Though he had started his life as a vampire living in tombs, this was simply meant to be a lesson from Abraham. After a week or two of sleeping on cold slabs, Abraham had brought Theroen to his home, a large estate on the outskirts of the city. Theroen thought perhaps the lesson was that Abraham could provide better than what Theroen could manage on his own.

Theroen, already falling into the anger and hatred that would consume him for the next ten years, took only the knowledge that he did not need to live in the graveyard. Within six months he had left Abraham and acquired his own apartment in the city. Abraham was apoplectic. Theroen didn’t care. “Kill me then,” he had told the elder vampire. “Do what I now wish you had done that first night. I am damned now, so what does it matter?”

Abraham had not killed him, had let him go. “You will return, Theroen. Wait and see. Fledgling vampires need their masters more than they realize.”

Thus far, Abraham had been wrong. Theroen saw him only occasionally, when he needed vampire blood. Abraham gave it, to Theroen’s surprise, although not without complaint. He would insist that Theroen was being foolish, putting himself in needless danger. Theroen would simply listen in silence, waiting for the blood, and Abraham would eventually grow tired of sermonizing.

Theroen saw no reason for this to change. After the initial surprise and fear of this chance encounter with the vampire named Lisette, he had been unsure whether to continue on his path toward Abraham’s home, or to turn back toward his own. Eventually he realized the truth of her words; if she had wanted Theroen dead, he would be dead by now.

With that realization, he found himself no longer concerned for his safety. As this was the case, he could think of little reason to pursue any sort of contact with Abraham. He turned and moved back the way he had come, mulling over the events of the evening. Lisette’s refusal to believe his claims of evil and darkness, the sudden awakening of his sexual appetite. Lost in a sea of thought, Theroen wandered. Contemplated.

Lisette was the polar opposite of the only other vampire he had known. Was it possible that there could be more to the afterlife than the pursuit of darkness? Was this why he resisted Abraham’s tutelage? Was it his horror at his own, lost soul that made him lash out so at humanity?

It seemed he could smell her on the wind, but her presence was gone from his mind. Lisette. Her accent was French.

Theroen smiled a small smile, and looked up at the stars.

* * *

The next night saw no sign of her. Theroen fed lightly, a single girl. No performance, no sexuality. He found the girl in a darkened alley, took her before she was even aware of his presence, moved on. He wandered, waiting for Lisette, but Lisette did not come.

Two days. Three. His frustration mounted. Theroen began to wonder if he had simply hallucinated the entire event. It seemed unreal to him now, this visit from a creature of such power and beauty. Four days. Five. The anger began to rise again within him. The hate cried out to him. Let go. Give up. On the sixth day he took two women, watched them bring each other to the heights of pleasure, cut their throats like sacrificial lambs, and hated himself for it.

Seven, eight, and the memory of laughter like bells in the night was fading rapidly. A chance encounter, if it had happened at all.

He lost count, descending again into rage. Nights of red haze, lashing out against God and his creations. Had she been so close to him? Had he felt the touch of salvation?

She visited him again on a cold night in October, as he wandered through cobblestone alleys, searching for prey, seething. Cats in the background, wailing at the night. The occasional shout, the noise of breaking glass. Drunks stumbled through the alleys around him, but they were men. Theroen did not feed on men unless desperate. He found their scent disagreeable.

The presence overwhelmed Theroen, his step faltered, and he came to a stop. It was like before; the sense of being watched was spatial, as if he could pinpoint the source. Theroen turned, looked up. Lisette sat on a small stone bridge that arched over the alley. She was dressed in a black velvet gown. He could see the white cloth