Jamie: A Vampire Hunter’s Tale Book 2 E-Book

Johnson ID

• Herausgeber: ID Johnson
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

He never wanted to become a vampire hunter….

Dr. Jamie Joplin has always had a fear of the dark and the creatures that crawl forth from the shadows after the sun goes down. His parents speak of immortal beings capable of destroying vampires, but Jamie decides at an early age that is not the life for him. He’s perfectly content to stay a human surgeon, fixing human afflictions.

When his sister is seriously injured pursuing a vampire, Jamie is the only one that can save her. Healing Marjorie requires him to go through the transformation process and become a Guardian, a specific type of vampire hunter that can potentially live forever.

Forced to leave his life as a surgeon behind, Jamie embarks on a new journey, one that will bring him face to face with the bloodsuckers he’s feared his entire life including Jack the Ripper, Dracula, and a very different kind of villain at Pearl Harbor.

Based on a favorite character in The Clandestine Saga series,  Jamie explores how the guardian who can heal anyone with a touch of his hand came to join the LIGHTS team. This book can be read as a standalone novel or as a complement to The Clandestine Saga. You do not have to have read  Aaron, book 1 in A Vampire Hunter’s Tale, in order to enjoy  Jamie.

Leseprobe

Jamie

A Vampire Hunter’s Tale Book 2

ID Johnson

Copyright © 2018 by ID Johnson

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover by Sparrow Book Cover Designs

Created with Vellum

For my friend Margie who inspired Jamie’s sister with her ability to stay forever young.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

A Note from the Author

Newsletter

Chapter 1

Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1874

The alleyway was always dark and menacing, even on the brightest of spring days. It ran between two rows of houses just a few blocks from James’s house, almost equidistant to his best friend Timmy’s. Though he enjoyed running through the neighborhood with his friend, coming back home in the afternoon was always a frightening experience. No matter how many times he managed to get past the obstacle, whether coming or going, he always assumed each time he approached the chasm it would be his last as something would burst forth from the shadows and drag him away, never to be seen or heard from again.

This particular day, James had left Timmy’s a bit early as his friend’s older brother had stayed home from school with a cough and was constantly interfering in the younger boys’ attempts at playing with Timmy’s new baseball. Once Steven had tossed it in the bushes for the sixth or seventh time, James had had enough and told Timmy he might see him tomorrow, taking off for home.

Now, as he approached the last of the row houses on this side of the alleyway, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Even from here, the darkness seemed to spill out to the walkway, encroaching on the otherwise cheery spring day. He took two more short steps and then froze in place.

He had developed a few strategies for getting past the alleyway, though none of them were particularly helpful. The one that he liked least was to close his eyes and run. Even though it stood to reason this would be the least terrifying way to cross, it failed him every time. While he knew not being able to look down the alley should prevent him from seeing anything horrific, it might also prevent him from escaping capture. Rarely did he employ this tactic.

Another method had been to step to the edge of the shadows and twist his head as much as possible so that he could check for predators before proceeding into the realm of darkness. This way, should there be anything menacing lurking along the edges of the bordering homes, amidst the unkempt ivies and weeds that clung to the fences and siding, the garbage cans and other residents who never left the bleakness of the alley, he could retreat before he fell into their clutches. This was his usual way of checking to make sure he was safe to sprint to the light on the other side of the walkway.

One more way, one he had only used once before after his older sister, Marjorie, had called him a “sissy pants” was to turn so that he was facing the alley head on and draw upon all the courage he could muster so that he could make his face as fierce as possible. He had stood in the splash of darkness for a moment, his hands resolutely fisted on his hips, looking his antagonists in the eyes, should they dare to face him, and then slowly step to the other side. This was certainly the best strategy he had come up with, although it was faulty in that the one time he had used it, he’d nearly wet his pants when a leaf caught in the wind seemed to lurch at him.

Today, he decided to use what he had nicknamed the “look and leap” approach, where he would turn his head and check the alleyway before taking off across to safety as fast as his little legs could carry him. With a deep breath, he took one more step, and then straining his neck so that his head stretched into the danger zone, he peered into the un-trustable space, hoping to see nothing more than the shadows of known objects he’d become familiar with in previous treks.

At first, James saw nothing out of the ordinary—only a few taller weeds stretching out into the wind, catching his eye with their unexpected movement. Two garbage receptacles stood in their usual places. The small piece of siding that had been flapping in the breeze ever since that snowstorm last January continued to rock back and forth as usual. Though he felt relieved, he still didn’t completely trust all was well. One could never tell when evil might rear its ugly head. Yet, with nothing visually imposing before him, he took a step into the shadows.

Then, something moved. He was sure of it. Out of the corner of his eye, as he began to turn his head so that he could see where he was going as he sprinted along the sidewalk, he noticed it—a quick, sudden shadow rising up in his peripheral vision. He turned his head back toward the alleyway to see a figure retreating into the darkness, fading into the edges of the back of the corridor where there was not enough light to see from James’s position. It was a human form, of that he was sure, but the rapidity of its departure seemed impossible. Even though he wasn’t quite sure exactly what he was looking at, a gleam seemed to catch his eye as the figure initially rose from its crouched position behind the trash receptacle. He couldn’t be certain, but James thought it may have been the glint of the sun off of razor sharp teeth!

Without another thought, he took off running as fast as he could up Chestnut Street toward his home. He passed an elderly neighbor woman, Mrs. O’Neal, but he didn’t even acknowledge her greeting as he sprinted the next two blocks to the safety of his own home. He knew for sure he wouldn’t be visiting Timmy’s house again the next day—nor any other, for that matter.

Felicity Joplin was hard at work in her attached kitchen, making several loaves of bread to share with the patients at the hospital where her husband, Dr. Wallace Joplin, worked. Alongside her, the housekeeper, Sadie, the daughter of a man Felicity’s own father had helped rescue along the Underground Railroad twenty years previously, helped prepare the dough. Even though Felicity could’ve left this task to the hired help, she enjoyed baking and often prepared the family meals herself.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sadie continued in her usual manner, “I think telling the boy so much about spooks at his age is gonna turn him soft, that’s all. He’s a’scared of everything.”

Felicity used the back of her hand to wipe a bead of sweat off of her brow. It was a nice spring day and the windows were open, but with the fire going, it was still hot in the kitchen. Sadie’s insistence that she was damaging her son’s psyche by telling him the truth also seemed to be raising her core temperature. “As I’ve explained,” Felicity began, attempting to keep her voice calm and even, “Wallace and I believe it is best for our children to know the truth as young as possible. Telling them untruths is no way to raise respectable citizens who value honesty and have high moral constitutions.”

“I ain’t saying lie to them,” Sadie continued, kneading a loaf with practiced hands, “but that boy is scared of his own shadow. And he’s got a mouth on him, too. He’s likely already told half his Sunday school class about his uncle who can’t die and things that go bump in the night.”

A soft chuckle escaped Felicity’s lips. “I doubt that. James and Marjorie have both been instructed to keep our family secrets to themselves. I don’t think he’s told anyone.”

“Hmmm,” Sadie replied, and Felicity braced herself for a story that would prove her wrong. “I was down at the market t’other day and ran into Hallie—she works for the Thrashers, over on Beacon.”

“Yes, I know,” Felicity assured her, adding some flour to the loaf she was working on.

“She told me the little Thrasher boy came back from church tellin’ his whole family about the insides of a chicken—all the parts and what they do. Said your boy was tellin’ the whole world all about dissecting that chicken Dr. Joplin butchered. Your boy is a talker, Mrs.”

The image of James’s excited face as her husband had walked him through the internal workings of the fowl came to mind, and Felicity couldn’t help but smile. As good of a physician as her husband was, she was certain her son would be even more talented. He took such interest in learning about anatomy and all other areas of science.

Her memories momentarily took her away from the kitchen, and it wasn’t until Sadie cleared her throat that she realized she hadn’t replied. “Telling his friends about an exciting scientific discovery isn’t the same as spreading information we’ve assured him needs to stay secret.”

“Well, all I know is, he’s woken me up every night since you told him makin’ a fuss about shadows and noises outside of his window.”

Felicity’s eyebrows raised as she looked at Sadie, the bread momentarily forgotten. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Yes’m. I tell him it ain’t nothin’ to be a’feared of, but I don’t think he believes me.”

Inhaling deeply, Felicity digested this new information. Sadie had been against telling the children the truth all along, but when Marjorie had asked why Uncle Culpepper looked as young now as he did in his portrait dated 1852, she and Wallace had decided to be forthcoming with their daughter, who was nearly eleven. It wasn’t long before they determined James needed to know the truth as well, even though he was only six. They thought they could explain things in a way that would make him understand he was in no danger, but that their family was different, special.

After a lengthy pause, Felicity said, “I will speak to James when he gets home. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Umm hmm,” Sadie replied, but Felicity knew that sound well enough. Her friend and hired help was not agreeing with her.

The women continued with their task in silence for a few moments, and Felicity reflected on Sadie’s words, wondering what she might say to James to calm his fear. He was a young boy, and most of them were prone to vivid imaginations. Her child was no exception. Surely, another assurance by his parents that there was nothing to be afraid of would put his nightmares to rest. She resolved to speak to Wallace about it as soon as he got home.

The thought had only just formulated when the back door came bursting open. Sadie nearly dropped the bread pan she was placing over the fire, and the scoop of flour Felicity had been about to pour into the loaf she was making ended up on the counter.

“Mother!” James shouted, slamming the door behind him and securing the latch. “Mother, help! I’ve seen one of them!” he proclaimed, rushing across the room and ramming his head into her flour-covered apron.

“James, calm down,” Felicity insisted, prying him off of her so that she could stoop to his level. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“On the way back from Timmy’s house! I saw one of them, lurking in the alleyway, down the street, near Mrs. O’Neal’s place.”

“Saw one of what?” Felicity asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“You know, Mother. A Vampire! It was standing in the shadows, making a menacing face at me. I saw it’s long, sharp teeth, Mother!”

Before Felicity could even begin to comfort her frantic child, a peel of laughter rang through the air from the direction of the adjoining dining room. “Jamie!” Marjorie, Felicity’s oldest child, called. “You can’t be serious! You don’t actually think you saw a Vampire in broad daylight on Chestnut Street, do you?”

James pulled himself out of Felicity’s arms and turned to face his newest assailant. “It wasn’t on the street, Largey Margie! It was down the alley. And yes, I did see it you old, fat sow!”

“James!” Felicity scolded. “We do not call each other names in this household.”

“She’s always calling me names!” he retorted. “Like sissy pants and baby Jamie.”

“You are a baby,” Marjorie continued, crossing her arms. “You’re frightened of your own shadow.”

“Am not!” James shouted back, though the look on his face seemed to show otherwise.

Before he could call his sister another name, Felicity stood. “Marjorie—go finish your schoolwork. Where is your governess?”

The sound of rushed footsteps on the stairs answered that question, as Ms. Whipple came down in a hurry, likely to investigate the noise. “Miss Marjorie, I said you may come to the kitchen for a piece of fruit and a drink, not to upset the entire household.”

Marjorie uncrossed her arms and clasped them behind her back at the stern voice of her governess before the middle-aged woman with the sharp nose even appeared from the stairwell. “Yes, Ms. Whipple,” Marjorie replied, any trace of insolence gone from her voice.

“Go along then,” Ms. Whipple insisted, jabbing a finger in the direction of the kitchen. Marjorie obliged immediately, her downcast eyes not daring glimpse her brother or her mother, and Felicity kept her arms wrapped around James who was fighting tears.

Ms. Whipple had come highly recommended from some of Wallace’s friends in the Brahmin elite, as the particularly astute group of upper class citizens in their city was known, and even though the Joplins were not affluent enough to be considered part of that group, Wallace’s practice had gained him enough notice that he occasionally rubbed elbows with those who were considered both influential, and in many ways, chosen. In instance like this one, however, Felicity questioned her husband’s decision to hire the demanding governess. She didn’t like to see fear in either of her children’s eyes, and while her youngest was clearly afraid of shadows, the object of her oldest child’s fears was more obvious.

As soon as Marjorie had returned upstairs with Ms. Whipple, Felicity stood and removed her apron. The bread would have to wait. She poured a glass of milk and took James by the hand. He hadn’t moved since she’d scolded him about name calling, and it took him a moment to stagger forward when she pulled on his dirty fingers. Eventually, his feet followed direction, and she led him into the parlor.

Taking a seat in her favorite rocking chair, she set the milk on a nearby table and collected her child into her lap. Despite her husband’s medical expertise, Felicity had lost three children between Marjorie and James, and even now, six years later, the memory of her baby boy’s cries filling the bedroom upstairs still made her catch her breath. She loved both of her children immensely, and seeing her son this upset was troubling.

He had always been gentle, tenderhearted, and, even though he was curious about animals and plants, anything related to science, he had a way about him that was both cautious and protective. While he did love to play ball with the other boys, she knew he preferred exploration and learning. She was afraid that, if they eventually sent him off to school, he would end up the focus of some bully or prankster’s disdain because of his soft heart.

Despite feelings that she may be encouraging him to be more kindhearted than might be good for him, Felicity relished these opportunities to hold her son, and as she rocked the chair back and forth slowly, she felt his tense shoulders relax. He had his head on her shoulder, and she ran her fingers through his fine brown hair. The idea that she wouldn’t be able to do this for too much longer made her eyes tear up, and she pushed the thought away, determined to stay in the current moment.

“Mother,” his small voice said after a while, “do you believe me?”

The question was an innocent one, and even though Felicity was most certain James had not seen a Vampire on Chestnut Street in the middle of a spring day, telling him so might well crush his soul. After all, if his own mother didn’t have faith in him, who would?

On the other hand, Sadie’s warning that he was having trouble sleeping played back in her mind as well. This might be a good opportunity to assure him that he was safe.

James tilted his head to look up at her, as if he didn’t understand why she wasn’t answering. Felicity smiled down at him, and taking a deep breath, she asked, “What exactly did you see, my boy?”

“I told you,” he replied, though his voice was still uneven. “In the alleyway, down near Mrs. O’Neal’s house, between the rows of houses. You know the place?”

“I do.” There was only one alleyway between their home and Timmy’s.

“I saw a black figure, in the shadows. It had gleaming, sharp, white teeth.”

“And what did it do?” Felicity asked, still stroking his head.

James sighed and scrunched up his forehead. “It looked at me, but then it backed away, down deeper into the darkness, until I couldn’t see it any longer.”

Clearing her throat, Felicity asked, “Why do you suppose a Vampire would do such a thing?”

Her child puckered his lips, a face Felicity recognized he often made when deep in thought. “I’m not sure, Mother. Perhaps he was afraid to approach me in the daylight. Maybe he thought someone might see.”

“Perhaps,” Felicity nodded. “Or could it be that he was afraid of you?”

James seemed to consider the possibility. After a moment, he said, “Do you suppose he knows what I am, that is, what I could be one day?”

“Don’t you think he might’ve?” she asked.

James sat up. “Mother, someday, I want to be a Guardian, like Uncle Culpepper, so that I don’t have to be afraid of Vampires any longer.”

Felicity forced a smile, even though she felt her heart rate increase at her child’s proclamation. He was only six and knew very little about the Ternion, the complex balance between Vampires, Hunters, and Guardians. He wouldn’t be capable of Transforming for at least another eleven years, and yet the idea of her son taking on the dangerous task of ridding the world of the evil ones made her anxious. “Jamie, darling,” she began, using his nickname, “if you choose to be a Guardian when you are older, you may do so. But remember, Son, even now you’ve nothing to fear. Uncle Culpepper and his friends are working to keep us safe both day and night, remember?”

He nodded, but his face didn’t show absolute faith in her reminder.

“You know that Uncle Culpepper works for the Guardian Leader, remember?”

“Yes.”

“He is a strong and powerful Guardian, and he always protects his family. And you are his very favorite nephew of all. So, darling, there is no reason for you to fear the darkness, the alleyways, or even the Vampires themselves. You are safe, my love. I promise.”

James nodded, but when his mother handed him the glass of milk, she saw there was still fear in his eyes. For the first time in her life, Felicity Culpepper Joplin wondered if perhaps she had made a mistake in not Transforming herself. What if she was wrong—what if her family really was at risk—and there was nothing she could do about it?

Chapter 2

Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1878

He wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping. Proper young men didn’t do such things. And yet, as the voice of his tutor, Mr. Nicklebee, echoed down the hallway, James couldn’t help but pause his studies to see if he might overhear.

From the sound of it, Mr. Nicklebee had arranged to meet with his father, Dr. Wallace Joplin, in advance, or else there was no way his father would be home from his office this early. It wasn’t even 3:00 in the afternoon yet. Perhaps, Mr. Nicklebee thought James needed some sort of remediation, and he wasn’t able to provide it himself. If that was the case, it had to be in Latin. Even now, with his book open before him, he was having the hardest time conjugating the verbs on the list Mr. Nicklebee had given him. He hoped his father wouldn’t be too disappointed, though, he wouldn’t blame if he were. What sort of a medical doctor didn’t know his Latin?

The voices moved past pleasantries, and then he heard Mr. Nicklebee say, “Well, sir, let me get right to the point.” James stilled himself against the inevitable bad news. “James is excelling in every subject I present to him, far beyond any of the other dozen or so pupils I’ve ever worked with. I know that you and Mrs. Joplin have decided against sending him to boarding school for various reasons, and I must say, that was quite innovative of you, in fact. As it turns out, I feel that James would’ve been quite miserable in boarding school.”

“How’s that now?” James heard his father’s voice, much quieter but still audible, reply. “You say you think he’s quite bright, but we were insightful not to put him in boarding school?”

“Yes, indeed.” Mr. Nicklebee must’ve readjusted in his chair as there was a shrieking noise of wood on wood. “Dr. Joplin, I believe James would be quite frustrated should he be forced to study on the same level as his peers. As you know, I’ve extended his studies well beyond what a typical ten-year-old should be learning. Even at that, he excels, particularly in science, but truly in all subjects. We are nearly to a point where I am running out of material that can challenge him.”

There was silence for a moment as Dr. Joplin likely mulled over that information. James knew his father well; he was a man of science if there ever was one. He would require some sort of evidence that what Mr. Nicklebee claimed was true. James knew it had to be a farce, a way for Nicklebee to get out of being his tutor any longer. He had thought they were getting along smashingly, but there must have been some sort of discontent for him to make up such outlandish claims. Certainly, James was aware that, in certain subjects, he did quite well, but not in all of them, most especially not in Latin. Even math was a challenge for him. He had no idea how to calculate square roots, and he hadn’t done well on his last calculus exam. Mr. Nicklebee must just be looking to find a new employer.

After several moments, Dr. Joplin said, “What do you suggest we do then, sir?”

James was shocked? Wouldn’t his father question the logic behind the tutor’s assertions? Or perhaps he thought it was best if Mr. Nicklebee went on his way.

“Well, Doctor, if I may, I believe the best place for young James is… Harvard.”

“Harvard?” Dr. Joplin repeated, and James felt his stomach lurch up into his throat. Had the man truly said Harvard? As in the university? Mr. Nicklebee must be completely out of his mind. He was only a boy of ten! How could he possibly go to a university? Perhaps he meant in the future….

As if they were of the same mind, Dr. Joplin said, “Surely, you don’t mean just now. He’s only a boy.”

“Yes, I know,” Mr. Nicklebee confirmed the obvious. “But… he can certainly handle the academic portion. It might be difficult for him, being amongst young men almost half again in age, but if he were able to live at home and attend, that might work sufficiently, don’t you think? I also believe he would do quite well as an apprentice to you in your doctor’s office, even at the hospital. He’s got quite the aptitude for science. He should make a good pair of extra hands for you.”

The silence was drawn out once again, and James couldn’t believe his father was actually pondering the possibility of seeing about sending him to Harvard when he’d only just mastered riding a bicycle the year before. He still cried when his ugly sister Largey Margie teased him. How could he ever survive at one of the most prestigious universities in the world?

“Well, Mr. Nicklebee, you’ve certainly given us something to think about,” Dr. Joplin said in his matter-of-fact tone. “Let me discuss the matter with his mother and think it over some. Honestly, I’m not even sure he’d be admitted to Harvard. I know a few of the board members….”

“As do I, and the head of admissions. I’m quite certain that once young James demonstrates his knowledge and skills, they will take him. Dr. Joplin, I believe James is very much capable of finishing up medical school in the same amount of time it takes most men to finish preparatory school. He is… a genius.”

After another pause, the irritating noise of wood on wood returned, and James envisioned his father rising from his seat behind his desk in the study next door, extending his hand to his tutor. “Thank you very much for your insight, sir,” Dr. Joplin said, right on cue.

“Yes, of course,” replied Mr. Nicklebee. “Now, I shall just go see how those Latin verbs are coming along.”

There was a chance Mr. Nicklebee might change his tune once he saw that James had failed to learn even one conjugate while he was away. Quickly, he returned his eyes to the book before him, praying that some of it had sunk in. He would hate to be the youngest person ever expelled from Harvard for being the biggest dunce.

Chapter 3

Boston, Massachusetts, USA, 1880

Dr. Wallace Joplin was up to his elbows in entrails, and James stood at the ready, surgical utensils spread before him. As soon as his father asked for a particular tool, the younger Joplin would hand it over as quickly as possible. Under the circumstances, it could mean life or death for poor Ross Johnson, who’d been hit by a trolley on his way home from school. While James didn’t know the boy, the victim couldn’t be too much older than his twelve years, and he was praying that his father was able to patch him up quickly before he lost too much blood.

“Hand me those artery forceps, James. The smaller ones,” Dr. Joplin shouted over his shoulder. Despite the brevity of the situation, James marveled at how calm and collected his father was. He handed over the correct tool, but in the act of using it to clamp off the particular artery Dr. Joplin was aiming for, his fingers must have slipped as a bright red stream of blood came shooting forth from the patient, hitting James directly in the face. He staggered backward, wiping at his eye, but he wouldn’t let it make him miss what his father was doing.

“Perhaps you should lean back a bit, Son,” the doctor mentioned, working the forceps into place. A nurse standing nearby grabbed a towel and began to wipe James’s face, but since he was not a baby and didn’t need to be treated like one, he took it from her and wiped it himself, not caring if he had blood in his hair.

“There we are,” Dr. Joplin said, looking carefully at the young man’s innards. Thanks to a new method of anesthesia Dr. Joplin had pioneered, the boy was out and would be for some time. His father promised to tell him exactly what he used as soon as he graduated with his medical degree from Harvard, but that would be a few more years off.

“All right, I’ll just patch him up now, and hopefully he will be fine.” Dr. Joplin turned to his tray of utensils, but James continued to peer into the boy’s gullet. Something didn’t quite seem right. Even though his father had sewn up the severed intestine, it still appeared as if the cavity was filling slowly with blood.

“Father—I mean, Dr. Joplin,” James said, correcting himself. He preferred to call his father by the same title everyone else did while he was with him at the hospital or his office. “I believe we may have missed something.”

“What’s that?” Dr. Joplin asked, rechecking his work. “I’ve gone over everything. I don’t see any more lacerations.”

James didn’t either, and yet it still didn’t look like he thought it should, as it had on the healthy intestines he’d seen in previous patients. James was leaning over, trying to see past his father, who was also peering intently. “May I?” he asked, looking up at his senior and waiting for permission.

Dr. Joplin said nothing but raised his eyebrows and stepped out of the way. The nurse, a nice young woman by the name of Annie, still stood at the end of the bed, and James could feel her and his father exchanging glances above his head, but at this point he didn’t care. He knew something was wrong, and he needed to see if he could fix it.

Carefully, James picked up the bit of intestine that was in question. It had been lacerated so severely in two places that it was nearly severed. His father’s fine stitching was holding, and this didn’t appear to be where the blood was from. James set it aside and continued to make his inspection. He carefully traced the length of the boy’s exposed intestines and still saw nothing. In frustration, he stepped back a bit. It was quite clear, still, that blood was continuing to pool.

“That excess blood could be from before,” Dr. Joplin said. “Perhaps it only looks like more now because of the way you are moving the organs.”

“Perhaps,” James said, although he certainly didn’t think so. Carefully, he felt the rest of the young man’s abdomen. Despite the other lacerations and bruising on his skin, everything seemed normal, until he got to his upper left side. “Here!” James practically shouted. He cautiously moved the large intestine aside so that his father could better access the boy’s spleen. “His spleen is ruptured, isn’t it Father? I mean, Dr. Joplin.”

James stepped out of the way so his father could feel what he was talking about. Only a split second later, Dr. Joplin said, “Yes, it is. Good catch, Jamie, my boy! We’ll have to take it out.”

Beaming with pride, James backed out of the way so that his father could remove the damaged organ before poor Ross Johnson lost more blood than he could handle. He watched intently as his father used a scalpel to access the spleen and then detach it, using the forceps to keep the patient from losing more blood. Once it was out, he closed up all of the arteries and veins.

“There now! Does everything look correct to my assistant?” Dr. Joplin was clearly proud of his son for catching a problem he hadn’t even seen himself, and James couldn’t help but be a bit overwhelmed at his father’s praise.

After carefully looking around Mr. Johnson’s insides, James nodded. “It looks splendid to me, Dr. Joplin.”

“Very good then. I will close.” He looked up at the clock before he extended his hand for James to slip the correct tools into is. “Son, it’s getting late. It’s nearly dinner time. You should’ve been home an hour ago. Run along home and let your mother know I’ll be there directly.”

As much as James wanted to stay and watch his father sew the lad up, he knew his mother might be worried if neither of them came home in time. “Yes, Dr. Joplin,” James said.

“Stop and wash up, of course. Oh, and do be careful of the trolleys.” He said the last part with much disdain. It seemed the more trolleys there were on the streets, the more people there were being injured by them, and James knew how much his father hated patching up people such as this young boy. Carriages could hurt but nothing like the larger piece of projectile metal a trolley could become if one were to accidentally step in front of it.

James scrubbed his hands quickly and ran a wet cloth over his face, he hoped he’d removed all of the blood. He hadn’t noticed Annie following him until she said, “There’s just a smidge here. Let me get it.” She took the towel from him and wiped his forehead, and James felt his insides restrict, something he’d never experienced before. Annie was beautiful, with deep brown eyes and blonde hair, which she always wore done up on her head to keep it out of the way. She smiled at him, and he felt himself melting into a puddle there before her. “That was quite impressive back there,” she said. “Your father must be very proud of you, Jamie.”

“Uh, huh,” he said, realizing his mouth was drooping open. He closed it.

“Well, you better run along now, before your mother worries.”

“Right,” he nodded. She smiled at him again, and he felt the color rising in his face. Before he could say anything embarrassing, he dodged around her and headed for the door.

All the way to his house, he did the sums in his head. If Annie was twenty-two now, and he was twelve, that would mean, when he was forty-two, she’d be fifty-two. That should be acceptable to society, shouldn’t it?

Getting home from the hospital required him to pass by the same alleyway he’d been afraid of for as long as he could remember. Tonight, he passed it by without even realizing it until he was on the other side, thoughts of Ross Johnson and Nurse Annie occupying his mind and keeping it off Vampires. Even though he hadn’t completely forgotten the time he’d seen the shadow in the alley, he had more important things to think on than Vampires or Vampire Hunters. It was only when Uncle Culpepper visited that he even remembered the stories his mother had told him when he was younger. It all seemed like a fantasy now, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

Even before James reached the door of his home, he heard voices shouting from inside. Actually, he only heard one voice shouting—the other only seemed to be attempting to be reasonable and clearly failing.

“You can’t keep me from it!” his older sister, Marjorie, was yelling at his mother. “When I’m seventeen, I can do as I please!”

“And I’m telling you that is not the case.” His mother sounded weary, as if she had been having this conversation for far too long already.

“It’s my life! It’s my body!”

James quietly opened the door and stepped inside. They were in the parlor, just off the entryway. His mother was standing near the doorway with her arms crossed, his sister sprawled on the sofa, a pillow in her arms, her face red and tear-streaked.

“Marjorie, please. Just because tomorrow is your birthday, that doesn’t mean you need to do this right away. Give it some time. You might decide against it.”

“I’ve already decided!” came the reply. “I’m going through with it. With or without your blessing!”

James felt hands on his shoulders. Turning, he found Sadie there. “Come along, Mr. James. Ain’t nothin’ to see here.”

His mother turned and looked at him, the expression on her face apologetic, as if she wanted to see how his day went but knew that she could not leave his sister for the moment.

James let Sadie lead him away, into the kitchen, where she was preparing dinner. It smelled like roast, and his mouth began to water as the scent enveloped him.

“I sure hope you’re hungry,” Sadie said as she went to the oven to check progress. “I’ve made enough to feed a small army.”

“It smells delicious,” Jamie replied. “I think I should go upstairs and wash up. I’ve had a bit of an exciting day.”

“By the looks of it, I’d say you have. ‘Less that’s strawberry jam trailin’ round the sides of your face.”

Jamie thought he’d gotten all of the blood off of him before he left, but he was glad Sadie had noticed before his mother did. Even though blood never bothered James or his father at all, his mother could be a bit squeamish.

Accessing the stairs meant walking back past the parlor. He had no idea what it was his sister was shouting about. Tomorrow was her seventeenth birthday, that much was certain. But what it was she wanted to do because of it, he couldn’t quite figure out. It wasn’t until he was climbing the stairs that his mother made a remark that registered.

“You can’t do it without Uncle Culpepper anyway, Margie. Just let it be for now. There will be plenty of time.”

A memory sparked, and he recalled his parents telling him long ago that Uncle Culpepper belonged to some secret society, one you couldn’t join until you were seventeen. It must be that Marjorie wanted to join up, and his parents were against it. What it was precisely, he couldn’t quite remember, but he thought if he pushed thoughts of his waiting school work and the surgery he’d helped with aside long enough, perhaps the memory would find its way back to the surface.

Upstairs, he washed up, making sure to get all the blood off for certain this time, and he changed his shirt after seeing a few spots there. By the time he made it back downstairs, Marjorie had regained her composure. She was still sitting on the sofa in the parlor, but she wasn’t crying any longer. His mother was no longer in the room, and James thought he heard her voice in the kitchen.

James paused and looked at his sister. Her curly blonde hair was all a mess. She still clutched the pillow to her chest, but she was staring off across the room, her hands folded in front of her. They had never been close; for as long as he could remember, Marjorie had resented him. Learning came easy to him, while she always struggled. Adults were always taken aback by his skill and intelligence while most of them hardly noticed her at all. She was tall and lanky, with long limbs, which left her quite awkward when it came to playing sports or other activities, while James always had plenty of friends asking him to play games, though he didn’t have the time anymore since starting college at eleven. Still, as he stood in the doorway, looking at his sister’s face, he couldn’t help but reach out to her. She seemed to need some sort of healing, and that was becoming his specialty.

“Is everything all right, Marjorie?” he asked, quietly, not daring to step into the room yet.

It took her a moment to register his voice. Without turning to look at him, she said in almost a whisper, “They’re never going to let us.”

Puzzled, James took a hesitant step in her direction. “What is that, now?” he asked. “Who’s not going to let us what?”

“Mother and father,” she replied, her corn silk blue eyes darting to his face. “They’re never going to let us go through with it.”

“Go through with what?”

She let out a long sigh, one of exasperation. “Transforming,” she said, as if he should be able to read her mind. “They don’t want us to.”

“I don’t know what that is….”

“I’ve heard them talking. In their room. At night. I’ve heard them say they hope that we never do, that they’ll do what they can to prevent us.”

James knew the walls in this house, despite its size, were paper thin. But he didn’t know what that word meant. “I’m sorry, Marjorie. You’ll have to tell me what you’re talking about.” He slowly walked over and took a seat next to her on the sofa, expecting her to leap up and push him away at any instant; but she didn’t.