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for it to taste the kindness.

Decision made, I bent over and gently lifted the box, and carried it downstairs and

outside, trying to minimise the jolting of my steps to prevent inflicting further discomfort.

I stood outside next to the car I’d bought a few months earlier, wondering where the

nearest vet was. I was debating whether or not to call Fergus again, or to do some research

on my iphone, when a simpler solution presented itself.

“Excuse me,” I called to the blonde teenage boy leaning against the wall of the Harding

residence. Where can I find a vet that’s open?”

He looked up at me, surprised.

“There’s one a few miles up the road. It should be open now. It’s got an emergency

surgery too.” He had a deep voice for his apparent age, and he spoke articulately. “Why?”

“I’ve just bought this house,” I inclined my head towards my latest purchase, grimacing

slightly. “And I found this in one of the bedrooms.”

The teenager raised his eyebrows. He glanced at the house. “A bit of a fixer upper.”

I smiled wryly. “Yes, I know.”

He pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the road, obviously curious to see

the contents of the box. The kitten squeaked at him as he peered inside. His face darkened

and he made a decision.

“Well, I can’t direct you there, because I’m rubbish at directions, but I can show you

where it is. You can drop me at school afterwards, if you want. I’ll hold it,” he added.

“Thanks.” I nodded, and handed the box over to him while I unlocked the car. He took it

carefully, as if it were a precious gift, and waited for me to open the passenger door for him.

He slid in one movement onto the front passenger seat, where he placed it on his knees

before buckling his seatbelt.

“Nice wheels.”

“Thanks,” I grinned at him. I liked powerful cars, but not the ostentatious ones. I was

somehow pleased that he recognised the monster that lay beneath the unobtrusive metallic

shell. I started the engine, and it roared into life. The CD player came on automatically,

blaring slightly. I liked loud music while I drove. I turned it down.

“That’s my sister’s favourite.”

I froze for a second, slightly stunned by the casual reference to someone who had

become so profoundly significant to us over the past few days. Then I felt absurdly pleased

that she liked the same music that I did. I shook my head, and pulled out of the parking

space and onto the road.

“I’m Mark,” he glanced up.

“Pleased to meet you, Mark. I’m Angus.” It was typical of me to forget to introduce

myself. Human interaction was not one of my strong points. It was quite funny in an almost

tragic way that out of the three of us, I would be the one who would have to become the

people person. I chuckled at the thought.

“Left here, then right just after that pub.”

“OK,” I replied and we spent the rest of the journey in silence. When we arrived at the

Hillcrest Veterinary Surgery, Mark insisted on coming inside with me. I explained the

situation briefly to the receptionist, who cooed gently at the white scruffy kitten. I asked her to get the first available vet to have a look at it, and then do whatever was necessary to help it. I gave her my mobile number, and asked her to contact me as soon as she knew what the

problem was.

She glanced up at me from her position leaning over the box, and raised her eyebrows.

“It could be expensive.”

“Money is not an issue.”

She nodded, and carried the box into one of the consulting rooms, talking in a high

pitched voice to the kitten as she left. It mewled in reply. I turned to Mark.

“Let’s get you to school.”

He nodded briefly. “Thanks.”

I dropped him outside a large brick building surrounded by a six foot chain link fence,

and teeming with school kids. The sign said St Paul Secondary School. He hopped out of his

seat as soon as I stopped, waved, and disappeared into the crowds. I sat for a moment,

wondering what it was like to go to school, and wondering if I would have liked it. Probably

not. I had never been to school, nor had my brothers. My father had wanted to minimise

our exposure to normal life and normal people. I guess he must have believed that what we

didn’t know, we wouldn’t miss. He had known that we would have to leave school before

we all changed, and just being around other people became too risky. Mostly for other

people, of course, but for us too, in a way. There’s nothing that upsets people more than

when somebody gets killed. Declaring emphatically that it had been an accident wouldn’t

have cut it - there would have been too much blood. People would have been angry and

vengeful and we would have been locked up, if we were lucky.

I turned the car around and headed back to my newly purchased property, hoping that

the cleaning staff had arrived. They had, and shortly afterwards a huge white van with the

name of a renovating company pulled up. A stocky man in overalls got out, looked at the

property, and grunted something to his passenger, a young man with a slack jaw and acne.

Next thing the place was swarming with people. I got back in the car and went to find some

breakfast.

Rebecca

I hadn’t even realised that Mark had disappeared until Harry knocked on the door,

looking forlorn and embarrassed.

“Mark here?” Chatty Harry.

“He went outside to wait for you.” I tried to look over his shoulder, which was difficult.

At fourteen Harry was already way taller than me, and bulky. He had a mop of unruly,

suspiciously black hair that was combed forwards and covered half his face, and an stud in

his nose.

“He must have left early,” Harry shrugged, and then grinned at me. “Bye, Rebecca.” He

enunciated each syllable of my name separately. I smiled back, vowing to chew Mark out

about sharing his annoying enunciation of my name with his friends. Harry left, and I

reluctantly abandoned my book, slung my bag over my shoulder, and hobbled outside,

crutches in hand. I locked the door behind me and set out slowly for school, which was a

couple of blocks away, less than a mile. It felt much longer. The bell went about three

minutes before I finally swung myself through the big double gated entrance on my trusty

crutches. I’d started to appreciate them a few hundred yards into my journey. I was still

exhausted by the time I got to school, and my upper arms were burning. I stood for a few

minutes, catching my breath before heading off to my first class of the day.

I had forgotten about Mark’s disappearance this morning until I saw him standing next

to Harry during break. They were both leaning against the south facing wall of the school

hall, eyes closed, absorbing the weak sunlight that played over their faces. I left them to

their easy companionship and went to explain my late arrival to the headmaster.

I was halfway there when I almost bumped into Shanice. I had been watching the

ground for cracks and crevices that could ensnare one of the rubber tips of my crutches and

send me flying to land in an undignified heap in front of all these curious onlookers.

I sensed her malignant presence, stopped, and looked up into her mean piggy eyes.

Shanice and I had a history that spanned at least ten years of mutual animosity. We had first

encountered each other in primary school, where Shanice had tormented me relentlessly

for about six months, until one afternoon I had snapped and punched her in her the face,

breaking her nose. I still cherished the memory. Shanice felt differently, obviously, and

although she had stopped pestering me, she had developed an intense loathing of me that

manifested itself in hateful stares and the occasional sneered remark. I managed to ignore

her most of the time, but I had known I would be in trouble today. I was vulnerable, see,

and there’s nothing a bully likes more.

“Oi! Freakface!” Original, Shanice. Nice one.

I said nothing, just watched her, anticipating the blow, and wondering if I could do

anything about it. I could put weight in my injured leg, but I would be clumsy, and my hands

were tangled in the handles of the crutches.

“Not so brave now, are we?” she taunted me.

“Shanice Smith!” the headmasters voice rang out. “To class please. Now!”

The bell must have rung. I hadn’t noticed it. Shanice flushed angrily, her bloated face

turning an unhealthy puce colour.

“Whatever!” she said in her whiny voice. “See you later, Freak,” she hissed at me, and

then she turned and left.

“Well, Miss Harding, I can see why you were late for school today. Carry on.” Our

headmaster was a harsh but fair man, but he still made me nervous, so I nodded and left as

soon as I was able to coordinate the crutches. I knew Shanice had detention that afternoon,

so I would be able to escape home unharmed. But I also knew I’d see her tomorrow again. I

shuddered.

Angus

I was halfway through my second coffee in what was supposed to be an upmarket

breakfast café type thing, when my mobile started vibrating. It was Marcus. He sounded

jubilant.

“She’s one of us!”

“I know. You said we had a match.”

“No, no, that was just a blood group match.” Marcus always became impatient with us

when we failed to grasp something, even when he had neglected to actually explain it

properly. It was like he expected us just to know what he knew. It was flattering in a strange way, but also very frustrating.

“She has an unusual subgroup that I had Fergus flag when it came up. It’s the same

subgroup that we have, sure, but I wasn’t certain that she would have any of our peculiar

genes. But today I ran the second DNA comparison. She’s got all three genes, Angus.”

“Which means?” Sometimes I could be a little slow.

“She’s a
vampire
!” Marcus was really getting excited now. I looked around to make sure nobody had heard his yelling.

“God, Marcus, don’t use that term. You know Father hated it.”

“This is brilliant, I can’t believe it, it’s just fantastic.” Marcus sounded a bit hysterical.

“Explain, Marcus,” I said. “Don’t you have to be a, er, like us to have children like us?”

Our father and mother had both been iron metabolisers, people who can use iron in a

different way to normal people. Traditionally, I suppose we would have been called

vampires, but we no longer had to drink blood to fulfil our iron needs. Iron tablets sufficed, and we had become slightly more civilised as a result. Well, Marcus and Fergus, certainly.

But the underlying physiology was there, and we still really
liked
blood; we just didn’t
need
it.

Marcus had coined the new term for what we are. And even though I didn’t like hearing

the word vampire out loud - force of habit, I suppose - I found the political correctness of

Marcus’ term a bit offensive. Call a spade a spade, dammit. Just not where anyone can hear

you do it.

“Apparently not. This is so exciting! A recessive set of genes! I can’t believe it!”

Exclamation marks all over the place.

“So why doesn’t she behave like one?” I wasn’t convinced. “She’s past puberty now,

surely.” When our hormone levels started changing, especially with the surge in steroid

hormones, like testosterone and oestrogen, our bodies switched to a kind of a dual

metabolism. So we could metabolise normal food like normal people – fats, carbohydrates,

proteins. But when we had enough iron in our systems, our bodies could use it ways we

couldn’t yet fully understand. Marcus was still working on figuring that one out.

Marcus was silent for a few seconds, considering the question. “Well, she’s female, and

they store less iron than males, and she’s probably a vegetarian. She most likely hasn’t had

her first hit yet.” Marcus’ use of drug terminology was strangely appropriate. It was how I

had come to think of being a vampire – I subconsciously flinched at that word again. We had

a set of unique receptors which responded in an unusual way to iron, that everyday

substance, like an alcoholic responds differently to a shot of whiskey than a normal person

would. Except maybe an alcoholic was not the best analogy. The craving was there,

certainly, but our drug did not incapacitate us. Instead it made us invincible and powerful,

strong enough to break boulders, and fast enough to run alongside speeding cars. I closed

my eyes and recalled the heady rush, the clarity of vision, the enhanced senses, the

sensation of muscles ripping through the sluggish air, the crystallisation of all pleasure and wonder into this perfect rush of being.

Our father had explained the situation to us one day when we were twelve. The signs

were all there that we were going to hit puberty soon, and he wanted the transition from

slightly strange but mostly normal boy to utter freak to go as smoothly as possible, I

suppose. He was a good man, my father, strong, obviously, but compassionate too, and

intelligent enough to have figured out the basic metabolic reason for our unusual abilities.

He had met my mother towards the end of her life, still youthful looking, another benefit of

being able to use iron as we do. We heal fast, restoring aging and damaged cells rapidly, so

we look as if we are just out of school, or in our early twenties, for most of our long lives.

Adult, but never old.

We were the inevitable result of their union, and our birth sapped whatever life our