From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Monster [1/2]
Date: 21 Apr 1996 17:32:47 GMT

			  A Monster Among Us
			       Part One

	The man slipped his cigarette out narrowly opened driver's
side window and hurriedly cranked it closed, crudely cursing the
torrential rain outpacing the frantic windshield wipers. His daughter
sulked moodily against the far door, curled into a limber knot. Her
finger sketched a pattern on the fogged glass that had meaning only to
her.

	"Give me a smoke, Dad. I'm out." Her voice held a mocking,
wheedling tone.

	His voice was raw. Damned sore throat just wouldn't go away.
"Damn it! How many times do I have to tell you! You're -"

	"Too fucking young," she finished in sarcastic unison. "That's
bullshit, Pop. It's part of my job, remember? If I'm old enough to -"

	"Callie! Give it up! Thirteen may give you the body of a
woman, but not the brains."

	The child began a surly retort, then smiled through the misty
glass. She stretched, reformed her coil at the man's side, lowered
her head to his shoulder.

	"You're the brains of this family," she purred throatily, her
hand caressing his chest. "But I'm the body, Daddy. And my body wants
a smoke." Her hand deftly lifted the pack from his shirt pocket.

	Muscles worked in his jaw as his daughter pushed the lighter
into the dash, resumed her coil against the door, and smoked. He said
nothing. The thunk of the wipers, the heavy rattle of the driving rain
on the car's roof, and his periodic raspy coughs were the only sounds
for long minutes. With a piteous sigh, she untwisted her gangly frame
and reached for the radio. She spun the tuner knob from station to
station until she found the brand of heavy rock she wanted.

	She flounced back into her curl, sullenly watched her father
lower the volume.

	"I'm hungry. When are we going to stop?"

	"Hungry? What about that bag of chips you inhaled a few miles
back?" He saw the argument coming, was too tired to deal with it.
"Look. We'll be in Columbia in a half hour or so. We'll get a room.
You can eat whatever you want."

	She wasn't ready to give it up. ""It's Friday night," she
said. It had the air of both an accusation and a reminder.

	"I know what night it is!" he shouted, then had to swerve
quickly back into his lane. A screaming horn and a wave of water
accompanied the passage of the car to his left.

	"Well?" she challenged.

	"No. Columbia's too damned small. Shit, the burg probably
doesn't even have a mall."

	"It does too. I saw a billboard that said so. A brand new one
with a hundred stores or something."

	"Damn you, you little bitch! I said no! Quit hassling me!"

	She glared savagely at him.

	He gentled his tone. "We'll wait until tomorrow. We'll be in
St. Louis. I told you about how dangerous small towns are."

	"How much money do we have, Daddy?"

	He hated that tone, the one loaded with an adult's sneering
venom, the one she always used to remind him that, in many ways, she
was far too old for her years.

	"Enough."

	"Let's see," she mused artificially. "You broke our last
hundred yesterday in Tulsa. The motel last night was fifty something.
Two tanks of gas at around twenty each. So. If we stay somewhere clean
tonight, we might have enough money for one more tank of gas - if we
skip breakfast. That about right?"

	"We can use a credit card."

	"An hour ago you explained for the millionth time why that was
a stupid idea. How come it's okay now?"

	The patently false innocence was as bad as the sneer. It was
just another of the countless ways she mocked him. He gripped the
wheel until his knuckles went white. He knew if he didn't squeeze as
hard as he could, he'd hit her again. He'd bounce that pretty little
blonde head off the window. He'd hit her and keep hitting her until. .

	He fought himself calm. She had a point, after all. That last
batch of cards was totally stale. It'd probably be less risky to let
the crazy little bitch go ahead and have her way. It'd shut her up and
maybe provide them with a fresh supply of plastic on top of the cash.

	He affixed a wide grin to his face, gave it to her. "I never
should have let them teach you math. You're too fucking smart, angel."

	She finally acted her age. Her expression glowed with
excitement and anticipation. "So it's okay?"

	"Sure. Why not. You need to blow off a little steam. But just
be damned careful, Callie. Remember everything I ever told you about
what to look out for. Don't -"

	She lunged across the seat, gave him a tight hug and a smack
on the cheek. "I know, Daddy! I promise I'll be careful. I mean,
Jesus, I've been doing this for a year -"

	"Nine months." He scratched the persistent purple rash that'd
shown up on his forearms last week.

	"Well, that's almost a year. And I've only made that one
mistake."

	He kept the smile intact with tremendous effort. "Just
remember how that turned out, baby."

	He couldn't see the glitter of excitement in her wide blue
eyes. "Oh, I won't. We can't go around leaving a trail of dead bodies
behind us, can we? That's bad for business."

	She pulled away from his side. "Can I go ahead and get ready?"

	He shook his head. He didn't remember ever feeling so tired.
"I don't think so. Not until we check in and scope the mall out."

	"Please?" she wheedled. "Just my fingernails? It'll save a lot
of time later."

	He couldn't block all his exasperation, but tried to act
lighthearted about it. "If it'll shut you up, go ahead. Just don't ask
me of you can do anything else until we get set up."

	With a gleeful screech, Callie dove into the back seat and
began digging through the litter and luggage.

	Ahmed Toth felt tired and weak and depressed. He sank
gratefully onto one of the mall's scattered benches and
surreptitiously eyed the grizzled sixty year old holding down the
other end of the long seat. He watched the man's shallow breathing,
heard the faint constricted wheeze as he pulled Pall Mall smoke into
his ruined lungs.

	Emphysema, the wet burbling told him. A fairly advanced case.
Surely diagnosed, yet the man refused to give up his tobacco. Not that
it'd matter if he did, Ahmed knew. His nostrils flared slightly,
inhaling the distinct spoor of impending death.

	The man was dressed poorly, wore no wedding band. Beneath the
weathered skin around his eyes there was the unmistakable aura of
unexpressed fear and grief and pain.

	Ahmed nodded slightly to himself. I can alleviate his
suffering. I can help him forget, for a while. He needs me.

	He was on the verge of making the initiatory gestures. His
lips were shaping a greeting smile. But the old man abruptly stuffed
his half-smoked cigarette into the sand pot at his side, rose, and
shuffled toward a wan younger woman exiting a religious bookstore.

	So much for that one. The slight man with the sensitive,
sharply sculpted features sank back against the hard seat, sagged a
little within his expensive suit.

	This is a foolish place to be. People seldom go shopping alone
at this time of evening. The crowd is thinning. I'm too tired, too
needy to think clearly. I should go to the bar outside the convention
center. Right now.

	Instead, he removed an ornate flat case from his breast
pocket, extracted and lit a brown-papered cigarette, and inhaled
deeply, savoring the rich, heavy smoke. As he exhaled, he noticed the
female child peering into the window of the pet store, sixty feet to
his right.

	It wasn't the fact that someone so young was wearing so much
makeup that caught at his attention. Nor was it her lithe, still
developing body, wrapped in a midriff baring shirt and denim mini-
skirt. Those things weren't important to Ahmed anymore, if they ever
had been. No. What he noticed, instantly, was that she was using the
polished window as a mirror - she was surveying him, not the tumbling
knot of puppies beyond the glass.

	He diverted his gaze, casually watched the ebbing flow of late
shoppers, but remained fully conscious of the girl's oblique scrutiny
as she casually meandered in his direction, pretending not to be aware
of him. He sensed something predatory about her, some covert purpose,
and he was intrigued. He was being stalked, and appreciated the
implied flattery.

	She paid no attention to him until she pretended to be drawn
to a boutique behind him, and swerved to pass nearby. She wrinkled her
nose, paused in her purposeful march, and favored him with a
distasteful downturning of her vivid scarlet lips.

	"What kind of cigarette is that?"

	"It's a Turkish blend."

	"Is that where you're from? You're a foreigner?" She seemed
enchanted by the thought.

	"No. I'm American, but my family was originally from Egypt."

	She helped herself to part of the bench, dramatically widened
eyes that bore far too much mascara. "That's where the Pyramids are,
right?"

	"Among other things, yes."

	"And the Sphinx. And the Valley of the Kings. And - oh, what's
the name of the place? Where all that Amon-Ray stuff is."

	"It's pronounced Amon-Ra, and the city was called Thebes. You
seem to know a great deal about ancient Egypt."

	She nodded, flipped a blonde curl from her face with a long
red nail that was obviously false. "I read a lot. Can I try one of
your cigarettes? And don't you dare tell me I'm too young to smoke!"

	"You must hear that a lot."

	"From my Dad. But I've been smoking for two years behind his
back. We've been on the road and I haven't had one all day and I'm
absolutely dying. Mom knows, and she doesn't care." She worked her
long lashes flirtatiously and slid a few inches closer to him.
"Please?"

	She was lying. He smelled the tobacco smoke on her clothes and
breath. Ahmed Toth smiled tolerantly, beginning to understand the
nature of her ploy. Dress provocatively. Parade through the mall.
Attract sexual interest. Involve a stranger in harmless but illicit
conversation. But then what? What would her next move be? He withdrew
the sterling cigarette case and opened it for her. "As you wish. I
began smoking at a young age myself."

	She widened her eyes again at the ornate old holder. "Damn.
This is really cool." Her hand made deliberate, lingering contact with
his as she fondled the case, then met his eyes. "Is this Egyptian,
too?"

	He let her take it from him. Her hands were so warm, so
supple. She overflowed with a vitality that flooded his every sense.
"As a matter of fact, yes. From the British colonial period."

	She closed it after taking out a cigarette, peered closely at
the engraving, and ran long, dancing fingers over the relief covering
its face. "Those are hieroglyphs," she announced knowledgeably. She
handed the property back, waited expectantly for him to offer her a
light.

	He did. She again held both his hand and eyes. "Thanks," she
said after inhaling deeply. She sighed smoke without coughing. "God, I
needed that. Kind of strong. I usually smoke menthol, when I can get
it. But this tastes great." Her eyes darted to the case as he slid it
beneath his jacket. "What do the words mean?"

	She'd moved a few sly inches closer again. He breathed her
richness, her vibrancy, despite the nauseating overlay of her cheap,
flowery perfume.

	"The symbols - not words, actually - relate one version of the
myth of Osiris."

	"I never heard of him."

	"You must read it some day."

	"I'd rather hear it. From you." She'd lowered her voice, made
it throaty and conspiratorial. She allowed her heavy crimson lips to
remain parted, made her eyes as seductive as the rest of her patented
pose. "We could go up to my Dad's room. He's got some whiskey in his
suitcase. We could have a drink and talk. And stuff."

	"He doesn't object to his daughter befriending strangers and
inviting them for a drink with him?"

	"He's not there. He's talking business with some creep in the
hotel bar. They'll drink and talk until the bartender closes up around
them. We'd be alone. Just you and me."

	"Young lady! I -"

	"Callie. Please? I've been so lonely. I really like you. A
lot. You have the most beautiful skin. I want to touch it. All over. I
want you to touch me." Her voice was little more than a pleading purr.

	He matched her tone. "I supposed your mother doesn't mind
this, either?"

	This little wimp was being a real pain in the ass. Most old
guys drooled all over themselves at the chance to jump her bones.
Still, there was something about him. Something mysterious. Something
special. She cranked it up another notch.

	She took a deep drag of smoke, thrusting her ripening breasts
at him. The powerful cigarette was making her tingle all over. She
studied the stain her lipstick left on the unfiltered cigarette, and
felt herself shiver. She really wanted to do it with him. It'd been
almost a week.

	"Mom's a hooker. She taught me everything I know about sex.
And I know a lot. I can do things you've never even imagined."

	Her scent was filling him. He could hear the accelerated thud
of her heart, the hot rush of her impassioned blood. This female child
was truly aroused. She wanted him. He cleared his constricted throat.

	"Is that what you are, Callie?" He heard his voice assume the
hypnotic rumble that was his own brand of seduction. "A prostitute?"

	He tried to tell himself how insane this was, remind himself
that it was dangerous to allow his hunger to dominate his common
sense. But the fluorescent lights were becoming almost intolerably
bright as his pupils inexorably dilated. He had allowed the
juggernaught to be set in motion. He'd teased himself too long,
dallied beyond his ability to resist the impetus of events. The bond
he'd allowed to be established was irreversible. The Hunger had him.
He had to have this child. She needed him.

	Callie found herself nodding in answer to his question, felt
her heart lurch, her breast buds harden, her loins loosen. Looking
into those huge, beautiful black eyes of his made her dizzy.

	"Yes. But not for you. I don't want any money. I just want
you. I have to have you. I've never felt anything like this before.
Can we go now? Please?"

	At his faint nod, she started to leap to her feet, joy scribed
over her tart's face. He made a slight, graceful restraining gesture
with one hand. She froze. She'd never seen a hand that perfect, with
such long fingers and carefully manicured nails. When he spoke, she
wasn't even sure his lips moved, but his words tickled her insides.

	"I have... special needs, Callie."

	"I don't care. I'll do anything you want. Anything. Just
hurry, before I die." She was anxious, terribly afraid that something
would happen, something horrible that would take him away from her
before it could happen.

	"If you're absolutely sure, then lead the way. I'll follow. We
mustn't be seen together."

	Her nod was automatic. Her mind was an utter blank, except for
the image of those delicate fingers drifting over her body, that wide
thin mouth kissing her like none of the others had ever done, could
ever do. If she hadn't been so obsessed, if she'd been capable of
thought at all, she'd have insisted that they go somewhere other than
the hotel room.

	As it was, she marched hurriedly down the wide corridor of the
closing shopping center, oblivious to the tinkling Muzak, the crowd
gathering before the quadruple cinema, the inevitable stares directed
at her. Nothing meant anything. Nothing but the slender man of medium
height trailing a few paces behind her. She'd have walked out into the
rain had he not halted her in the airlock, whispered sibilantly for
her to wait while he brought the car.

	Time lurched. There was a brown cigarette in her hand. How had
it gotten there? She felt so strange, so wonderful. Maybe it was laced
with acid or some other cool drug. She ate smoke with a shaking
hunger, stared dully at her reflection in the dark glass. Chronos
lurched again. She was slightly shocked to find herself suddenly
touching up her lipstick. The cigarette had became a spent stub under
her shoe.

	Then there was a car in the wet black night. She knew it was
his, bolted with fawnlike clumsiness. Her heart was full. She flung
herself through the open door, across the seat, into his arms.

	His lips were hard as stone, as chill as the autumn rain, but
his kiss filled Callie with bolts of blue fire until he broke the
connection and pushed her away. Her hands fumbled awkwardly at his
groin, but he forbade that, too.

	"Control yourself, my child. You must be patient. Pull down
your skirt and make yourself presentable. You must lead me to your
room, remember?"

	She nodded, still frantic with anxiety and desire. There was
something tugging at her mind, something she should tell him. But it
was something that would make him go away. She veered away from any
such possibility. No. Nothing was going to stop her from screwing this
man.

	The hotel materialized outside the car. She clambered out,
waited inside nervously until she saw him come through the automatic
doors. She blindly traversed the crowded lobby, not even noticing, as
she pushed the elevator's call button, that she'd lost a fingernail
somewhere. She entered, held the door for an elderly couple, a solo
businessman she didn't even bother smiling at, and him. She pressed
three, leaned against the wall so her knees wouldn't tremble so badly,
stared at him from the corner of her eye. He was so damned beautiful
that it hurt. How had she missed seeing that before?

	Then the room door was before her. Room 345. She fumbled with
the key, made it work. Inside, she waited without turning on the
lights. Suddenly, he was standing before her, still smiling that
gentle, mysterious smile. Transfixed, she watched him remove his
jacket, fold it carefully over the back of a chair. But his eyes were
burning. Even in the dark, she saw them, felt them caressing her.

	With a soft, forlorn cry, she threw herself at him, rubbed her
body over his like a cat, thrust her tongue between his lips and
thrilled at the wonder she encountered. His teeth felt sharp as
knives. She explored his mouth, grinding the rest of her body against
him with an impossible urgency. Her passion soared, exceeded anything
she'd ever experienced in her brief but wild life.

	He was carrying her to the bed as if she were a leaf blown on
the cold wind beating against the window. He allowed her his mouth,
but separated their bodies enough to open her shirt. Her hands fought
with his zipper, delved within. She whined shrilly against his fangs
as she extracted his rough-skinned, semi-erect penis.

	His raspy tongue danced around hers with fantastic dexterity
while she frantically jerked her skirt out of the way. His mouth
lifted from hers and she gasped for a breath she hadn't known she'd
been without while she ripped off her newest pair of panties like they
were tissue paper. His round tongue licked her lips, her cheek, her
throat, shooting explosions of white bliss rocketing through her like
fireworks.

	His penis became rigid within her massaging hand. His mouth
found and kissed her swollen breast. She madly thrust his long,
slender shaft at her flooded gate. He had to help her. The chill
member speared her like a sand-coated candle as his tongue beat a fast
tattoo over and around her begging nipple.

	Deeper and deeper inside her he probed, deeper than anything
had ever gone, deeper than anything was supposed to go. She felt her
muscles locking about him, already beginning to spasm, even before
he'd reached the end of his first thrust.

	"I'm coming! Fuck! I'm coming!" she screamed shrilly, not
realizing the only sound she made was a strangled gurgle. She ripped
savagely at the back of his white silk shirt, shedding more glue-on
nails.

	He was bent with inhuman, nearly snake-like limberness. She
felt his glorious fangs break her tender skin, just beneath her
breast. She felt the hot river of her blood released from her body,
felt the ripple of his tongue as he drank her down. What had been the
most intense orgasm of her life doubled and re-doubled in intensity.

	Just as she was losing consciousness, just as the impossible,
undreamed of tidal surge of ecstasy was lifting her, about to dash her
on the shores of nirvana, the room was filled with searing light. A
familiar, unwelcome voice thundered moral outrage.

From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Monster [2/2]
Date: 21 Apr 1996 17:36:18 GMT

			  A Monster Among Us
			       Part Two

	There was nothing she could do about it. No way to tell him it
was okay. Everything was okay. This was different. She was in love.
The wall-like wave she rode, helpless, crested on the shoals of her
soul, crashed, broke her like a fragile shell on the beach of
eternity. She sank into the hot, wet, warm depths.

	But Ahmed Toth was free to respond to the blinding flash of
the overhead light, to the intruder upon his loving feast. He sensed
Callie's fading shock, realized she'd place him between the jaws of a
trap, and that his raging, lusting hunger had compelled him into a
blunder that could prove fatal. His reaction was instantaneous and
unthinking. He was lost within his instinct to survive.

	The man's words were still hovering in the air as Toth sprang
across the room. As as the blood began to seep from the small wound
under the girl's breast, he stood a single step away from the
intruder.

	Harvey Dorset's inner glee faded as the mark bounced off his
little girl like a coiled spring. The man moved too fast for Harvey to
be able to track him with the.38 automatic in his hand. He was still
trying to release the safety when a steel band closed around his
throat, picked him up like a puppet, and slammed him against the wall
with stunning force.

	The gun slipped from his slack grip. Harvey reflexively used
both hands to try to break the grip of the one wrapped around his
neck, still tightening. His thoughts were clear - too clear, too
sharp. This was impossible. It wasn't real. This little guy couldn't
be this fast, this strong.

	His vision was clear, too. The face below him was unearthly.
The eyes were immense black oceans. The thin lips, coated with
Callie's blood, were drawn back in a silent howl, baring snow white,
inch-long fangs.

	His ears were as finely tuned as the rest of his senses. He
heard a loud, unpleasant snap. He'd heard something a lot like that
sound before. A high school football game. It'd been made by his leg
breaking just above the knee. There'd been that same weird inner
vibration, too.

	He had time to brace himself for the pain. It wasn't bad,
really. Nothing like the leg. There was just a little flash of it,
then it kind of faded into a grey fog. That colorless, wooly blanket
of haze grew, covering more and more of him. Physical feelings faded.
Vision faded. Then sound. Awareness left last.

	Ahmed released his grip. The corpse slid down the wall, rolled
onto the floor with a series of limp thuds. It came to rest in an
unnatural half-sitting position, its head bent at an angle obviously
all wrong. Its face wore a faintly apologetic smile.

	The vampire stared down at its victim. He was utterly still
except for the heave of his chest as he drew massive breaths. His face
wore an expression of deep sorrow. He hadn't killed in a long, long
time.

	They all look different when they're dead. This one had been
arrogantly confident mere moments ago. He imagined himself eternal
until the very end. Now, his pitiful, evil life over, he looked like
an over-sized human child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

	He was here. Now he's gone. To heaven or hell or nowhere at
all. Speak to me, dead one. If you are able, answer me. Tell me what
you see, now that you are freed of eyes. What you sense without the
impediment of dull nerves. Have I done you a great boon, or visited
upon you the most vile of curses?

	There was no answer of course. There never was.

	He returned to the bed, sank upon the mattress, stared out the
wide window, lashed by rain, into the night. The stirring of the girl
beside him disrupted his silent vigil some time later. He turned to
face her.

	Her absurdly long lashes were just fluttering, would part
within moments to reveal her azure blue eyes. It was too soon. She
shouldn't have awakened for several more hours.

	It would be merciful to kill her now, turn the small death of
sleep into the true death. Send her to cross the Styx in the same
ferry as her father. Allow them to continue in death as they had in
life.

	But, if I do not, how will she react? She will remember what I
am. What will she do?

	He made no move. The eyes below flickered, opened. Awareness
bloomed in hem like a blue flower. She saw him. She knew him. She
smiled. Her hand crept out, sought his.

	"You're warmer now." Only he could have heard her bare
whisper.

	"Yes."

	"That was really incredible, honey. Did I pass out or what?
Jesus, I thought... " Confusion flickered over her face, settled into
a frown. "But I thought... something happened... "

	Alarm banished her puzzlement. She sat bolt upright, made no
effort to over herself. The suddenness of her movement dizzied her,
fuzzed her +oice.

	"Daddy. Did he come in? I saw the lights... " Her words faded
as her questing eyes settled upon the empty human husk against the
wall. "Oh." he stared woodenly, expressionless.

	For the space of two dozen rapid heartbeats, she was silent.
Her eyes darted over the carcass. When she finally spoke, Ahmed was
shocked by her one of voice. It held only quiet wonder.

	"He looks so young. He'd really like that." Her head swiveled
to face him. She wore a crooked smile. An odd light danced in her
eyes. "Did he hurt much?"

	"I don't think so."

	"Good." She groped woozily for the clasp purse she'd thrown
onto the bed. She found the cigarettes inside with minimal fumbling.
The white tube in her mouth bobbed as she went on. "He was an asshole,
but I'm glad he didn't suffer much."

	He kept his voice neutral. "Don't you feel any grief? Any
fear? I've just murdered your father, child."

	She collapsed against the pillows, blew a feeble plume of
smoke toward the ceiling. "He raped me when I was ten. And I'm
supposed to be sorry he's dead? No fucking way. And it probably really
wasn't murder. He would have used his gun if he thought he had to. He
did in Detroit last year. We threw the body in some river. That makes
what you did self-defense, right?"

	"Not necessarily. I'm sure any court would say that he was
entirely justified. He was defending you."

	Her laugh would have been mocking if she'd had more strength.
"Yeah. Right."

	Toth was disturbed. This was all wrong. He watched her through
blank eyes.

	She touched the clotted blood under her breast, shot him a
speculative glance. "Did you drink his blood, too?"

	"No."

	"Why?"

	"I've had enough for now."

	Her hand, stripped of her false nails except for one little
finger, noted the beating of her heart. Her voice was puzzled. "I'm
not dead."

	"No. Not even close."

	"So I'm not a vampire?" She was disappointed.

	"Vampires are born, Callie, not made."

	"No way."

	"It's true. Just about everything you've heard about my kind
is pure fiction. My heart beats. I breathe. I comb my hair in the
mirror. I adore the taste of garlic. I've worn this crucifix since
Pope Clement XI blessed it for me in 1709."

	She pondered. "You were never like me? Human?"

	"Never. I was born what I am, just as you were."

	Callie giggled. She felt more than a little sick - had since
waking up. "Vampire babies sucking blood from Mommie's tit. Too
fucking weird."

	"You aren't afraid that I'll kill you."

	"Nope. Bizarre, huh? Here I am in bed with something out of a
horror movie. My old man's a pile of dead meat on the floor. And all I
can think about is you doing me again. I'm really hot." Her smile was
dreamy. "That feeling! God!" Her eyes went seductive as she turned
them on him.

	He studied her calmly, unmoved by her coyness. "I've made
nothing but mistakes all night long. I'm about to make another one."

	Her eyes widened momentarily, then her hands came toward him.
"If you're going to kill me, too, the least you can do is fuck me one
more time. I -"

	"No. I'll regret this decision for the rest of my life, but
you'll have to die by someone else's hand."

	She paused, then snuggled against his legs. "I'm not ever
going to die. I'm going to be like you."

	"I just told you, that's not possible."

	She became urgent. "But you've got to! Don't you see?"

	Pain etched his features. "I've tried, Callie. Believe me I
have. I imagined there might be some hidden truth to the legends your
kind tells about us. There isn't."

	She compressed her lips grimly. "Then I guess you'll have to
try again. Just drink all my blood and give me some of yours."

	His smile was tired. "I've watched all those movies. They're
pure fiction. I'm not at all like you think I am, child."

	"Quit calling me that! I'm no fucking little kid!" She sat up
too quickly, felt nausea welling up within her as she tried to reach
another cigarette. What little color she had washed from her face, and
her voice fell flat. "I feel like shit."

	"You need to rest. Sleep. You'll be fine in the morning."

	"What's wrong with me?" Despite her vehement protest, she
sounded exactly like a frightened little girl.

	"Two things. First, I took about a quart of your blood. That's
why you're dizzy and nauseated. Your headache is a side-effect of an
anti-coagulant in my saliva."

	"You sound like a doctor."

	"I was once. Now go to sleep."

	Her face twisted. She lurched from the bed, arms clasped over
her stomach, tried to stagger toward the bathroom. "I'm going to be
sick."

	Toth was surprised by the intensity of her after-sickness.
When she faltered, five crooked paces from the bed, and began to
collapse, he caught her before she struck the floor. His surprise
became alarm. She was unconscious. Her pulse was weak, fluttered
unevenly against his sensitive fingers. Her breath was equally faint
and shallow and fast. She was running a dangerously high fever.

	He lay her back on the bed and continued his examination. Her
pupils were unresponsive, fully dilated. He lightly pinched the base
of a fingernail. She didn't react at all to the excruciating pain. Her
left breast was swollen, significantly larger than the other. He
lifted it. The precise puncture wounds beneath were the source of the
swelling. They were violently inflamed, already seeping a clear serum.
Her entire vaginal area was slightly puffy, as well. She seemed to be
having a general reaction to both his saliva and sperm. She was very
ill. Life-threateningly so.

	No one in his experience had ever responded this way to his
kiss. He racked his memory, seeking other anomalies. There were very
few. In France, nearly a hundred years ago, a youthful, decadent
baron, dying of tuberculosis, had hemorrhaged massively the day after
volunteering his blood. Around the turn of the century, an aging
London matron had suffered a massive coronary and died in his arms as
he fed. That was the end of the list. Two events in his entire
history.

	The first had been a reaction to the anti-coagulant, he'd
later discovered. The man had been a hemophiliac. The second death had
also been due to an obviously pre-existing condition. Perhaps his
natural topical anesthetic had aggravated her condition, caused -
combined with the inevitable ecstasy - her heart to fail sooner than
later. He'd long since absolved himself of true responsibility for
either death.

	The normal pattern was for his victim - lover was the way he
thought of it - to become drowsy, disoriented, slightly ill, and then
to sleep. He helped that sleep, encouraged forgetfulness. They
inevitably - almost - awoke with the bite almost totally healed, only
slightly itchy, and feeling a peaceful inner glow. They never
remembered him.

	He tenderly stroked Callie's sweaty brow with a damp cloth,
and wiped away the remains of her tawdry makeup. He eased her from her
clothes. He searched her suitcase for night wear, found only a skimpy
negligee completely at odds with her now innocent, childish
appearance. He left her nude, covered her with every blanket he could
find, and pondered his options.

	They were limited. He could anonymously deposit her at Boone
Hospital's emergency room, where she could be cared for properly. He
didn't seriously consider that possibility. Too many disastrous near-
certainties would result. In her current state, he couldn't
effectively alter her memory. Even though she wouldn't be believed,
the thorough local police would follow through. He couldn't take that
risk.

	He couldn't bring himself to even think about ending her life.
One murder was too many. Compounding that was morally impossible. He
was responsible for her now. He couldn't just walk away. He'd killed
her father and caused her grave illness. He'd have to care for her
himself.

	He eyed the stiffening corpse, breathed the distasteful scent
of death, glanced at his watch. Barely midnight. He'd have to wait
before disposing of it. Waiting was something he'd never been good at.
Ultimately, that character flaw was what'd gotten him into this
perilous situation. That and his insatiable curiosity.

	He indulged the latter trait as he waited. He emptied the dead
man's pockets, which had to be done anyway.

	Harvey Dorset carried a Florida driver's license. He'd weighed
two- ten, stood six-one. He'd turned thirty-two a month before he
died. So young. His wallet held twenty-odd dollars, a picture of a
smaller, younger version of his daughter, and photos of two women.
Upon closer examination, Ahmed saw that while the blonde and the
redhead looked radically different, they were indeed the same person.
The wife and mother, perhaps. There was no permit for the handgun.
The weapon's serial number had been filed away.

	Keys to a rental car, a handful of coins. The depressing
miscellany that was all that was left of what had been a human life.
An unhealthy reddish- purple rash on the man's arms caught Toth's eye,
but was of no significance. Even had he fed on diseased blood, his
vast intake of antibodies had made him impervious to any human disease
he might have once been susceptible to.

	The suitcases, however, were intriguing. After examining and
discarding the clothing, Ahmed's sensitive fingers located three tiny
packets tucked into the lining of the man's luggage. Two held an array
of credit cards bearing three different names, none of them Harvey
Dorset's. The third was a plasticine envelope of white powder. He
dipped a finger in it, touched it to his tongue. Cocaine.

	He'd noted before that Callie's suitcase held two distinctly
different sorts of clothing. He took time to look more closely. The
first was what you'd expect to find a child her age wearing.
Fashionably ragged jeans. Shirts and blouses bearing labels which gave
her status among her peers. Simple dresses and undergarments.

	The remainder, like the night wear, was just as atypical.
Flashy, revealing attire. Ridiculous five-inch heels to match. Lacy
undergarments. Plus an array of condoms and sexual toys. It seemed
certain that the girl's sexual precociousness was anything but a
secret from her father.

	Reinforcing that was the makeup case open on the desk before
the mirror. It was filled to the brim with well used cosmetics, more
of which littered the counter top. A case containing a diaphragm and a
half empty packet of birth control pills were in plain sight. She'd
made no effort to hide anything from him. His cigarette butts littered
the ashtray beside her red-stained ones.

	He leaned against the stub-wall dividing the bathroom and
sleeping area, allowed an image to form in his mind. Father and
daughter, traveling the country. Dad scamming as best he could, but
employing his daughter's nubility as a prime source of revenue. She'd
entice a likely subject into their bed - a shared one, by all
indications - and the loving Papa would discover Callie and her
affluent older suitor banging their brains out.

	Shame, Harvey would say. Would have said. Do you know how
young she is? Do you know how many laws you're breaking? What's it
worth to you for us to keep our mouths shut?

	Plenty, Ahmed imagined. Their victims would know they'd been
set up, but what could they do? They'd have been carefully selected
for apparent docility as well as affluence, and Daddy had a gun. It
was as crude and vicious a con as he'd ever heard of, but was no doubt
very effective. Unless Callie selected the wrong being to run it on.

	The vampire settled back on the bed, checked his patient. The
inflammation beneath her breast was much less pronounced, but her
fever even higher. He hurried to the bathroom, began filling the tub
with cold water. He voyaged twice down the hall to the ice machine,
filled two wastebaskets with hollow round cubes on each trip.

	After depositing the limp girl in her ice bath, he sat beside
her and sorted through her purse. She toted a professional's gear:
condoms and spermicide, lubricant and cosmetics. Her only ID was an
outdated card from an elementary school in Chicago. Her full name was
Callian Louise. She was thirteen years and three months old.

	Ahmed Toth was a little over seven hundred, as best as he
could determine. Vampires in general paid little heed to the passage
of time. Nor did he. His mother had mentioned, idly, that he'd been
born shortly after Stragopulos had retaken Constantinople in 1261.
From his youth through the present era, he'd observed uncounted human
women Callie's age, and younger, carrying their babies in their arms,
or in chains, or selling their bodies for pennies in the streets and
alleys of the world. This was nothing new for him, nor was her plight
especially tragic. He'd been witness to much worse.

	He, like all his kind, knew that what the twentieth century
deems "civilization" is but a very recent veneer, and a very thin one.
Children had been exploited throughout human history, by parents and
strangers alike. It hadn't ended, or really even slowed appreciably.

	But, if Callian's circumstances didn't impress him as being
especially pitiable, they were nonetheless deeply saddening. He found
logic in the modern sentiment that someone of her years shouldn't have
to bear the perilous burdens of adulthood. He prayed that humanity
would someday live up to that dream.

	He stared into her face. Beneath its subsiding flush, it was
that of a delicate, beautiful, intelligent child. Instead of playing
dolls with other children, she played with dildos and adult males.
Instead of crying at romantic movies, she'd stared callously at her
father's dead body. She was atypical, perhaps, for her time, but he'd
met thousands like her over the centuries. While it seemed a premature
conclusion, he thought he rather admired the girl. In many ways, they
were similar.

	He fished her from the icy water and briskly toweled her dry,
then returned her to the bed's warmth. As tucked her much cooled body
beneath sheets and blankets, he set off to find a coffin for her
father.

	He found something suitable on the loading dock of a just
completed office building a hundred yards from the hotel. He used the
fire stairs to transport the empty cardboard box, designed to ship a
bookcase, up to room 345.

	Fitting the corpse to the dimensions of the carton was an
indelicate task. As he snapped bones like twigs and stuffed what had
been Harvey Dorset inside, he wondered if the daughter's composure
would have endured the grisly procedure. He doubted it. Few humans
were as cold-blooded, metaphorically, as he was, and the few who
matched him were inevitably horridly insane beings. He, on the other
hand, was quite sane.

	He lifted his load as if it had less than a quarter of its
actual mass and carried it easily the three flights of stairs without
encountering anyone. It fit snugly into the big luggage compartment of
his car.

	Callian had moved slightly upon his return, which he took as a
positive sign. The swelling of her breast was definitely less now, as
was her fever. She continued to stir restlessly until dawn. Perhaps,
he thought, she'd just been more sensitive to his contaminants that
most. He frowned. More sensitive than anyone, ever. There were just
too many anomalies here.

	Still, assured she wasn't on the verge of death, Toth drew the
drapes and lay down beside her for a nap. He smiled tiredly as sleep
drew near. What would she think if she awoke and saw him? He had no
need for coffins or the soil of his birthplace. He relished the lick
of spring dawn that crept up his body through the gap between the
drapes. And, above all, he breathed, just as she did.