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tucked beneath her head, she had scarcely moved for hours. The coarse sheet
wrapping her from toes to neck bore on one corner the stamped legend, PROPERTY
OF COOK COUNTRY MEDICAL EXAMINER S OFFICE

. While she was not fully awake, she was not fully asleep either; which was
one reason why the old man, finding himself thrust into the role of midwife
for her new life, hesitated to leave her alone, even though other important
matters demanded his attention.
This half-sleeping condition of Kate s had him somewhat puzzled. No reason, he
thought, why she should not be able to sleep the daylight hours away, in this
her native sepulcher. In fact when he brought her here he had expected her to
slip into a deep sleep at once.
He came back now from another squint out of the broken window, to stand
motionlessly regarding her. His black topcoat was open, his dark hat set at a
slightly jaunty angle, his dark glasses off, his hands behind his back.
Suddenly Kate s eyes flew open.  I don t know you, she said, in dazed
mistrustfulness. Her speech was newly awkward: sometimes she forgot to take a
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breath before she started talking, for breath was no longer a requirement of
her life; sometimes she drew in too much air, and the end of a phrase was
punctuated with a sharp puff of the surplus.
She had protested that he was a stranger enough times for him to have lost
count. But if patience with her confusion was costing him an effort, he had
not let that effort show as yet.  I am an old friend of the family, Kate,
he repeated, yet again.  Of your Grandmother Clarissa s in particular. I have
brought you here for your own protection.
Kate moved her body substantially now for the first time in hours, rising on
one elbow. 
How did you bring me here?
This question and answer too, they had been through several times before.
 Think back, girl what do you remember of our journey?
Kate s blue eyes looked into the distance. This time round she was going to
manage to take the conversation at least one step farther than before.  There
were doors, somewhere . . . in a couple of different places . . . and you told
me that because it was after dark we needed no keys; we could slip through.
 What else?
 It seems to me that I can remember flying. Like something in a dream.
 Trust your memory, Kate. It was no dream. Now, what is the last thing that
you can recall before our journey?
Think carefully.
Obediently she retired into her own thoughts, to surface again in a few
moments.  I can remember being at a party.
 Excellent! We are making progress. Where was the party?
 I . . . can t remember.
 Try.
Kate seemed to be trying, but had no success. He pressed on:  After the party,
then. You perhaps left with someone?
 Yes . . .
 Who was it? The old man could hear, perhaps half a kilometer away, the
snowplow scraping slowly.
 He said . . . Suddenly Kate sat bolt upright on her shelf, clutching the
sheet about her.  He said his name was
Enoch Winter.
 You have said that name before. The questioner nodded with satisfaction.
 And what does Enoch Winter look like, little one?
 He s big. Very tall. Very strong. The last word ended with a little shudder,
wherein horror and repulsion were mingled with the memory of delight.
 Taller than I am? Look at me.
Obediently Kate looked.  Oh, yes. By several inches.
For a long time, he mused, I was considered very tall myself. Now I am
scarcely above the average, I suppose.
Shall I someday qualify as a midget?
Aloud, he asked:  His hair? His eyes? His face?
 Dark curly hair. Sort of a deep voice, but much rougher than yours. His eyes
are blue, or maybe gray. I ll know him if I see him again.
 Indeed, I should think you  He broke off, watching her with great
intentness.
Kate s gradual return to full awareness had reached a critical point. Now she
was looking with terror at the marble
walls, the stained glass, and the tombs surrounding her.  What is this place?
Her breath momentarily forgotten, the question fell into a mere soundless
mouthing of the words. Then she drew in a gasp of air.  I know where I am. I
know what this is.
 I am your friend, the old man said with iron will,  and you are safe.
Words, even from him, were not enough. Kate screamed and leaped in mad panic
from her shelf, a corner of the sheet trailing like a cape. She landed
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awkwardly, but with catlike new strength supporting unsprained ankles.
Without a pause she sprang toward the single door of the mausoleum.
Before she reached it, though, the old man was beside her, and had an arm
around her waist. Despite the new strength with which she struggled, he drew
her back and soothed her like a child.  No, no. You do not understand the
dangers yet.
A moment longer Kate fought for her freedom. Then she slumped in his grip, her
eyes crazed.  I want to go home.
His clasp was almost tender.  I think you know, he said,  that you are as
close to home right now as you are ever likely to get.
A few seconds passed. This time the movement she made to free herself was
deliberate and almost calm, and so he released her. She moved a few steps off
and turned to face him, now fully aware and horrified.  I heard a policeman
say that I was dead.
 Very likely you did.
 You can t convince me that I m dead!
 My dear girl, I have no intention of trying to convince you of such an
absurdity. Neither of us is dead except to our old, breathing lives.
 Then what ?
 You have been through a great change. And understanding it is going to take
some time. Acceptance and understanding, the old man knew, did not often come
fully on the first day out of the grave.
Kate was frowning down at her swathing sheet.  Where are my clothes?
The old man walked to one of the crypts and tugged open its bronze door. The
interior was empty save for two bags, one a white laundry sack, the other
somewhat smaller, and elegant black. He brought both of them back to
Kate.  You have some choice of apparel, thought I am not sure the outfit in
the white bag is complete.
Wonderingly, Kate reached into the laundry sack and extracted from it first
her warm blue jacket, rolled up small;
then blue pants and a sweater. She looked at the old man with narrowed eyes,
then dug into the other bag. Out first came brown slacks, then a brown
sweater, shoes to match, a small mass of soft undergarments.  These are mine.
There was more sharpness than fear in her voice now.  But I was wearing the
blue. Where did you get these?
 Ah, memory is firming up. Good. The brown clothing I obtained very early this
morning, from your home.
 My home. You ve been there. What did you tell them, what ?
 Gently, Kate, gently. Your family thinks that you are dead.
She shook her head. She backed away from the old man a step, her lips forming
another word.
 He thinks so, too. For the time being, at least, it is better so. Later,
there will be decisions you must make, regarding those you love. But that must
come later, when you know more. Now I am going to look out the window while
you dress. Then will we discuss what must be done.
When he turned from squinting at the snow, he found Kate garbed in brown. He
took from her the blue clothing, including the warm jacket she no longer
needed. These garments he put back into the empty crypt, the only convenient
drawer this dwelling-place afforded.
Challengingly, Kate followed him. He smiled to see in her something of her
younger sister s bravery.  Now, she demanded,  I want to know who you are,
really. And what has really happened to me.
 Very well. He looked steadily into her eyes.  I am a vampire, Kate. Because
Enoch Winter exchanged his vampire blood with you, you have become a vampire [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]