gone, all that was left of his family, gone, his life blown to the wind as ashes.

It wasn’t the first fire his family had suffered. When he had been a small boy, their house had caught fire, and his mother died in the blaze. Everyone else had survived unhurt. He hardly remembered his mother, he had been two when the fire started and had no pictures of her. His father drank too often to tell him anything.

It had been him and Isabelle, usually, alone. There was the nanny, but she did little other than keep them from getting killed.

He had been eager to leave the home he shared with his father. Isabelle would live there until she found a husband. Well, Dwayne thought bitterly, she’ll never be able to prove how loving she was to children of her own.

He withdrew from his thoughts and looked out over the desk. The sunlight streamed through large windows in the front. He actually wasn’t fond of those windows, like so many of his coworkers. The darkness, where the light didn’t hit, was less painful on the eyes for one, and secondly, he had always been partial to the mysteries of the night. He liked the moon. One could look at it without burning their eyes. Dwayne was thankful that a pillar blocked the front desk from most of the sunlight, saving his poor eyes.

He bent down to the documents in front of him. The Herkins couple would be checking out, and a gentleman would be checking in. That would be on his lunch break, though. Another clerk would be more than capable of handling that.

Dwayne checked the dollar watch in his pocket. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until he could leave and go to the staff room, eat, and spend a scant minute or two relaxing before continuing work.

He eventually went on his lunch break. Over his meagre meal of soup-thin soup, at that -he reread a letter that had come yesterday. His father had racked up numerous large debts before his fiery demise, and what was salvaged was taken to cover them. Little had survived, though: some of Isabelle’s jewellery, inherited from her mother, silverware, little things. Dwayne closed his eyes. There had been money in a bank, of course, but that was gone, too. The silverware he cared little for, but Isabelle had cherished the jewellery. She had told the servant they employed that she would polish it as needed. She would spend hours in her little bedroom, polishing each gem and piece until they glowed.

And now those pieces, like her, were gone.

He had no money to visit for their funerals. Dwayne and his grandparents had never gotten on well-His father had been estranged from both sides of the family. They were organizing the funerals, and he knew that even if he had any money, he wouldn’t have been invited. But once he had saved up some money, maybe he could visit Isabelle’s grave. To see what remained of her body, or rather, ashes, was something he would like to do.

He sighed and stood. There would be just enough time to relax before his lunchtime ended.

There was little activity that afternoon. Since it was April, the hotel wasn’t as busy as it was in the summer, and check in and out time had passed. Nevertheless, there was a man and his young daughter who checked in. The clerk coming off duty whispered in his ear.

“They know Mr. Hargreaves,” he informed Dwayne. “So treat them well. The man’s Mr. Willows. Lady’s Emily.Be respectful.”

That was the rule; respect the ones who knew the boss.

Mr. Willows, he was told later by the same clerk, came off as being gruff-which he did. He was a large man, very tall and broad. Even so, he was very gentlemanly and polite-if he was treated well. Emily was not quite twenty, but was of marrying age and her father was always on the lookout for a man that they both liked.

The remainder of his day was uneventful, and he breathed a sigh of relaxation as he prepared his things to leave.

A bellhop who had come off at the same time bounced in. He flashed Dwayne a smile. “Heard the rumours? Someone’s actually buying part of the old Prewer land.”

The Prewer land had been the home to an old man that was known only as Mr. Prewer. Rumours went that he died some odd fifty years before, leaving his property-two acres of undeveloped land-to be ignored. Some joked that his grouchy old ghost haunted it.

“That’s a surprise.”

The bellhop nodded in agreement. “Poor man doesn’t know what he’s getting. Apparently he’s coming down next week to check it out.” The bellhop clocked out and nodded at him. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dwayne raised his hand farewell to the bellhop and finished gathering the few things he had brought with him, before leaving himself. The twilight sun spread across the sky in a carmine haze, the brightness slowly being replaced by the dark ink of nighttime. Perhaps he would go for a walk before returning to his home.

The waves crashed on the rocks, the repetitive sound a lulling melody to his ears. The wind whipped his short black locks. Yes, this time of day was peaceful-the heat of the day and the sun’s intenseness had faded, leaving behind a serene period of cooled air and pleasant conversations. He loved it.

Sea lions frolicked in a small inlet as the night made its full advance. Dwayne was halfway home by the time stars sparkled overhead, the moon three-quarters full and teasingly bright. When it was full, the light would be silver and brilliant, a nice change from the fiery scream that the sun projected. The moon would give off a cool radiance that Isabelle had always loved. She would come into his room, her dark hair down long on her back, long fingers holding up the hem of her nightdress. They would sit on his bed, just staring out at the sky over Phoenix, until Isabelle’s head drooped onto his shoulder, fast asleep. He would gently pick her up and murmur softly into her ear as he carried her into her room and tucked her under her blankets.

But that was gone now.

Dwayne bumped into someone without realizing. “My apologies,” the man said. Dwayne looked up at him, for he was a good bit taller than him. Their eyes met for a moment. “I should have been looking to see where we were going.”

Dwayne nodded in response. He really wasn’t in any mood to be having a conversation with this man.

The man seemed to get the hint. “Well, I suppose I should get going. I’m supposed to be at my restaurant by now. Good evening.”

“Good bye,” Dwayne echoed, already lost again to the waves.

The man hurried off, turning a corner with a smile. That boy would do nicely, from his quick foray into his mind. Quite nice indeed.

Dwayne was home a short while later, a small candle giving light to the main room of his home. It was a tiny home, with just four rooms. His bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, and main living area. It was all he could afford, and even then, it was barely paid for each month. His father had only once sent money to help him cover the payment, and that had been last month. He would have to work a lot to pay the mortgage this month.

Supper was more of the soup he’d had for lunch. The nanny his father had hired had ceased to be a nanny by the time he was twelve, becoming his father’s personal pleasure assistant. No more did she cook for his father’s children; Dwayne and Isabelle together snuck into the kitchen and learned how to cook for themselves. She would smile after each meal, exclaiming that she loved her brother’s cooking.

Yes, his life had mostly revolved around caring for Isabelle, ensuring that she grew up to be a young and happy woman. But that part of his life had ended when she saw him off on the train to California. And he would never see her again.

With a sigh, Dwayne blew out the candle and went to bed.

The second sign that things were changing was the letter from the bank. Dwayne decided then that he really did not like post.

Unable to pay the monthly mortgage on his house, it was going to be repossessed-he had until the twentieth to either pay off what he owed, or do nothing and get forcibly removed from his home.

He had no money to pay the bank, no valuables or savings-any inheritance been lost to his father’s debts, and his father would never have given him any, anyways. He could work a few more night shifts at the hotel to earn extra money, but then he would be depriving someone else of needed pay. Even so, he needed it himself. He would have to speak to Mr. Hargreaves to see if he could get a few more shifts. Dwayne knew that where Mr. Hargreaves was concerned, a raise was not likely. A few shifts would have to do.

He went to the hotel early the next day, and Mr. Hargreaves agreed to see him. Mr. Hargreaves was a stout, pudgy man, wider out than he was up. A cigar was clamped between his lips as he received Dwayne in his office. “What can I do for you?”

Dwayne cleared his throat. “Mr. Hargreaves, I’m extremely grateful for your giving me employment here at the Riolta, extremely grateful and thankful. I was hoping, sir, that I could take a few overnight shifts to earn some extra money.”

Mr. Hargreaves leaned over his desk, studying his employee for a moment. “Are you in the red?”

Dwayne stiffened. “Is that really necessary to know, sir?”

“No, I suppose not.” Mr. Hargreaves had moved to lean back in his chair, pondering Dwayne’s request for a moment. “You better work diligently for the shifts, Mathers. If I hear from the overnight supervisor that you aren’t doing satisfactory work, I will fire you.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” Dwayne replied. He shook hands with his boss, saying, “I won’t let you down.”

Mr. Hargreaves waved him out of his office. “You better not.”

That cheered Dwayne up a little. The extra shifts would help to pay the mortgage, so maybe he wouldn’t be evicted that month. If he was lucky. The again, had he ever be lucky? The only really lucky thing he could count in his life was Isabelle’s birth, the fact that he had a younger sister who became a beautiful woman.

A bitter smile briefly crossed his lips as he vaguely remembered looking into the newborn’s bassinet as a two year old. She had been so small, but her eyes were bright and stared at him, a baby gurgle sounding like a laugh. A head covered in wispy black hair had been covered by a tiny bonnet. And his heart had been warmed to her forever after that. His mother had not long after, and life had changed. There had been a picture, somewhere, of the two of them, not long after her birth-but before the fire.

Dwayne stared into a mirror. The staff room had only one washroom facility, and he liked ensuring his appearance stood to standards. The less he did to displease Mr. Hargreaves, the better. His black hair was getting a little on the long side-soon, he would have to find the money to visit the barber, or cut it himself. He didn’t really trust himself to cutting it, though.

Almost black eyes blinked and continued to stare back at him. Isabelle’s eyes had looked almost exactly like his, the shape nearly identical. There were few differences. Her eyes had more roundness to them. Her eyelashes had been full and curling, framing her eyes with an almost doll-like innocence. She had shared his somewhat darker skin, as well-it was in the frame of the average gentleman, but still slightly on the darker end of the spectrum. Dwayne was thankful it was no darker, otherwise he’d be fielding questions of his parentage-did he have Mexican blood? Indian? Those of Indian or Mexican were rarely given jobs, unless they were low paid.

Truth was, Dwayne had no idea. His father’s skin had been as pale as a gutted fish belly, and his mother had died before he was old enough to remember what she looked like. If her skin had been darker, like his, perhaps he wasn’t of noble, fully Brit descended blood-like his father insisted. When he had been sober enough to say so.

With a small sigh, Dwayne opened the door to the facilities and left for his shift. The day was overcast, thankfully. It, along with the promise of more shifts, made the day just a little better.

He was working the main desk. It handled almost everything related to guests, from check in and outs to guest amenities. If someone wanted something done in their room-more pillows, fresher towels-then they requested it at the desk in the lobby. If they wanted to reserve the tennis courts or request something special, then the clerk at the main desk was the one to see. Mornings were the busiest, declining partway through the afternoons. That was the check in and out time, so it meant rush. Still, it paid well, considering the worker sat on the chair going over files half the time.

Dwayne sat in the chair, going over the guest list for the previous day. A guest had been supposed to check out, but hadn’t done so. He wasn’t in his room, which-according to a maid-hadn’t been touched since she cleaned it the day before. Odd. He had been about to make a note of it when there was a feminine voice speaking to him.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked up. The daughter of Mr. Hargreaves friend-the lady Willows-stood before him. “May I make a request?”

He nodded his head politely. “Of course. What may I do for you, Miss?”

“I would greatly appreciate getting some flowers placed in my room. If it’s possible, please, sir.”

Respect friends of the boss. They got what they wanted-including what their families wanted. Dwayne nodded his head. “I will do that, Miss. Is there a specific type of flower?”

“Lilies, please. Dried if it can be done.” She slipped several bills across the desk to him, which he took without a word. Money for the flowers.

“And to which room?”

“Number one-twelve.”

Dwayne lowered his head and wrote a note. She had a remarkably attentive voice, speaking in a manner that said she would listen if she so desired, but demanded attention if that suited her. Interesting combination. “Of course, Miss. I can get that to your room by tomorrow. Sooner, hopefully.”

She flashed a genuine smile at him. “Thank you very kindly, sir.”

As she turned and left, he rang a small bell, summoning a bellhop from a doorway. The door led to a room behind the main desk, kept for a couple files and an area for the bellhops to wait for the ring of the bell. Dwayne bent over the note in his hands, adding a last line. “Miss Willows requested dried lilies for her room. Her father a friend of Mr. Hargreaves.” He informed the bellhop, who nodded in immediate understanding.

“Did she leave money for the flowers?”

“Yes, she did.” Dwayne confirmed. “Are you able to go and get them now?”

The Bellhop checked his pocket watch. “I have a break in an hour, and I’ll be able to stop in to the florist and get them.”

“Perfect,” Dwayne responded, sitting down in his chair. “They can be delivered before they day is up.”

With a nod, the Bellhop left, and Dwayne resumed working.

The third sign that life as it was was changing was that day. When everything changed.

It had started off normal, Dwayne had two shifts: one in the morning and a second very late that night, bleeding into the next day shift. The bank had accepted the money he had earned and sent them, so he wouldn’t be evicted-yet. Even so, he was working four night shifts and five day shifts a week. He was exhausted.

That morning had been good enough at first, and was becoming worse. He had nodded off once; only to be woken up by a passing bellhop-who said he wouldn’t tell Mr. Hargreaves if he was paid off with enough money-and he was now dealing with a bossy guest.

The woman’s eyes settled on his hair. The poorly disguised disgust told him that she disliked his hair. Dwayne knew fully well that it was past time to cut it, he should have done so already, but he was busy. There was simply no time for him to cut it, when he had to find time to sleep and eat in-between shifts.

He ducked his head to study a file when she approached, sliding a sealed letter across the counter.

“I would like this mailed to San Francisco, please.”

Dwayne took the letter and placed it with other letters to be mailed off. “Yes, ma’am, it will be my pleasure.” He said, the oft-repeated phrase slipping off his tongue with practiced ease. “Will that be all you require?’

She responded that no, she also wanted to book a tennis court for that afternoon.

Dwayne retrieved a file from a drawer, checking the slots for the afternoon. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the courts are booked for today. Would tomorrow be fine?”

“No it would not. Good day.”

The woman left him in peace, and he returned the files before him.

“…Lucky, isn’t it?” A voice said, causing Dwayne to look up. A young man was speaking to the woman.

The pair conversed for another minute or two as he watched, his gaze seemingly cast down on the papers. What the guests did was of no consequence to him. If they wanted to speak, then so be it. If they did it a few feet from his desk, fine.

The woman left the younger man, who turned to Dwayne and flashed him a small smile. He couldn’t help but return it, a smile that merely said ‘Good luck.’ Whatever the man was doing, he felt like the man would need that luck. In the just the few minutes he had spoken to her, that woman had sent shivers down his spine.

The smile fading from his lips as the man left, Dwayne returned to the dreary world of files.

He returned to his home for supper and rest before going back to the hotel at two for the late-night early-morning shift. Each shift was eight hours in length, so at ten he would be free to go home and sleep.

There was a candle on the desk and the gas lamps were dimly lit, but it was still dark and quiet. The world slept peacefully, not letting anything get in the way of its serenity. In fact, it was so lovely, Dwayne himself was getting heavy eyelids.

A bellhop brought him a cup of tea very early. Two bellhops were on duty overnight, just in case, but rarely-if ever-did they do anything. He had a little more in the way of guest interactions, be it a guest requesting a pillow or night cap, but he too had little to do. The tea warmed him up and helped to wake him.

Dwayne never noticed the minute waves forming in his cup. There wasn’t anytime to, because all peace shattered as a tremor shook to the hotel to its core.

The candle fell off and the tea sloshed over the desk. Dwayne stumbled over his feet, one hand gripping to the wall to keep himself steady. The shaking ceased, sending him to fall to all fours on the floor, breathing deeply, steadily, for just a moment before he would check on the guests.

Then the earth really let it rip.

The second was worse than the first, sending him sprawling over the floor. The distant screams of guests on above floors passed over him, and there was nothing he could do to help, to move, until the quake stopped.

When it did, all was silent, save for the patter and screams of guests and staff. Dwayne started to pick himself up off the ground, when he heard a great crack as the hotel began to move, statues and decorations beginning to fall.

The guests were running through the lobby to the doors, forced open by those in front. Before Dwayne could move for them, a high-pitched screech ripped through the air and extreme pain tore through his chest. Feeling was lost below his neck, and his eyes-his eyes weren’t working well. Everything was a dim haze, blurry, hardly visible. He could see his arm on the ground before him, but he couldn’t feel anything.

With a scream tearing silently from his fevered mind, he dropped into unconsciousness.

**********

It seemed like no time had elapsed. And yet, each second was an eternity in disguise. Visions of fire, of Isabelle being consumed, slipped in and out of his mind at random intervals. There was no outside world, just him.

The feeling of terrible pain in his chest was unbearable, like a fire ripping through his lungs and heart. Sparks ran almost lazily through his veins. Unaware of his surroundings, he groaned and tried to look side to side to see where he was. It felt like he was lying down, in a bed, but he had been at the hotel, wasn’t he? Employees didn’t sleep in the hotel. Not ever. Not allowed.

It hurt even more to speak than it did to remain still, but he was desperate to know his location. “Where am I?”

There was silence. Dwayne was just beginning to think he was alone, when- “You’re with me.”

Dwayne stopped moving when he heard the voice. It sounded familiar, like he had heard it recently, but there was an ethereal quality that no mortal man should have. It sent shivers down his spine, which only hurt. “Who are you?”

“David. And you are?”

“Dw-Dwayne.”

Foot steps thumped closer to them-wherever they were-and a voice said, “Ah, good! You’re awake.”

Someone patted him on the shoulder and he stiffened. His shoulder was tender and hurt to be touched. “Would you like to feel better? I can give you something that will make you feel better for an eternity. You’ll never age, and you’ll never hurt. Do you want it?”

Stop the pain? It was so intense, so hot. Anything to get rid of it. “I do.”

“Excellent.” He could hear the clink of glass and metal, before cold metal was pressed to his lips. “You won’t regret it…Dwayne, was it? You won’t regret it, Dwayne.”

The liquid passing into Dwayne’s mouth was unlike anything he had tasted before. Though it itself was cool, it warmed every inch of him, burning away the sparks of aches and pains.

He felt better immediately after the cool metal was removed from his mouth. The pain had been partially burnt off, but the general sting of injuries remained. Overcome temporarily by a spastic shiver, he didn’t hear anything that passed between the two voices for a minute. It was only when he pulled out of it did he hear the second voice say, “…back to work. Lucky I could close it after the earthquake, eh?”

He turned his head in the direction of David’s voice. “There was an earthquake?”

“Yeah. Max picked us up after it. You shouldn’t talk, you need rest. You’ve got enough damage to recover from, so I won’t tell you what Max told me unless you keep quiet.”

The quality that David’s voice had had at first was gone, but he could hear it better-as a matter of fact, he could hear everything a little clearer. A low, rich scent filled the air, as wonderful as the substance he was just given. Bizarre. Dwayne just nodded in response.

“Well, there was the earthquake a few nights ago…” He was swiftly told the story. “…And Max-that was the man just in here-gave us blood from a wine bottle. So, now you and I are, well, half-vampires.”

Dwayne’s heart stopped. There had been an earthquake. He had been badly injured. And now, this person was telling him that he was a half-vampire? What was a half-vampire, anyways? Obviously not a full vampire. What was the difference?

And was there a way to reverse it-did he want it reversed?

Oh, God, what have I done? Had he the strength, he would have put his hands to his covered eyes. This was a mess.

“What you’ve done is drink blood. So, like me, you’re a half-vampire.”

That stopped his heart cold again. What is he talking about? I’ve never drunken blood. Is he going to kill me?

David spoke again, but Dwayne could hear bitter amusement in his voice. “I’m not going to kill you. Never thought of it. And you did drink blood, that was the stuff Max gave you.”

How had he-David-heard what he thought? Dwayne was sure he didn’t say it aloud. Unless the man was a mindreader-then again, who knew what vampires could do?

The sound of bound papers rustling caught his attention. “Max left some stuff for us to read. Want me to read aloud?” He nodded, and the sound was followed by the scratch of thumbing through a book until David next spoke. “Chapter One. Jonathon Harker’s journal…”

Dwayne enjoyed Dracula. Even though it made the fact that he was a half-vampire hang heavy in his mind, it was interesting and captivating, the empathy he felt for Jonathon Harker and Mina tender. Even though he disliked the Count, the powers displayed by the vampire were incredible to think about. And he supposed that if there was a way for him to be a full vampire-not that he wanted to be-he would be eager to try them.

Sleep and weariness drew on him, the temptation to let his head sink back into the thick pillows incredibly inviting as time passed. Perhaps it was night, but he couldn’t tell-David had said that there was a blindfold over his eyes, and that Max said his eyes were hurt in the earthquake.

That terrified him. How would he be able to keep his job if he couldn’t see? Did the hotel even exist now? Would he be able to work as a half-vampire? Questions swirled through his mind.

Dwayne yawned, and he heard the book closed by David’s hands. “We can continue tomorrow night.”

He had begun to figure out that David could hear his thoughts, that they could communicate without him hurting his chest and lungs any more. It was easier, too. No, continue the story. I can stay awake.

“Oh, no, you can’t.” Dwayne was starting to hear the same weariness creep into David’s voice. “We seem to be sleepy in the day.” The sound of glass hitting metal struck his ears again, before: “Do you want a drink before we sleep?”

Did he mean blood? It would make sense, if Max had left the wine bottle in the room. Dwayne pondered for a minute. Would drinking the blood make him a three-quarter vampire? Two-thirds? Maybe it would make him one-eighth. Then again, probably not. I suppose it won’t hurt. It won’t, will it?

“No.” The glass hit metal again, and he could feel the metal cup or whatever it was pressed to his lips, filled with the most tantalizing scent he had ever smelled before. Opening his lips, the blood emptied into his mouth and streamed down his throat. So wonderful-better than chocolate mousse, French pastries, or tea. Incredible.

Having lifted a tiny bit to reach the blood better, Dwayne fell back to the pillows, solidly asleep.

Life had changed immensely; if healing from what should have been a fatal wound and becoming a half-vampire was any indication. Nothing was the same as it once had been.

“So, what’s you’re story?”

David had asked Dwayne that a few nights after the brunette woke. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it, but he would have preferred to not think about it. He gave a mental shrug. No family. Just me.

David seemed to pick up on his desire to not contemplate it and didn’t respond. Dwayne had begun to learn how to pick into his thoughts, and caught a glimpse of a guest from the hotel-Miss Willows, he knew- and the older woman he been speaking to in front of the desk. Interesting.

He withdrew quickly, unsure if David would be able to detect his feeble probe. David’s own probe had become more refined in the past couple days, to the point where Dwayne didn’t notice his invasion until the blond commented on Dwayne’s current thoughts. It was unnerving at first, but it was rapidly becoming more common.

David seemed to not notice it, preferring instead to drink loudly from the wine bottle. The slosh of the liquid inside reminded Dwayne of just how much they depended on that it. “Do you know any riddles?”

He was caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. It wasn’t unwelcome, just surprising. Er, no. Do you?

“A couple. Here’s one I like: What grows shorter as it grows older?”

Hmmmm… Dwayne pondered it over. Riddles had been something he had a bit of talent for. Finally, an answer popped into his head. A wooden pencil?

“No, actually, it was a candle.”

Really? But a pencil gets shorter as it is used more, too.

Dwayne could hear David adjusting himself. “I’ll admit, it does work in the riddle.”

That was an answer Dwayne frequently received. He could sort a riddle out and come up with an answer-perhaps not always the correct answer, but one that still fit the confines of the riddle well. His answers were not seen as the correct answer, but worked.

“Here’s another one: One falls but never breaks. The other breaks but never falls. What are they?”

Dwayne was almost certain he knew the riddle, had heard it once in passing. Despite thinking hard, he eventually gave up, not being able to figure it out. I don’t know. What are they?

“Nightfall and daybreak.” The high-pitched whine of a finger tracing the glass mouth of the bottle passed through to his ears. “Liked riddles, my father did.”

You mean Max? Dwayne asked quickly, hoping David would understand what he meant.

“Er, yes, Max. At least, I think he does.”

Dwayne had purposefully asked if David had been referring to Max. Little mention to their old lives, that was what he wanted and needed. One reference would become two, and then they would be sharing stories. And he really didn’t need to tell David of her, of Isabelle. It would be too painful.

Could you help me get a drink?

“Alright.” David had told him that his legs had been injured, but were growing stronger and he could sit, with just a little pain, on the floor if he wanted to get closer to the immobile Dwayne.

The bottle was pressed to his lips, and he drank deeply. The thought of drinking blood was no longer as repugnant as it once was, but it still didn’t appeal to him terribly. It made him feel better to drink it, filled him with warmth, but the idea was still not one he liked. Thank you.

David muttered in reply, saying it was nothing.

**********

A week had passed before David had recuperated enough to stand and move around. His legs were still weak and shaky, so it was usually to do no more than sit on the edge of Dwayne’s bed. The weight pressing down on the bottom was comforting to him, a sign that he was not alone. There was another person here, going through the same thing, and if he ignored the rich copper smell that always seemed to float through the air, he was all right.

David was turning out to be an interesting man. Some things he had no trouble in revealing-he was eighteen, born February twelfth, 1888-and other things he would not reveal. Like how long Dwayne had been unconscious. He was quiet at times, and then at other times he would desire a conversation and ask Dwayne about anything. One night it was his thoughts on their new abilities, another night it was whether he like the music of Mozart! Dwayne had no idea why the topics were so varied, but they were usually brief, David ending them sounding pleased, as if Dwayne had revealed some dark secret. Like the child who receives an extra piece of pie. Knowing.

Regardless, he was quickly becoming someone Dwayne trusted dearly.

“How are you boys this evening?” Max asked, coming into the room.

Max was another story. Similar to David, he revealed little of their new status. But where David did say some articles about himself, from Max they got nothing. He was a mystery, despite the fact that he was supposed to be their ‘father’.

Well, Dwayne didn’t believe that. His father was dead to him.

“Looks like I’ll be refilling a bottle for tomorrow night, if you two keep drinking it down so quickly.” The bottle clinked after Max’s statement. “I don’t think drinking so much will do harm, though. It should only help you to heal faster.”

Dwayne didn’t speak much to Max. For one, David had refused to reply when he spoke, perhaps to ensure his lungs and chest healed faster and better, until Dwayne became accustomed to speaking with his thoughts. And Dwayne really did not want to give Max access to his thoughts. The vampire probably could anyways, he knew, but the less access he willingly gave the better. Usually, he let David do the speaking and conferred with him after Max left.

David did that once more. “As usual, Max, as fine as one could be. When he discovers that he is half-vampire, and is in the midst of healing from what should be fatal wounds.”

David had a lot of cheek saying that to Max, Dwayne had to admit. He gave him a mental nudge, born of approval and shock.

“Now, David, is that necessary?” Max didn’t seem to think it was appropriate either. “If I hadn’t brought you here from the hotel, you would be dead.”

“Yes, but-“ David’s voice halted, before becoming sullen. Dwayne heard the boy sigh. “Yes, Max.”

“Good. And you, Dwayne, you’re comfortable?”

Max had spoken to him directly, and David couldn’t speak for him this time. Dwayne nodded his head a little. There had been pain for several days as he moved, but it had mostly faded. Occasionally, there was a small, sharp pain, but it faded as quickly as it came. He also had feeling below his neck, which was nice, because it meant he was recovering. He hoped.

“Good. Soon enough, you’ll both be fully recovered.”

The heavy sounds of Max’s footsteps grew fainter and the sound of David releasing a pent-up breath coincided. “He’s gone.”

Good. Once more, there was pressure on the foot of Dwayne’s bed as David sat there.

It wasn’t that either of them disliked Max, or rather, not much-he was just strange. They weren’t brothers, nor was he their father, despite the fact that he continually called himself such.

The blindfold over his eyes was itching. David, would you be so good as to-

“Of course. Is it here?” The gentle scratch of David’s nails hit exactly the right spot on his temple. Clearly, he had caught the thought before Dwayne had a chance to finish it.

Yes. Thank you.

The weight that was David lifted momentarily, before resettling heavily. “Let’s keep going with Dracula. We’re at Dr. Seward’s journal once more.”

Reading the novel was peaceful. Even if Dwayne himself only listened as David read aloud, it was easy to picture the setting in his mind. Listening to the Harkers deal with their own vampires was sort of a healing balm.

**********

The nights began to bleed into one another, passing in a haze of darkness. David had said that, when he drank from the bottle, he could see in almost total darkness with a small bit of difficulty, whereas as a full human, they would have been blind. Dwayne lived in eternal blindness, the blindfold still securely tied around his eyes. Every few nights, Max would carefully wet it with blood from the bottle, or straight from his own vein. When he did so from his vein, both had to hold their breath as to not be affected by the smell of warm, fresh sire’s blood, as David had called it. He told him that Max was, apparently, their sire.

Every night had a similar schedule: Drink from the bottle while having a chat, read more of Dracula, or, once they finished it, Carmilla or whatever piece Max had brought for that night, wonder how long they had been there, what was going on in the outside world, and if they would ever get freed from the beds. It had a certain comfort in the repetition of the schedule, even if the contents were not always so wonderful.

Dwayne resolutely refused to think of her grave in Arizona. There was little to no chance that he would ever get to see it, or any of his estranged family, so he dared not dwell on them. In the moments when he tried to forget, he practised slipping into David’s mind, hopefully without the boy noticing. So far, he was improving, and had been felt only once. David-from what he saw in the other’s mind-did reminisce occasionally on what Dwayne now knew were his parents and Miss Willows. He had grown fond of the woman in the few days together, it seemed, and he had found her quite attractive.

The blindfold had grown ever more irritating. To be unable to see was a nuisance, to rely solely on his other available senses even worse. He was desperate to know what the room looked like, or David, or even Max. To even look at his own hand would have been a comfort.

The night finally came when he could stand it no longer. He had been in a sitting up position almost since he had woken, and with David’s assistance-for his arms had grown a little weaker with lack of use-he removed the blindfold.

Ah, the sights around him! The warm, creamy coffee colour of the walls was stunning, the olive green of the blanket over his bed indescribable. Even the wine bottle, with encrusted gold and sparkling stones was unbelievable. And perhaps the most intoxicating sight was his first glimpse of David.

The boy had milky skin, paled from their lengthy incarceration in the room. Hair like white fire was only just falling into his eyes. Pyjamas, too big and falling off one arm revealed firm muscles. His eyes were glacier blue swirling around the dark pupil.

Dwayne had seen him before, in the hotel, but he was incredible to look at now. Had the blood done this to him? And if so, was Dwayne the same way now?

Dwayne raised his hand, studying it in the light. It had paled, but it was still darker than David’s. Incredible. Simply incredible.

“Well?” David asked, a smirk crossing his lips. “How is it?”

Amazing. Imagine going from no sight to…to a world of beauty. His thoughts still refused to be vocalised, passing through to David mentally. It was habit now, and he had no desire for the time to speak aloud. He continued to gaze around the room, his eyes moving from one object to the ceiling, or the floor, or the nightstand.

David picked up the wine bottle and put it in Dwayne’s hands. “You should drink. Don’t overexert yourself.”

Dwayne grasped the neck in his hand raising it to his lips as his other hand supported its bottom. The blood was, as usual, thicker than water and metallic, but the pleasure of seeing it as he drank and holding the bottle in his hands was almost overwhelming. He took several deep draughts, before passing it to David at his bed’s foot, who took it and drank from it as well.

A smile formed on Dwayne’s lips. I like this. But, let’s not tell Max yet.

“Sounds fine to me.” David replied, putting the bottle back on the nightstand. “Considering he won’t tell us everything about being a vampire, it’s only fair if we don’t tell him everything.”

Dwayne gave a small nod in agreement, now staring at the buttons going up David’s chest. He again noted the largeness of the pyjamas.

“These belong to Max.” David said, startling Dwayne out of his stare. The blonde boy was picking at the collar, having evidently caught the thought in Dwayne’s mind. “He made me put them on and get out of my own. You’re wearing a pair, too.”

His eyes flicked down to his torso, and confirmed what David said. He too was wearing an overly large pair of blue pyjamas. They were definitely too roomy, since he could feel plenty of bunched up cloth about his abdomen. And when he pulled the covers back, he could even see the material.

Being able to see was rather nice, he decided.

The dim light was beginning to sting his eyes just a little, though. Perhaps his eyes still weren’t fully healed, regardless of how long they had been there. Help me put the blindfold back on? He asked.

David nodded, And Dwayne leaned forwards a little so the other half could tie it securely over Dwayne’s eyes. Once again, the world was dropped into blackness. A heaviness settled onto his heart. He loathed the blindfold.

The night ended as David picked up Dracula to continue reading.

Thump.

“Argh!”

Dwayne was about to bolt upright and see what was wrong when he remembered the blindfold covering his eyes. Instead, he turned to face David. What was that?

“That was me. I’m on the ceiling!”

What?

An image popped into his mind from David. Sure enough, he was looking down at Dwayne, and not just down, but from high above the floor and beds. The image turned as David turned his head, and, sure enough, he was on the ceiling.

How did you get up there?

He heard David grunt again. “I don’t know. I woke up. And I was here.”

Dwayne couldn’t resist a mental chuckle.

“It’s not funny!”

It is, actually.

David growled at him. “Well, how do you propose I get dow-”

“Good evening, boys. Ah, David, good to see that you’re growing into your new abilities!”

Max chose that moment to enter their bedroom. Dwayne heard his laugh. “I’m impressed.”

“Of what?” David snarled.

“Of the fact that you levitated, of course. A precursor to flying.”

We can fly? Dwayne interjected. Had he heard Max wrong?

“Of course you can fly! It’s an aid to hunting.” Max replied. The thump of his footsteps carried him to the foot of the two beds. “Hunting would be much harder without it. Not impossible, but harder.”

There was a scuffling noise as David spoke. “Why would that make hunting harder?”

“Well, when you can fly,” Max explained, “It’s quite easy to grab someone and fly off to dine in peace. Without flight, you lure them away and get them alone. It takes so much less time, so you can eat more in one night.”

“I see.” David was silent for a minute, before grunting with effort. “Now, would you please tell me how to get off the ceiling?”

“I suppose I should. It’s simple to control: you have to will yourself down. Tell yourself that you want to be on your bed.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then: “It worked.” Surprisingly. Dwayne was half expecting a thought along those lines and was not disappointed when it came.

“Of course it worked. Can’t have you floating around the ceiling all night, can I?” Max chuckled at his feeble joke. “Now boys, I’ll be going now, and I’ll get some rope so that you don’t fly off your bed again, David. Do you want anything for when I get back?”

Nothing for me, Dwayne told David silently. The less he spoke to Max directly, the happier he was.

“No, Max, we’re fine.”

“Alright. I’ll see you boys later.”

The footsteps finally thumped away. To his right, he could hear David breathe a sigh of relief. “He’s gone.”

Good. I can take this off, then. Dwayne untied and removed the blindfold, once more awed by the colours and shapes in the room.

David smirked as Dwayne scanned the room. It happened every time the blindfold came off. “Better?”

Much. Dwayne replied. Do you know what I just realized? I have no idea what Max looks like.

David pondered that for a moment, lounging quite comfortably on his bed. “That’s true, you haven’t seen him yet. Do you want me to show you what he looks like?”

Dwayne nodded. A second later, he saw a male face in his mind, a pair of oval spectacles over his eyes and a wave to his tawny brown hair. He had a benign face, hardly threatening at all. But there was a hard glint in his eyes, before it was hidden by a kindly glaze.

Are you sure he’s a vampire? Certainly doesn’t look like one.

David shrugged. “It would make sense if he was. Who else would have their blood in that bottle?”

It was Dwayne’s turn to shrug, though his shoulders were still rather stiff.

*********

Want me to read for once?

David had picked up Dracula-now on their second or third read through-and had been in the process of turning to their page when Dwayne asked if David wanted him to read. Even though Dwayne was older, and used to looking after someone else, he had not read once. It was always David who did so. It gave him an out-of-sorts feeling.

David looked at him. “Do you feel up to it?”

Dwayne blew air out of his mouth. Of course I do. I feel fine.

“Alright…” David passed the novel over. Dwayne took it and flipped to their page, deciding to speak aloud for the first time since the quake. The words passed through his long-unused lips.

“For a while, sheer anger mastered me. It was as if he had during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to him, “Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?”

“He raised his head and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my friend, whey, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted, no so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a fearful death? Ah no!" ”

His throat rapidly grew parched, prompting Dwayne to drink frequently from the bottle. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, from both disuse and from his injuries. Even so, it had sounded worse upon first waking. Any improvement was an improvement.

David refused to let him read for very long, practically tearing the book from Dwayne’s hands and shoving the wine bottle into them, insisting he drink. “You’re not to talk until you’re fully healed.”

Dwayne didn’t argue, instead letting David pick up where he had left off. His throat felt sore, and a sharp pain was lodged in his chest. Perhaps speaking could wait a little while longer.

He replaced the blindfold when he thought Max would soon be returning. It was always a guess, and sometimes he put it on just a few minutes before their sire arrived, and other times long before they heard him speak. He wondered briefly what had happened to his dollar watch.

“Good morning, boys.” Max called out. “How was this evening? Nothing out of the ordinary, I trust?”

Dwayne shook his head. “Nothing from me, either.” David added.

“Good.” Max’s feet thumped closer, stopping as the wine bottle clinked against the unused goblet. “Looks like you boys were thirsty. I’ll refill the bottle and bring another one.”

The footsteps left. “You heard him, the bottle was nearly empty.” David said, almost scolding him. “And that’s because you decided to try talking. Your voice obviously hasn’t recovered fully. So don’t speak until you know you can.”

Yes, David. Though speaking had not exactly agreed with his throat and chest, it had been a nice break from thinking his words constantly.

The heavy footsteps returned, carrying Max’s voice with them. “There we are, another bottle full of sire’s blood.” he said. “Is there anything else you two need before I leave?”

“How long do you intend to keep us in these beds, Max?” David asked. “We’ve been here for quite a while now.”

There was a pause before Max answered. “Hm. That’s a good question. Have you both fully healed?” Dwayne felt fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt as Max rewetted the bandages with blood. “I don’t think you should make your first kills until you are both recovered and strong. But these injuries look good.” he continued, referring to the damages on Dwayne’s body, “So I would say not too much longer. Certainly no more than a month.”

“A month?”

A wall of anger flared in David’s mind, forcing Dwayne out and severing the mental connection. “We shouldn’t have to be here for another month, Max.”

Max didn’t seem fazed by David’s obvious anger. “I’m sorry, but until all cuts are sealed and bruises disappeared, there will be no leaving. And how could you hunt? Dwayne can’t see and you can’t walk.”

David fumed. “Fine, Max.”

“Good. Now I’ll leave you boys be.”

The footsteps thumped off as David released a growl of pent-up frustration. “A month. He wants us to sit here for another month?”

Ridiculous. Dwayne agreed. The barrier in David’s mind had lowered enough for him to communicate. At least you didn’t tell him that we could walk and see.

He pulled off the blindfold and looked at David. There were, to his surprise, faint touches of fiery orange around the edges of the blonde’s eyes. He was breathing deeply, steadily, to calm his anger. “I’m not stupid enough to do that. It would be foolish.”

Dwayne nodded. A clear mind is always an excellent ally.

“You quoting something?” David asked. His anger seemed to be fading. When Dwayne shook his head, David continued. “It sounded good.”

Thank you.