“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. I can’t imagine it will make much difference. He

does what he wants.”

“Oh, I know that.” Bitterness now, and I could hear the front door creaking as it ghosted wide open.

They hadn’t even shut it during this entire conversation. “If I find out you’re hiding him here, Elizabeth—”

“I have a life. One that doesn’t include him or you and your petty little games. Don’t darken my

doorstep again.”

“Sleep well, then.” A smirk even I could hear, upstairs in my room. “Don’t let the nosferatu bite.” A

cruel, chilling little laugh, and the front door slammed.

I heard my mother let out a shaky breath. And the buzzing was back, rattling in my head, running

through my bones. I knew what came next.

Next I would fall asleep. And when I woke up in the dark, I knew what would happen. It will be

that dream again, the worst of all dreams.

Then the buzzing pours through me, and the prickling like steel needles in my flesh. I struggle

against the dream. I don’t want to remember this. I never want to remember this, and each time is

more painful because I know—

She is leaning over my crib, her face bigger than the moon and more beautiful than sunlight, or

maybe it’s just that way because I’m so young. Her hair tumbles down in glossy ringlets, smelling

of her special shampoo, and the silver locket at her throat glimmers.

But there is a shadow in her pretty eyes; it matches the darkness over the left half of her face. It’s

like the shadow of rain seen through a window, light broken in rivulets.

“Dru,” she says softly but urgently. “Get up.”

I rub my eyes and yawn. “Mommy?” My voice is muffled. Sometimes it’s the voice of a five-yearold; sometimes it’s older. But always, it’s wondering and quiet, sleepy.

“Come on, Dru.” She puts her hands down and picks me up, with a slight oof! as if she can’t believe

how much I’ve grown. I’m a big girl now, and I don’t need her to carry me, but I don’t protest. I

cuddle into her warmth and feel the hummingbird beat of her heart. “I love you, baby,” she whispers

into my hair. She smells of fresh cookies and warm perfume, and it is here the dream starts to fray.

Because I hear something like footsteps, or a pulse. It is quiet at first, but it gets louder and more

rapid with each beat. “I love you so much.”

“Mommy . . .” I put my head on her shoulder. I know I am heavy, but she is carrying me, and when

she sets me down to open a door I protest only a little.