Tales of the Otherworld Read Free Page B

to make your first kill,” she said. “That would be quite a waste, don’t you think?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Well, perhaps then, if you are in your final months, you could use some companionship. It’s difficult talking to people now, always worrying that they’ll see what you are, never quite able to stop thinking about what
they
are.”
    “I’d prefer to be left alone.”
    A polite nod. “As you wish.”
    With that, she walked away.
    As the months passed, Aaron found himself thinking of the red-haired vampire. He’d be feeding and imagine her voice, telling him how to watch for signs that he’d drunk too much. Or he’d be darting through a busy market, always nervous about getting too close to humans, and he’d wonder if such caution was necessary. Could they see that he wasn’t breathing? Would they sense that his heart didn’t beat? She could have eased his anxieties with tips for blending into the human world.
    Mostly, though, he thought about her when he was sitting in the corner of a bar or waking in an inn, surrounded by strangers, not daringto say more than a word or two. For a man who’d always valued the company of others, this was the worst part of his new life: the loneliness.
    Now and then, he’d hear a whisper or a rustle behind him, and he’d turn to look for her. Then he’d see the newspaper blowing past or the dead leaves scraping against a window pane, and he’d tell himself that what he felt was relief.
    As the anniversary of his death approached, Aaron’s resolve didn’t falter. He enacted the final step of his plan, telling his mother that he was setting out for the New World, which she’d come to expect after his months of talking about it. Once gone, he couldn’t send a post and risk his father recognizing his handwriting, but his mother understood that, and bid him farewell with only a few tears.
    He hated deceiving her, but given the choice between lying to her and breaking her heart, he supposed God would forgive him the falsehood. As for whether God would forgive the rest…well, Aaron refused to fret over it. He’d done the best he could with the hand fate had dealt him and, if God condemned him for his choices, that was his decision.
    He was sitting in a tavern, enjoying an ale—a
good
ale, in a
good
tavern; surely he deserved that much in his final days. Most of what he’d earned doing odd jobs over the last year he’d given to his mother. One of his brothers had moved his family home to help with the farm, but Aaron still liked to contribute. On his last visit, though, his mother had given the money back and told him to put it to good use in the New World. So he’d donated most to charity, and was indulging himself with the remainder.
    As the tavern door swung open, the tavern’s patrons turned to gawk and Aaron turned with them. The moment he saw that flash of copper hair, he couldn’t help smiling. He covered it with a gulp of beer as the red-haired vampire swept toward his table.
    She cast a suspicious glance at the stool and brushed it off before sitting.
    “Ale?” he said, lifting his mug.
    She only arched one brow, as if she couldn’t believe he’d ask.
    “They might have wine,” he said.
    “If they do, I’m quite certain I don’t want it.” Her gaze locked with his. “You haven’t changed your mind, I see.”
    “Nope.”
    Again, that keen stare. “You aren’t brooding, are you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Good, because there is nothing duller than a brooding vampire.” She adjusted her skirts. “Since we are to drink together, introductions are in order. Cassandra DuCharme.”
    “Aaron.” He hesitated, then grunted. “Darnell. Aaron Darnell.”
    She nodded and waited while he polished off a quarter of his mug, then said, “What if I were to offer you a way out?”
    “A way out of what?”
    “That vexing moral quandary you’ve mired yourself in. A way to take a life without feeling guilty about it.”
    “It’s not guilt—”
    “Yes,