Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 3

Inside the ambulance, I reluctantly turn the child over to Mrs. Granger while Dana maneuvers the truck out of the yard with the precision of a soldier negotiating her way through a minefield. Her driving skills impress me and, coupled with a highly predaceous sexual nature, I sometimes wonder if she isn't a man masquerading as a highly attractive female.

Mrs. Granger sits on the stretcher with the tiny child in her arms. The babe is flushed and damp with perspiration. I long to pick her up and cradle her against my breast. To breathe in the sweet smell of her tender flesh. It is one of the greatest joys of my profession when I am able to hold a child in my arms.

"What's her name?" I ask.

"Lily. Lily Anne Granger. We chose her middle name for you, miss." I look at her, surprised. "If you hadn't been there with her breech and all, she wouldn't have made it. You were so calm and steady. If she has half your nerve I can rest easy knowing she'll survive this world."

I crouch at the side of the stretcher and take Lily Anne's tiny foot in my hands. Thirst hits me so hard, I almost swoon. Gently, I rub my trembling thumb against the delicate ankle, looking for a vein. Nothing is apparent. She is so dehydrated her veins are invisible.

"You, Mrs. Granger, are the strong one. Bringing so much life into the world. You truly are a blessed woman."

"Thank you. Most people wouldn't say so. That's real kind of you."

"Most people are blind to life's gifts." If I had a baby like this, I'd be the happiest creature in the world. How I envy Mrs. Granger, to hold a physical manifestation of love in her arms. And I envy Lily Anne too.

They say I was too young to remember my mother and her long, painful death, but I do. I remember her clasping me, holding me close to her hot, moist body. I remember the sound of her racing heart, the panting breath against my face. Mostly, I recall the agony of being torn from her trembling arms. And I don't know how, because this happened before I knew the words, but I remember someone strong holding me, bringing me to her and Mama's anguished cry, "No, take it away. I cannot bear to look upon her!" A ragged sob bursting forth, a door closing, and the sudden coldness that came with being whisked from the warm-sickened room, away from her. Forever.

A child is meant to be cradled by her creator as surely as a man is made to unite with a woman. To be withheld from one another is unnatural punishment.

What pains me is that my presence increased Mama's suffering. She knew what she was leaving behind—six small children and a love-grieved husband. We needed her! And oh, how she knew it! After she died, Charlotte claimed to see an angel by my cradle. I like to believe it was Mama watching over me.

I glance up at Mrs. Granger, struck by how young she looks. Mama was not far from her in age, nor I from Lily Anne's, when God stole my first love. But I am no longer so powerless. I will protect Mrs. Granger's family so that she will never know an inkling of my pain. I will be their guardian angel.

Lily Anne would be a hard stick for other medics but I've been starting IVs for over a century, many on men left virtually bloodless on the battlefield. It's as if, like a divining rod, my body can sense where the blood lies. Quickly, I slide in a needle and secure the catheter, then reach for a box of slender tubes beside the seat and begin drawing the babe's blood for the hospital.

I fill vials with the pungent liquid, my throat tense with thirst, and set them safely aside on the seat for the ER. Now it's my turn, and I reach for the three secret tubes I keep deep in my pocket. Blood from a child this young would sustain me for days. The younger the being, the greater the life force. This is how I survive. By sipping on the injured. Grazing like a fawn. It doesn't take much to keep my heart beating, for our lives are tenacious as weeds. Even in life, I ate little. Always, my sisters would tempt me with treats, fearing my weakness was a result of anemia, but even back then I worshipped self-control.

I have not taken a human life in half a century and did then only as a matter of absolute necessity. Only in the early years of my new birth did I feed upon humans with any regularity, following the wars, taking mostly killers, but still never free from shame.

Now my self-control is secure. Discipline and an iron will have always been my greatest virtues and over sixteen decades I have honed them into a finely edged sword that cuts only me. Of course, there is a price.

There is always a price.

I am weak for my kind. We are a rare breed and I've known only a few, but I'm weaker than any I have ever known. This is what happens when one lives as I do, imprisoned by conscience, forced to feed on the frail.

Lily Anne begins to cry and squirm in her mother's arms.

"She's coming around," Mrs. Granger says. She smiles, gazing at me with a look of absolute trust. "Little Lily Anne is comin' around."

Now is the time to sustain myself. The child's strong, tempered only by fever or flu. A few additional vials of blood are nothing to her. Twice that much wouldn't be missed and might sustain me for weeks. But it's impossible to take such a libation without raising alarm.

My fingers close around the smooth glass tubes in my pocket when suddenly Lily Anne's body locks up. Her breath halts. She's having another seizure. Forgetting my hunger, I draw up medication and push it through her IV line. Mrs. Granger watches tensely until the seizure ends and her daughter resumes normal breathing. I give Lily Anne oxygen and fluids and check her sugar, all the while instructing Mrs. Granger on how to treat her children for fever, and then before I know it we're pulling up to the hospital.

Damn it! I'm running out of time!

I reach for my secret blood tubes, but just as they clear my pocket, Dana slams on the brakes and sends me flying across the bench seat. I catch myself and watch in horror as the vials hit the floor and scatter across the truck. They come to a crash against the wall, breaking into pieces. Fury sparks within me. Fury at Dana for driving like a maniac and fury at myself for losing track of time.

When you are a Night Walker, you must never ever lose track of time.

Dana roughly throws the truck into reverse, jolting us all, and backs up to the ER entirely too fast. Mrs. Granger pulls Lily Anne close, kissing the top of her head and wrapping a free hand around her baby's little feet as if to catch and hold her daughter's vulnerability, shielding it from the world.

A wave of protectiveness wells within me. Mrs. Granger need not worry. Lily Anne is my name child and I will perish before I allow a single soul to do her harm.