An hour outside of town we came to a stop at a lonely junction. Overhead a single street light shimmered on a canted wooden pole, the small, rusty windmill that powered it creaking eerily in the warm night air. Mom turned off the car and we sat in the dark, waiting, surrounded by an ocean of open fields and a bazillion chirping crickets. It was rather frightening and I wanted to be back home in our cozy flat, and far off to the west I could see the lights of a farmhouse standing alone, out in the middle of nowhere. Just like us.
"Are we going to be all right, Mommy?" I asked.
"Oh, sweetheart, of course we are," Mom said. She leaned over and gave me an awkward hug and a kiss on the top of my head. "We're just going to wait here a little while, is all."
"Why?"
"Someone is coming to help us."
"Uncle Jim?" He wasn't really my uncle, but the last time we'd seen him he had told me to call him that. I didn't really know what he was in Mom's life; only that she occasionally talked to him on the phone and every so often he would pay us a visit and he and Mom would talk in hushed voices about things I didn't really understand. I remembered he'd been there the last time we'd had to leave in a hurry for another place.
"He's going to make sure we're safe," Mom said. She reached over and smoothed my hair with a gentle stroke of her hand. "He's sort of our guardian angel."
"But he doesn't have wings."
She laughed. "Angels come in all shapes and sizes, sweetie. Sometimes they're not at all what you'd expect." She had an air of wistfulness about her as she spoke, and I'd the feeling she was thinking about something else—someone else. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her in a mood like that, but I was too young to understand what it meant, to understand there were secrets buried in her past that still haunted her.
We sat for a long time in the electric, until it was well past the time I should have been in bed. But despite Mom encouraging me to sleep, I simply couldn't; I was too wound up, and three hours later I was wide awake when headlights blazed brightly up the road ahead. I sat up straighter and looked expectantly to Mom as she sucked in a breath and tensed beside me, frightened because she seemed frightened and only relaxing when she flashed a grin and said, "There's nothing to be afraid of. We're going to be all right."
A battered Universal electric pulled up on the opposite side of the intersection and sat there a minute or two before the headlights flicked on-off-on in quick succession. Mom toggled a switch on the console of our car and the headlights flared bright, then dimmed in response. A moment later the door of the Universal opened and Uncle Jim got out, looking massive against the tiny electric, his tall, broad-shouldered frame looming in the night. He peered around cautiously and then walked slowly toward us.
"Time to go," said Mom, now all business. She got out and started unloading our luggage.
Uncle Jim joined us as she was wrestling with a suitcase. "You're late," she said, impatient and gruff-toned as she gave him a perfunctory look.
"I came as fast as I could. You didn't give me much notice."
"Well, excuse me," Mom said, lugging out another suitcase. "Next time I'll ask them to book an appointment."
Uncle Jim scowled. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"We've been over that. I'm not going to spend my life on a military base under lock and key. Besides, do you really think we'd actually be safer there?"
He heaved a sigh. "You don't make this easy."
"I'm sorry it's such a damn inconvenience for you," Mom snapped. "Do you think I like this?" She turned to him, fiery-eyed, hands on hips.
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you got involved with a vamp."
I knew Mom was angry by the flicker of light in her eyes—that "bioluminescence" thing—and I thought for certain she was going to clock him. I think the only reason she didn't was me, but she swore at him and said, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about. This doesn't have anything to do with that. It's about her. And we both know it started long before I met him."
Uncle Jim's gaze drifted past Mom to me and I got the impression I was the "her" to whom she was referring. He tried on a smile, failed miserably, then turned back to Mom and said, "I'm sorry. Truly. I didn't mean—"
"Forget it." Mom's ire mellowed. "Mallory made a promise, Jim. I've kept my end of the bargain. I've let you guys practically run my life. The least he can do is live up to his end of things."
"He's trying," said Uncle Jim. "But you know the game. You've got enemies. Powerful ones. And the president can only do so much."
"Well, it's not enough. He needs to understand that all I care about is my daughter."
"He does. I do."
"Does he? Do you?"
Uncle Jim looked stung. "I knew your father. He brought me into the PSS. He was a good man and taught me a lot. He taught me what was right, and I'd never do anything to dishonor that. You know that. I know you do."
Mom looked contrite, exhaled and nodded. "Look, I'm sorry for being such a b—"
"Beautiful example of motherhood?" he interrupted.
She laughed, though it was somewhat hollow. "Yeah. That."
"Look, I'm doing the best I can," Uncle Jim went on. "I promise you I won't ever stop."
"I know. And I appreciate it. I really do. But..." Mom didn't finish; just looked at me with concern.
"This wouldn't be so bad if you'd let my mother out," she said at length, glancing back at Uncle Jim.
"That's not up to me."
"The hell it isn't."
"She's dangerous."
"Yeah. To them. She was protecting us. I didn't have to worry about going to sleep at night with her around."
Uncle Jim shook his head. "She's not stable. You know that as well as I do. She killed one of my men. I didn't have any choice about reporting it."
Mom's nostril's flared and a hint of light returned to her eyes. "She killed him because she thought he was a threat. And you don't even know he wasn't. He could have been working for them."
"Maybe. But we can't take that chance. What would have happened if she'd killed some innocent bystander just because she thought he looked at the two of you the wrong way?"
"She's not an animal."
"She's not human, either."
"That's not her fault."
Uncle Jim sighed. "I promise you, we're treating her well."
"A cage is still a cage," Mom said, "even if you make it look like a palace. And what about me? You know there's not much difference between the two of us. It may be only a matter of time before I—"
"That's not going to happen," Uncle Jim cut in, as if he didn't want to hear what she had to say.
"You don't know that. And if it does, what then? You put me in a cage, too?"
Uncle Jim didn't reply, and Mom just shook her head and started gathering our stuff. They'd had this argument before and it always ended the same, neither of them very happy.
"Let me help you with those," said Uncle Jim, grabbing one of the suitcases and letting out a grunt as he tried to heave it. "God Almighty! What on earth do you have in here? Gold bars?"
"I wish." Mom took it from him, hoisting it effortlessly. "Maybe you should leave the heavy lifting to me," she said.
"I'll never get used to that." Uncle Jim stood back a pace and watched her carry both suitcases to the other car, shaking his head in awe.
"Are you ever not intimidating?" he asked when she came back.
Mom stuck out her tongue at him and he just laughed.
Once our luggage was stowed in the Universal, Mom and I got inside and Uncle Jim handed her a large leather bi-fold. "ID, papers, ration books, money," he said, leaning on the open door of the car. "The usual."
Mom took the bi-fold and made a superficial inspection of the contents. "Who are we this time?" she asked.
"Susan Henderson and her daughter Cora."
She uttered a pathetic little laugh. "At least you're consistent."
"Consistent is good. The simpler it is, the less likely you'll be tripped up by mistakes."
"I don't make mistakes."
Uncle Jim looked past her to me. Mom glanced my way, then turned back to him, granite-faced. "She doesn't make them either. You ought to know that by now."
"All I know is that people who think they can't make mistakes usually do."
"How profound of you."
"You're the one who's sitting here now."
"We didn't slip up," Mom said in a frosty tone. "We never have."
Uncle Jim's cheeks swelled as he blew out a breath. "How long do you think you can keep this up?"
"As long as I have to." Mom stole another look at me. "It's not like I have a choice."
"I guess not." He straightened and stepped back as she pulled the door shut.
There was an uncomfortable awkwardness between them, and it was Mom who finally broke the silence.
"I should tell you," she said. "It was a vamp who tipped us off."
Uncle Jim's back stiffened and his eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "A vamp? You're sure?"
Mom gave him a dry look. "Do you honestly think I wouldn't know one when I see one? Besides, you can't fake a smell like that."
"Yeah. Right. I guess you'd know."
"I would."
"Hmm." Uncle Jim swept back his hair, unruly waves of dirty blond running through his fingers, then shook his head. "What do you suppose it means?"
"Hell if I know. Maybe he was a rebel."
Uncle Jim sniffed dismissively. "A rebel? With the Embassy?"
"Really? You're going to make that argument?"
He shrugged. "I just assumed the Third Reich would have purged them all by now..."
"The rebels are everywhere," Mom said. "In a lot more places than Hitler can even begin to imagine."
"Even if that's true, they're still the enemy. The only good vamp is a dead vamp. And I mean well and truly dead, as in gone forever."
Mom scowled at him. "You know I don't like to hear that."
"Sorry." But I was sure he wasn't. Most people in Haven had an unwavering opinion of vamps: that the only good ones were the kind that would never walk the face of the Earth again. If Uncle Jim could have turned them all into ash I was sure he'd not have hesitated to do so.
"How the hell did a vamp know you're in danger?" he asked.
"He had pictures of us." Mom retrieved her handbag from the backseat. "He gave me these," she said, withdrawing the handful of photos the vamp had left behind.
"He was watching you?" Uncle Jim's eyes showed alarm as he inspected the pictures.
Mom shook her head. "I don't think so. I think those came from someone else. I think he was watching the watcher."
"But he knew about you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Clearly. He knew Chloe's name."
Uncle Jim looked up sharply from the images and clenched his teeth. "You think he's working for them?"
"The Old Ones?" Mom shook her head. "Obviously not. He'd have taken her if he was. And he sure as hell isn't working for Amelia's lot."
"Maybe he didn't take Chloe because you were there."
Mom snorted. "I've grown a lot faster and stronger since I had her, but I doubt I could beat a vamp like him. And if he's been watching us for as long as I think he has, he probably knows that."
"If he didn't want Chloe, then what's his game?"
"Damned if I know. That's what worries me. It was bad enough with the others chasing us, but if there's another player in the game..." Mom's voice drifted off into a silence that said far more than words.
"I'll look into it," Uncle Jim said.
"He's a vamp," said Mom, making no effort to hide her scorn. "Do you honestly think you'll get very far?"
"No. But still..."
Cricket song swelled into the emptiness between them and the windmill uttered a mechanical groan in protest to a sudden gust of wind. Then the breeze dropped and for a moment the wash of illumination surrounding us contracted to a dim circle, as if the universe itself had shrunk.
"We should go," Mom said.
"Yeah." Uncle Jim grinned crookedly. "Call me when you get there. Let me know how things are."
"I will." She started the car. "And thank you," she said. "I mean it, even if sometimes it doesn't sound like I do."
"No sweat. You keep safe." Uncle Jim leaned down and peered through the open window. "Bye, Chloe."
"Bye, Uncle Jim," I said, waving back.
"Stay out of trouble," Uncle Jim said to Mom.
"I try."
"Try harder."
"Can't help it that it seems to follow me." And with that we took off, headed west. I twisted in my seat and looked back through the rear window and saw Uncle Jim standing in the middle of the intersection, watching us go, something approaching forlorn about that scene.
A few hours later we arrived in Point Barrow.