all, throwing elongated yellow squares over the cobblestones. A matrone sat on a stool beside one of them, calling out to passersby, telling them that her girls were the best: young, clean, and enthusiastic. She did not call to Mircea, nor see him. He was a shadow, having gone dim to try to elude me.
I did not know why. Did he think I didn’t know about the fine house he had now, in a fashionable part of town? I lived there! But I wanted to do this away from prying ears, so that he could speak freely. Why would he not talk to me?
The girl I chose looked young, but she was not clean and definitely not enthusiastic. Pale, dyed blonde tresses fell in greasy clumps around her face, and pox scars marred one side of her face. But she was different from the others on this street, and when her hands latched onto him and pulled him out of shadow, he found her grip to be like steel.
“You see?” he demanded, glaring at me. “You can take a vampire. How long can you hold her? What can you make her do?”
“Nothing, I just want to talk,” I said, and smelled the stale blood on her breath that had him rearing back, looking revolted.
She needed to feed. She had come here to do so easily and quickly. But her hunger left her vulnerable, and I had taken her.
But Mircea was a master now, and no longer caught off guard. He threw us against the brick wall and left, his power sparking off the walls, as if a thunderstorm had been trapped inside. I let him go.
Hours later, I tried again. But this time, it was at his stylish home. Dory’s rooms were down the hall, a beautifully appointed suite suitable for a wealthy young lady. Our uncle Radu lived on the floor below, in a bright yellow apartment that hurt the eyes. But Mircea’s own chambers were here, a quiet oasis away from the hustle and bustle of a sleepless city, full of dark woods, plush green fabrics, and fine oil paintings, many of which were his own.
He was sitting by the window, a glass of red wine in his hand. I could only identify it by the smell, as I could barely see. I had acquired another body, but this time, it wasn’t stolen. This time, I had been invited in.
“I know it’s you,” Mircea said, when I approached. He slurred his words slightly, as if drunk. I knew he couldn’t be, but his eyes were bleary when he turned them up to me. “What do you want?”
“To understand.”
I lowered Horatiu’s body, vampire now, but badly made, into a chair. Mircea had almost waited too long to perform the Change, and the old man would never be right. Horatiu had waffled back and forth, one day resolute, the next unsure again, and only made the commitment on his death bed. I was surprised that the transformation had taken at all.
Mircea swallowed the rest of the contents of his glass and let it fall to the floor. It was heavy; it did not break. Horatiu picked it up of his own volition, and put it on a table, quietly judging his old charge as he did so.
Mircea laughed, suddenly. “You have better things to judge me for, old man.”
“As does she.”
Horatiu had let me borrow his body; he had never said he was going to be quiet.
“I am not a monster,” I said, and Mircea’s head came up.
“Then what are you?”
“A dhampir, like Dory—”
“You are nothing like her!”
“I am exactly like her. We are the same person; you know that better than anyone—”
“No!” And, suddenly, he was in my face.
For a long moment, he searched the rheumy old eyes. I only had Horatiu’s sight to work with, but Mircea was so close that I could clearly make out the handsome features. The ones that suddenly looked like they smelled something bad.
“I’ve met dhampirs,” he told me harshly. “And spoken to others who met more, as I searched for a way to save her. They go mad, I was told. Their human and vampire natures rip themselves apart, I was told.
“I was never told about you.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending. It did not last long. I had asked for the truth, and I was getting it, but every word felt like a heart blow.
“I do not know what you are, but you are not dhampir. Dory is, and she has and