"Forgive me."

I looked around, furtive and guilty. I hadn't meant to say anything. I certainly didn't believe myself deserving of forgiveness. The living room was empty. The house was heavy and dark with sleep, as it had been an hour ago when I snuck downstairs.

Corbin's gift went under the tree. I nestled it in a pile of other presents, careful not to disturb them. Mom spent hours arranging everything just so. Every ornament, every bit of tinsel. She kept stopping to wipe at her eyes. Her hands shook as she set the angel at the top of the tree.

Dad and I pretended we didn't see. It was the only kindness we could offer.

The sharp, sweet scent of pine filled the room. I closed my eyes. Twenty years ago on this day, my parents brought Corbin home from Slovenia. I had just turned five. Corbin was two. He had been born on a Christmas eve just like that one. Mom couldn't stop smiling. She called Corbin our Christmas miracle. A gift from God.

Even then, I knew better.

I took a deep breath. The memory of that very first Christmas did not fade when I opened my eyes. It settled over everything in sight, a double-image I couldn't blink away. I didn't try. I had played blind long enough.

The stairs to the second story creaked as I climbed them. I grit my teeth. My heart pumped in my chest, fast enough to hurt. The door to my parents' room was open. I lingered in the doorway. The bedside lamp was on. My parents' faces glowed white in the dim room, lined with worry even in sleep. Mom had her head on dad's chest, dad's arms tight around her. Their eyes were swollen with exhaustion. Neither had gotten much rest over the past month.

I closed the door, then locked it and pocketed the key. The chances of them waking up before dawn were slim. They were too tired, and I'd used the strongest sedatives that could be legally prescribed. Even so, locking the door - locking them in, hiding them away - made me feel better.

Corbin's room was at the end of the hall. His door was closed. I walked faster. My room was across from his. I ducked in long enough to grab the satchel on my bed. Corbin's door was locked. I tried the handle, tried pounding on the door as hard as I dared. The duplicate key was downstairs. I should've taken it, I should've known-

I stepped back and slammed my foot against the door in a burst of rage, again and again. The wood caved in on the third kick. The door swung open to slam against the wall with the fourth.

Corbin was sitting up in his bed. He had dad's gun in his hands, the muzzle pressed under his jaw.

"Something's wrong," Corbin rasped.

"It won't help," I told him.

Corbin watched me a moment longer. His expression was calm. His hands trembled around the gun. The disconnect between Corbin's body and the soul within it was as clear as it had been twenty years ago, when I had first peered into my brother's eyes and found death staring back.

Corbin lowered the gun. He hesitated, then set it on the nightstand by his bed. His face was pale. He hunched, wrapping too-thin arms around his own torso. "What's happening to me?"

"Do you really not know?"

Corbin glanced up at me. Something wicked glinted in his eyes even as he shook his head.

"Remember-" I paused, licked my lips. The hollow ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs filled the silence. The sound spurred me forward. There was no time to waste. "Remember the book I gave you on your last... Last Christmas?"

Corbin froze mid-nod. Blue eyes locked on mine, bright with horror and dawning understanding. "No. That - those are fairy tales. They don't mean anything."

I had hoped so, too. I spent years learning Slovenian and a good decade researching the country's lore. The doubt weighting my mind didn't disappear. It grew heavier and heavier, until there was nothing to do but face it.

And oh, how ugly it was.

"Otrok, rojen na božični dan," I whispered.

On the bed, Corbin sunk his nails into his own arms. His mouth opened and closed twice. He was trying to hold the words back but they slipped through, rough and uneven. "...bo postal vampir v njegovi smrti."

A child born on Christmas day will become a vampire upon its death.

Corbin sobbed. He pressed his forehead to his knees and shook, hard enough that his teeth clattered. I grabbed the gun just a second before he reached for it. Corbin's hand slapped over the empty space on the nightstand. He cried out in frustration.

"You've gotta- prosim­-"

"It won't work." I grabbed his shoulders, stilling his mad rocking. "Trust me. Please, Corbi."

Corbin looked up. Red veins spidered his eyes. I kept myself still, kept my expression open and unafraid.

"What do we do?" Corbin asked.

Relief had me smiling. I stood up and offered Corbin a hand. He let me pull him off the bed. We descended the stairs together. I took a right, heading for the back of the house. Corbin followed me. He didn't ask where I was taking him. He didn't say anything at all.

Night reigned outside. Winters in the country were darker than those in the city. Less roads, less people, less light. Although we didn't own a farm or fields, we were surrounded by people who did. Great open spaces stretched to either side of us, covered by a thin layer of frosted snow. The land looked like a deadman laid out for viewing.

We followed a thin, beaten path that fed into a larger dirt road. Trees fenced it on one side. I had us walking along the edge of the road, directly under their naked crowns. Their shadows would shield us from the snow's ghostly glow and curious eyes.

Corbin's breath grew labored long before we reached our destination. Our pace slowed gradually. Finally, I ducked under his arm and propped him up.

"Just a little further."

"Mm."

"You can do it."

Corbin's chin dropped atop my head. I wasn't certain if he was nodding, or had given into exhaustion. I strode forward with renewed determination. It wasn't far at all now. Just beyond the small hill there, then half a mile or so down another back road.

Corbin grew stiffer the closer we got. He stopped walking once we hit gravel and wouldn't budge no matter how hard I pulled at his arm. I couldn't see his eyes, but judging by the angle of his head he was looking at the dark house rising just beyond a crop of trees.

"Lucia. You don't have to do this."

I let Corbin's arm drop and whirled on him, suddenly furious. "Then what? What'd you have me do, huh?"

Corbin said nothing. I swallowed. My throat hurt; my eyes prickled. I knew I was being unfair. I had meant to ask him - I had meant to offer him a choice. But it didn't seem right to do it in the house, and then once we were on our way I just couldn't make the words. My hands fell to the satchel. I felt Corbin's eyes on them.

"You've got what you need in there? To stop me?"

I nodded without lifting my head.

Corbin's fingers were cold over mine. I looked up. His eyes were black in the poor light. "But you don't want to."

"I won't," I spat back. I had the stake at my fingertips. A cross. Matches to burn his body and salt to cover his bones, but I wouldn't. I couldn't, not even if he asked. "Ljubim te. Ti si moj brat, in ljubim te." I love you. You're my brother, and I love you.

I pressed my hands over my eyes. Tears burned my palms. I wiped them off angrily and turned away. "So if you want to - If you're gonna-"

Corbin passed me on the path. His steps were slow and staggered. After a moment, I followed after him.

The house was quiet. Christmas was a good hour away, but I knew Ollie Flint wouldn't stay up to meet it. He didn't have much to celebrate. Alone, in debt, and a heavy drinker. No one would miss him on Christmas morning. It might be a while until anyone remembered to look for him at all.

I felt ill. Mr. Flint wasn't a bad man; just a sad, lonely one. His death would weigh my soul forever. And I couldn't regret it. Not if the choice was between him and Corbin.

We went in through a side door. It was unlocked and opened into a kitchen. The room was empty. It looked deserted rather than clean. One dish in the sink, a couple of beer cans in the trash. There was a pile of unopened letters on the kitchen table. The topmost looked like a greeting card. I tried to remember if Mr. Flint had siblings. If he had nieces and nephews, kids Corbin and I might've played with when we were little.

"Corbi," I whispered, "do you-"

"Who's there!"

I froze. Light flooded the kitchen, and there was Mr. Flint, framed in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess around his stubbled face. His grip on the shotgun in his arms was steady. I watched his face soften with recognition. He lowered the gun so the barrel pointed to the floor.

"Lucy?"

"I- yes. I, that's, I mean - we..."

Mr. Flint frowned. "Lucy, did something happen? Wanna use the phone?"

I glanced back at Corbin. I wasn't sure what to do. Leaving now would raise too many questions, but going through with what I had planned seemed impossible in the face of Mr. Flint's concern. God, I had meant to kill him in his bed and here the man was, offering me help. I sought Corbin's eyes, for support more than advice.

Corbin wasn't there.

I stared. Mr. Flint asked me something, but I couldn't hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. Had Corbin left? The side door was still open. Perhaps he'd slipped outside before Mr. Flint had a chance to see him. That would be good. That would-

"What the-"

I turned around just in time to see Mr. Flint's neck snap. Mr. Flint slumped. His head cracked against the floor. A thin trail of blood speared over the linoleum as I watched, like a green shoot through the earth come spring. It sank under the sole of Corbin's right shoe and out of sight.

I looked up. Corbin smiled back at me. His face was still gaunt and tired, but his eyes - his eyes shone.

Corbin stepped over Mr. Flint's body. I watched him advance. I couldn't move. My body had seized up, muscles locked tight. It was a wonder I was even breathing.

Corbin stopped in front of me. He was close enough that I should have felt the warmth of his body. Only there was no warmth to be had. There hadn't been all along, I realized. Corbin had been cold against my side the entire way here. How hadn't I noticed?

Why hadn't I seen?

"There's time yet," I whispered. The clock above Mr. Flint's sink showed 11:23. 37 minutes until the 25th.

Corbin chuckled. He bent his head, so we were eye-to-eye. Frozen blue filled my vision. I was reminded of the fields outside. Dead and calm and quiet.

"It's been Christmas for hours," Corbin said. I closed my eyes, cursed myself for a fool. Of course. It was the 25th in Slovenia. It had been since - God, the early afternoon.

"You waited," I whispered. I didn't open my eyes. The man in front of me didn't feel like my brother. Not entirely. "I didn't think you'd be able to."

"It was difficult. I could smell them - your parents. You."

My eyes snapped open. "Our parents."

Corbin smiled. His teeth glinted with the fluorescence. "As you wish."

I shook my head. Nothing here was as I wished it. I motioned toward Mr. - to the corpse. "Right. There, you can - you must be..." hungry. I swallowed the word. I wouldn't stay to watch him eat. I didn't think I'd be able to look at him and see my brother if I did.

"You can have him."

"This isn't funny, Corbi!" I snapped. I felt like crying.

Corbin smiled. His hands came to cup my cheeks, gentle. "It's not meant to be. You took good care of me, sestro. It's my turn now."

I stepped back, cold, hair on end. His arms came around me and pulled me in. I pushed and strained, but there was no give. I couldn't even move enough to reach the satchel. Something cold gripped me by the throat. I fell still. Teeth. Those were-

"You didn't ask, so I won't either."

He bit down. His teeth went through skin and muscle to catch at bone. The world turned and turned and turned around me. I stood still at its center, seeing nothing but blue, hearing nothing but a soft murmur in Corbin's sweetest voice.

"Vesel Božič."

I laughed.

What a merry Christmas, indeed.