Without any reminder from me, Hunter took his plate from the table to the sink. I held my breath until he slid it onto the counter carefully. “Do you have a dog?” he asked, looking around as if one might materialize. “We always give our scraps to the dog.” I remembered the little black dog I’d seen running around the backyard of Remy’s little house in Red Ditch.
No, I don’t, I told him.
You’ve got a friend that turns into a dog? he said, his eyes big with astonishment.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “He’s a good friend.” I hadn’t counted on Hunter picking that up. This was very tricky.
“My dad says I’m smart,” Hunter said, looking rather doubtful.
“Sure you are,” I told him. “I know it’s hard being different, because I’m different, too. But I grew up to be okay.”
You sound kind of worried, though, Hunter said.
I agreed with Remy. Hunter was a smart little boy.
I am. It was hard for me, growing up, because no one understood why I was different. People won’t believe you. I sat down in a chair by the table and pulled Hunter onto my lap. I was worried this was too much touching for him, but he seemed glad to sit there. People don’t want to know that someone can hear what they’re thinking. They don’t have any privacy when people like us are around.
Hunter didn’t exactly get “privacy,” so we talked about the concept for a while. Maybe that was over the head of most five-year-olds—but Hunter wasn’t the average kid.
So is the thing out in the woods giving you privacy? Hunter asked me.
What? I knew I’d reacted with too much anxiety and dismay when Hunter looked upset, too. Don’t worry about it, honey, I said. No, he’s no problem.
Hunter looked reassured enough for me to feel that it was time to change the subject. His attention was wandering, so I let him scramble down. He began playing with the Duplos he’d brought in his backpack, transporting them from the bedroom to the kitchen with his dump truck. I thought of getting him some Legos for a belated birthday present, but I’d check with Remy first, get his okay. I listened in to Hunter while I was doing the dishes.
I found out that he was as interested in his anatomy as most five-year-olds are, and that he thought it was funny that he got to stand up when he peed and I had to sit down, and that he hadn’t liked Kristen because she didn’t really like him. She pretended to, he told me, exactly as if he’d known when I was listening in to him.
I’d been standing at the sink with my back to Hunter, but it didn’t make any difference in our conversation, which was another strange feeling.
Can you tell when I’m listening to your head? I asked, surprised.
Yeah, it tickles, Hunter told me.
Was that because he was so young? Would it have “tickled” in my head, too, if I’d met another telepath when I was that age? Or was Hunter unique among telepaths?
“Was that lady who came to the door dead?” Hunter said. He’d jumped up and run around the table to stand by my side while I dried the skillet.
“Yes,” I said. “She’s a vampire.”
“Will she bite?”
“She won’t bite you or me,” I said. “I guess sometimes she bites people if they tell her that’s okay.” Boy, I was worried about this conversation. It was like talking about religion with a child without knowing the parents’ preferences. “I think you said you’d never met a vampire before?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. I started to tell Hunter he didn’t have to call me “ma’am,” but then I stopped. The better manners he had, the easier this world would be for him. “I never met anything like that man in the woods, either.”
This time he had my undivided attention, and I tried hard not to let him read my alarm. Just as I was about to ask him careful questions, I heard the screen door to the back porch open, and then foot-steps across the boards. A light knock at the back door told me that Heidi had returned from scouting in the woods, but I looked out the little window in the door to be sure. Yep, it was the vampire.
“I’m through,” she said, when I opened the door. “I’ll be on my way.”
I noticed Hunter didn’t run to the door as he had last time. He was behind me, though; I could feel his brain buzzing. He was not exactly scared, but anxious, as most children are about the unknown. But he was definitely pleased that he couldn’t hear her. I’d been pleased when I found out vampire brains were silent to me, too.
“Heidi, did you learn anything?” I said hesitantly. Some of this might not be appropriate for Hunter to hear.
“The fae tracks in your woods are fresh and heavy. There are two scents. They crisscross.” She inhaled, with apparent delight. “I love the smell of fae in the night. Better than gardenias.”
Since I’d already assumed she’d detect the fae Basim had reported smelling, this wasn’t a big revelation. But Heidi said there were definitely two fae. That was bad news. It confirmed what Hunter had said, too.
“What else did you find?” I stepped back a little, so she could see Hunter was behind me and tailor her remarks accordingly.
“Neither of them is the fairy I smell here in your house.” Not good news. “Of course, I smelled many werewolves. I also smell a vampire—I think Bill Compton, though I’ve only met him once. There’s an old c-o-r-p-s-e. And a brand-new c-o-r-p-s-e buried due east from your house, in a clearing by the stream. The clearing is in a stand of wild plums.”
None of this was reassuring. The old c-o-r-p-s-e, well, I’d expected that, and I knew who it was. (I spared a moment to wish Eric hadn’t buried Debbie on my property.) And if Bill was the vampire walking through the woods, that was all right. though it did make me worry that he was just roaming around brooding all night instead of trying to build a new life for himself.
The new corpse was a real problem. Basim hadn’t said anything about that. Had someone buried a body on my property in the last two nights, or had Basim simply left it off his list for some reason? I was staring at Heidi while I thought, and she finally raised her eyebrows. “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I appreciate your taking the time.”
“Take care of the little one,” she said, and then she was across the back porch and out the door. I didn’t hear her walk around the house to her car, but I didn’t expect to. Vampires can be mighty quiet. I did hear her engine start up, and she drove away.
Since I knew my thoughts might worry Hunter, I forced myself to think of other things, which was harder than it sounds. I wouldn’t have to do it long; I could tell my little visitor was getting tired. He put up the expected fuss about going to bed, but he didn’t protest as much when I told him he could take a long bath first in the fascinating claw-foot tub. While Hunter splashed and played and made noises, I stayed in the bathroom, looking through a magazine. I made sure he actually cleaned himself in between sinking boats and racing ducks.
I decided we’d skip washing his hair. I figured that would be an ordeal, and Remy hadn’t given me any instructions one way or another on hair washing. I pulled the plug. Hunter really enjoyed the gurgle of the water as it went down the drain. He rescued the ducks before they could drown, which made him a hero. “I am the king of the ducks, Aunt Sookie,” he crowed.
“They need a king,” I said. I knew how stupid ducks were. Gran had kept some for a while. I supervised Hunter’s towel usage and helped him get his pajamas on. I reminded him to use the toilet again, and then he brushed his teeth, not very thoroughly.
Forty-five minutes later, after a story or two, Hunter was in bed. At his request, I left the light in the hall on, and his door was ajar an inch or two.