in her family had ever needed to use it. She lifted the bar and used it to block the door.
“Are you here?” she asked.
“I am here.”
She turned around to see Seamus standing behind her, dressed exactly as he’d been when he came home, except that his sheath was empty and she could see right through him.
He stared at her as if she were a stranger. “How can you be alive?”
“I do not think I am.”
A week passed, and she did not leave the house nor unbar the door.
Several neighbors came to knock, but she would not let anyone in. She called through the door to Quentin that she wished to be left alone. She did not attend Seamus’ funeral. She knew what they were all thinking, that the death of her last kin had broken her mind, left her mad.
Perhaps they were right.
She and Seamus were trapped inside. She slept all day and woke only at night. The magnitude and sorrow of what had happened slowly hit Seamus in a series of stages. At first, he seemed lost in denial. On the third night he asked her.
“How did Claymore come into the house, Rose? Did he just walk through the door and catch you unaware?”
“No,” she answered flatly. “I let him in. I wanted him to come in.”
He raged at her, blaming her, and she did not rebuke him.
On the fifth day, he stopped raging and asked, “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
She grew hungrier each night. Edward’s final words constantly echoed in her ears.
Do not go out into the sunlight ever again, or you will burn. When you get hungry, remember you can only feed on blood. Do you understand? You must feed on blood.
Most country people loved to whisper tales of ghosts, fairies, changelings, vampires, and even of spirits who drained the living. Rose had never taken much interest in such legends, but now wished she had.
Her own lack of emotion was wrong, and she knew it.
But her body no longer functioned as a proper living thing. She did not eat nor drink nor require the privy. Her mouth produced no salvia. Her heart did not beat.
Yet she hungered.
On the eighth night, she slipped out of the house and went to the stable. At present, Seamus had no colts in the stalls, but Rose had forgotten to feed her pony. She found hay and a fresh bucket of water on the floor of his stall. Someone had been caring for him. Probably Quentin. She harnessed her pony and climbed into her cart.
“Where are you going?” Seamus asked, materializing in the doorway.
“I must go out. I will come back.”
“Where?” he demanded.
She was starving, growing weak and desperate. “Move or I will drive the cart through you.”
His eyes widened at both her words and tone, and he vanished.
She could not care for his feelings, not just now.
Looking back later, she truly did not even know what she was doing, or how she had the sense to leave Loam Village and drive a good distance away. But for the first time in her life, she felt uncomfortable, almost frightened by the broad night sky, and she longed for the enclosed safety of the house. She felt much too . . . exposed out here.
In spite of this newfound fear, she intended to go all the way up to Eagan Village, about two hours east, but then she saw movement on the road up ahead, and she came upon a young man standing on the ground, examining his horse’s hoof.
Again, without knowing why, she felt a need to gain his absolute confidence, and she pulled up her pony and asked, “Do you need help?”
He stiffened and then straightened, turning his head to see her. His face was awed, just as the villagers in the pub had looked while listening to Edward.
“My horse picked up a stone,” the young man said. “He’s limping.”
Rose climbed down from the cart, watching the man. She could almost see him glowing with warmth, with life. She could hear his heart beating. She could see the pulse in his throat.
“My brother is a horse trainer. Let me see,” she said, letting her voice soothe him, assure him that she would know what to do.
Without hesitation, he knelt down and picked up the horse’s hoof. Rose looked at the embedded stone. “He’d best not walk or he’ll go lame,” she said. “Tie him up and come with me. We’ll bring the blacksmith from my village to pull