"Do you suppose we will ever come across others like us?" Eliza asked without preamble. She and Margaret were passing time in the garden, Eliza with her embroidery and Margaret with a book. Dark, moisture-laden storm clouds threatened on the horizon, rolling in slowly like a lazy cat unfurling itself from slumber.

Margaret lowered the book to her lap and blinked several times. "I don't suppose I've ever considered it," she replied thoughtfully.

"Have you never?" Eliza asked, sounding doubtful.

Margaret grinned. "Well, I am considering it now."

Eliza returned the smile and focused her attention on her needle and thread. Now that the thought had been spoken, however, Margaret could think of nothing else.

"Why do you ask?"

The corners of Eliza's mouth turned down. "Curiosity, I suppose."

But Margaret knew better. "Curiosity?" she said. "Or fear?"

"Perhaps both," Eliza answered. "I don't relish a world of monsters. I'd quite like to believe we are the only ones, but if we are not, I would like to know that, as well."

"We are not the only ones," Margaret reminded her.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, though near and loud enough to make Eliza jump in her chair. "It will rain soon," she said unnecessarily.

"Do you ever feel her?" Margaret asked, unwilling to let her sister change the subject now that it had been broached.

Eliza's mouth puckered as she stabbed her needle through the stretched linen. "By her, I assume you mean Abigail."

Margaret repressed a grin. "You say her name with such disdain."

Her sister's brows rose. "Shouldn't I?"

"You would have died," Margaret said, all traces of humor gone.

"We were dead the minute we set foot on that ship." Eliza gave Margaret a pointed look, and no more was said on the subject.

Since becoming a vampire, she and Eliza had been in constant conflict. Eliza despised their maker Abigail and would have preferred to have her life ended—for good­˗˗alongside little Caroline had she a choice in the matter. She hated what she was and clung to that anger and resentment, making her a dangerous and volatile vampire. When she fed, which wasn't often enough, it was with a self-loathing that gave way to a savage ferocity. Her carefully constructed façade barely masked the monster she was. Margaret quite enjoyed the new Eliza.

"I sense her sometimes," Margaret offered. "I could swear she is standing next to me, but then I turn, and she is not there."

"I have experienced the same feeling," Eliza admitted, though with some reluctance.

"What do you think it means?" Margaret wondered.

"I do not know," her sister answered irritably. "Can we please speak of other things? I am in no mood to speak of her." Eliza's brow furrowed as she repeatedly stabbed at her work. She made a mistake and swore under her breath.

"If our mother heard such language!" Margaret crooned. "She would say I've spoiled you."

With a heavy sigh, Eliza put her work aside and turned her face to the sky. Her eyes were dark and troubled.

"What is it?" Margaret asked. Though she and her sister were not particularly close these days, she still cared for Eliza.

Eliza closed her eyes. "I met Willy's uncle in town," she said. "He approached me one day while I was out for a walk."

Margaret sat up straighter. "When?"

"Several weeks ago."

Margaret's mouth opened and closed. "If you meant to render me speechless, you have succeeded. I completely forgot Willy had an uncle here in the colony. How did he know it was you?"

Eliza gave her a look. "We are the governor's daughters. We are not exactly inconspicuous."

"Of course," Margaret replied. "Well, what did you speak of?"

"The entire town knows we were the lone survivors on that ship," Eliza said, not without contempt. "Did you not think that word would get back to Willy? As his fiancé, I should have written him as soon as we arrived, assuring him of our safety, but I said nothing, too consumed with . . . what I am. What we are."

"Willy is in our past," Margaret said, reaching out to lay her hand atop her sister's. "We can mourn him, but there is no life with him in it."

"But Willy is coming here!" Eliza cried mournfully.

Margaret blinked, sure she hadn't heard her sister correctly. "What?"

"His uncle told me so. He assumed I knew."

Margaret felt as though she couldn't breathe, like her dress was too tight. She clutched the bodice and pulled the fabric away from her chest. She had given Willy little thought over the past several months. She had thought they would never see each other again.

"What will you do?" she asked.

"What am I to do?" Eliza said. "I can no longer be his loving and devoted fiancé. I can no longer marry him, or anyone for that matter! I cannot hide what I am, not from the man I love."

Margaret hesitated, and then: "But what if you could?"

Eliza laughed and turned a glare on her. "Are you mad? We are a house of monsters pretending to be human. We haven't tasted food in ages, Meg. Don't you think Willy might wonder why the sight and smell of breakfast repulses me? Don't you think he might question where I go at night, why I return the next morning stained with blood."

"I˗˗"

"It is an unnatural life you have cursed us to," Eliza accused. "You have taken everything from me!" She rose then and fled, her anger as electric as the oncoming storm.

Margaret had never thought of her family as cursed. Having witnessed Caroline's life slip from her by measures, and what Abigail was and could do for them, she had thought she was saving them.

Her throat swelled and her eyes stung as the wind picked up, causing the trees to groan and sway. Margaret couldn't recall the last time she cried. Had she wept when Caroline died? She couldn't remember now. She took a deep breath and blew it out in a steady stream just as the first raindrops began to fall, wetting the pages of her book. She rose, blinking repeatedly to clear her vision. Like the storm, her sister's anger would eventually abate.

*****

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