Chapter 7

impatience of youth" is silly. The longer I live, the more impatient I become. True, if nothing much is happening, I can sit perfectly still and be content. Once I stayed in a cave for six months and had only the blood of a family of bats to dine on. But as the centuries have gone by, I want what I want immediately. I enter into relationships swiftly. Therefore, in my mind, I already consider Ray and Seymour friends, although we have just met.

Of course, I often end friendships as quickly.

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It is Ray's knocking at my door that brings me out of my rest. How does a vampire sleep? The answer is simple. Like something dead. True, I often dream when I sleep, but they are usually dreams of blood and pain. Yet the dream I just had, of Amba and Rama and Yaksha, of the beginning, is the one I find the most painful. The pain never lessens as the time goes by. It is with a heavy step that I walk from the bedroom to answer the front door.

Ray has changed out of his school clothes into jeans and a gray sweatshirt. It is ten o'clock. A glance at Ray tells me that he is wondering what he is doing at my house after dark. This girl he has just met. This girl that has such hypnotic eyes. If he wasn't thinking about sex before, he might be thinking about it soon.

"Am I too late?" he asks.

I smile. "I'm a vampire. I stay up all night." I step aside and gesture. "Please come in, and please forgive the bare rooms. As I said, a lot of the furniture is still in the garage. The moving people couldn't get into the house when they came."

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Ray glances around and nods his approval. "You said your parents are away?"

"I did say that, yes."

"Where are they?"

"Colorado."

"Where did you live in Colorado?"

"In the mountains," I say. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure. What do you have?"

"Water."

He laughs. "Sounds perfect. As long as you'll join me."

"Gladly. I might have a bottle of wine as well. Do you drink?"

"I have a beer every now and then."

We head for the kitchen. "Wine is much better, red wine. Do you eat meat?"

"I'm not a vegetarian, if that's what you mean. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," I say. He is so darling, it is hard to resist nibbling on him.

We have a glass of wine together, standing in the kitchen. We drink to world peace. Ray is anxious to get to work, he says. He is just anxious. Alone with a mortal, my aura of difference is greater. Ray knows he is with a unique female, and he is intrigued, and confused. I ask how Pat is. May as well confront his confusion.

"Fine," he says.

"Did you tell her you were coming to visit me?"

He lowers his head. He feels a twinge of guilt, but no more. "I told her I was tired and wanted to go to bed."

"You can sleep here if you want. Once you bring in the beds."

My boldness startles him. "My father would wonder where I was."

"I have a phone. You can call him." I add, "What does your father do?"

"He's a private detective."

"Sounds glamorous. Do you want to call him?"

Ray catches my eye. I catch his in return. He doesn't flinch as his father did under my scrutiny. Ray is strong inside.

"Let's see how it goes and how late it gets," Ray says carefully.

He sets to work. Soon he is huffing and puffing. I help him, but only a little. Nevertheless, he comments on my strength. I tell him how I befriended Seymour and he is interested. Apparently Seymour is a friend of his as well.

"He's probably the smartest guy in the school," Rays says, lugging in a couple of dining room chairs. "He's only sixteen years old and he'll be graduating in June."

"He told me he likes to write," I say.

"He's an incredible writer. He let Pat read a couple of his short stories, and she gave them to me. They were real dark, but beautiful. One was about what goes on in the space between moments of time. It was called 'The Second Hand.' He had this character who suddenly begins to live between the moments, and finds that there is more going on there than in normal time."

"Sounds interesting. What made the story dark?"

"The guy was in the last hour of his life. But it took him a year to live it."

"Did the guy know it was his last hour?"

Ray hesitates. He must know Seymour is not well. "I don't know, Lara."

He has not used my name before. "Call me Sita," I say, surprising myself.

He raises an eyebrow. "A nickname?"

"Sort of. My father used to call me that."

Ray is alert to my change of tone, for I have allowed sadness to enter my voice. Or maybe it is the sound of longing, which is different from sorrow. No one I have cared about has used my real name in thousands of years. I think how nice it will be to have Ray say it.

"How long will your family be in Colorado?" Ray asks.

"I lied. My father's not there. He's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I was thinking about him before you came." I sigh. "He died a long time ago."

"How did he die?"

"He was murdered."

Ray makes a face. "That must have been terrible for you. I know if anything ever happened to my father, I would be devastated. My mother left us when I was five."

I swallow thickly. By the strength of my reaction, I realize how involved I have allowed myself to become with the boy. All because he has Rama's eyes? There is more to it than that. He also has Rama's voice. No, not his accent surely--the average person would have said, had they heard them together, that they sounded nothing alike. But to me, with my vampire ears, the subtle aspects of their voices are almost identical. The silence between their syllables. It was Rama's deep silence that initially attracted me to him.

"You must be very close" is all I can say. But I know I will have to bring up the father again soon. I want in that office tonight. I just hope I mopped up every drop of blood. I have no wish to be with Ray when he learns the truth.

If he ever does.

I let him finish bringing in the furniture, which takes him a couple of hours, although it took me less than twenty minutes to put it in the garage. It is after midnight. I offer him another glass of wine--a large glass--and he drinks it down quick. He is thirsty, as I am thirsty. I want his blood, I want his body. Blood drinking and sex are not that separate in my mind. Yet I am no black widow. I do not mate and kill. But the urges, the lusts--they sometimes come together. But I don't want to hurt this young man, I don't want any harm to befall him. Yet just by being with me his chances of dying are much greater. I have only to think of my history, and of the person who stalks me now. I watch as Ray sets down his empty glass.

TBC ...