Abby first heard of Timmy in 1981 when she was looking through the bins at a record store, to find some new music to while away the long night hours when she was not out prowling or doing some needed task with Thomas. It was under the V's: just a one-word title, Valentine, like so many debut records.

The boy appeared to be about her physical age, maybe 11, maybe 12, maybe 13, just on the cusp of puberty. He had short dark hair, almost black, bright blue eyes, and an astonishingly pallid complexion. He had the slender build and androgynous features that made some boys that age almost fit the term 'beautiful': flawless complexion, oval face, all proportions symmetrical. Timmy Valentine, the album notes proclaimed. But nothing about the album struck her as especially interesting: the song titles seemed like ordinary and innocuous bubble-gum pop, something Donny Osmond or the early Jackson Five might have put out. She passed it by, in search of something that seemed more passionate and original.

Then she realized Timmy's songs were coming on the radio more often, the easy listening and Top 40 and Pop stations. Are You My Valentine and Young Hearts and the like. She had heard some of them before, without paying attention to who the artist was: lively and peppy and sappy, generic I-love-you-girl pop, they had an infectious quality. But it was really the voice – a clear and bright soprano as flawless as she had ever heard, which seemed more than anything to explain how the usually insipid lyrics pulled you in. She liked the lively beat and rhythm as well, but there was something more. Her hearing had the supernatural keenness of all vampires, that of a night predator, and no human except perhaps those with the best ear for music might even have noticed what she did. She herself was not sure at first, because the sound quality of their radio was far from the best, and she strained to be sure. Then she had Thomas buy the album for her, and listened carefully on their (rather old and low-quality) stereo. And she became more and more certain: Timmy Valentine was not breathing when he sang. Never. There was no subtle rush of breath during the song, in the slight pauses that suddenly seemed contrived rather than necessary, an artifice to match what would be expected of an ordinary singer. No whisper of air sucking in, in the pauses between verses or anywhere else. But who didn't breathe – except someone dead? Or someone like her, their body dead and yet animated by the strange condition that afflicted her and had for centuries.

A few months later the second album came out: Hearts. More of the same, silly bland pop that would send human pre-teen girls into screaming tizzies; "Oh girl, you're so fine, Oh girl, please be mine." But some of the songs had a slightly harder edge to them, loneliness and the cold indifference of the world and longing for companionship.

And when your heart is torn in half

The world will turn away and laugh

Can you come to me once more

And open my heart's shuttered door

She started browsing the teen idol magazines, Tiger Beat and the like, when they had articles about Timmy featured on the cover (which seemed like usually, all of a sudden). What Timmy liked to read (Superhero comics!), what he liked in girls (A good sense of humor!), what he liked to eat (Ice cream!), what his hobbies and interests were (Model trains! I've got one of the biggest collections in the world!). It all sounded so normal – but the suspicion grew in the back of her mind that it was all too normal, a façade, just a boy saying what everyone expected to hear.

Abby liked to watch the evening shows a few hours after she woke from her daytime sleep, and one night – it was the Tonight Show, with Johnny Carson – there he was. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt and sneakers, the uniform of 12-year-old boys everywhere in America. Carson was throwing the usual softball pitches and Timmy would hit them out of the park with a big boyish grin – yes, he felt so lucky; he loved to sing and he was glad people wanted to listen; no, he wouldn't talk about his family, it was all very private and he wanted to keep his family life as normal as possible; and so on. She did not listen so much as watch, and her suspicions grew. When he was listening to Carson and he had leaned forward in his seat, his stillness was – unnatural. Of course she was just watching on an old set and the picture quality wasn't the best and so it defeated even her inhumanly keen vision – but he had such perfect stillness. As though not a muscle was moving, not an involuntary twitch, not a fidget, nothing. Then he would seem to suddenly remember (if you're alive, you keep moving, even a little) and he would slightly turn his head or scratch his elbow or wiggle ever so slightly. Nobody human would likely notice (how oblivious they were! Had she too been so blind and deaf, when she was a human girl?). She was more than half-certain now, but perhaps she was being too hopeful – to meet someone like herself, someone who might understand her, someone who could really be a friend. But he could go out in the daytime! The pictures from his concerts, meeting his fans – day or night, it didn't seem to matter. How could he be a vampire? He would burn up, wouldn't he? Every time she read about him, or saw him on TV, her thoughts raced about what his secret might be. That there was a secret, she was certain. Abby didn't know how she could find out what it really was, however, and let the thought rest in the back o fher mind as she and Thomas followed the day-to-day (or perhaps one should say night-to-night) rhythms of their life together.

She saw Timmy again on the Tonight Show very early in 1982, shortly before his third album was due out - it would be his third in just under two years. It proved to be the interview that would make her determined to meet him.

'So Timmy, what's the name of the next album? It's been kept under wraps by your label.'

'Yes, but they've agreed I can announce it in this interview. It's going to be called Vampire Junction.'

What? He had to be joking. If he really was, somehow, a vampire, he wouldn't dare do something like this - would he?

'Sounds…well…spooky. Isn't this a departure from your wholesome image? From the love songs? With a name like Valentine…'

'Not really, Johnny…it's got more of the love songs, the stuff so many fans like. It's just a little dark and edgy on some of the songs. I want to express everything I feel in my music, and that part has got to come out too.'

Carson leans forward, his best grin on his face…as if Timmy must be joking, setting up a punchline.

'So Timmy, really…is there a dark and edgy side to an All-American kid like you?'

Timmy has crossed his legs beneath him as he sits in the big cushiony interview chair. He leans forward a little, arms on the cushioned armrests, short dark hair neatly trimmed, eyes bright, mouth slightly opened in a broad smile.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Johnny. You'd be surprised…" His grin seemed more than mischievous, now, perhaps even taunting – a child's I've-got-a-secret grin, but somehow more than a child's. Carson, apparently, did not see it; he laughed at what he must have taken as a little joke, and Timmy did too, and the audience clapped, and Abby's thoughts whirled back and forth as she tried to make sense of it all.

She bought the album the day it came out, making a rare trip herself to the store, not daring to miss the chance to get it as soon as she could. Thomas shook his head at her infatuation as she headed out the door, having already dismissed the suspicions about Timmy that she had voiced. But when she brought it home later that evening, he listened keenly too – especially to the title track.

Don't matter if you hitch a ride

Don't matter if you pay

I'll be waiting at the vampire junction

To suck your soul away.

Abby couldn't control herself. She burst out, "He must be like me somehow! He must"

"Impossible. He goes out in daylight all the time. It must be a marketing gimmick – the new and darker Timmy Valentine. It'll broaden his appeal to the older teen audience."

The doubts came back – was she just seeing and hearing something she wanted to be true? But no, her senses were keener than any human's! His stillness, the empty spaces between verses when no breath could be heard… The teen magazines said Timmy was coming to Indiana and Illinois on tour. It was part of a huge international tour, promoting Vampire Junction. Indianapolis on March 12, Chicago on the 14th and 15th.

'I want to go to the concert.'

'Abby – we've talked about this. It's too risky. Even if you left at sunset, you'd be late and miss most of it. And then what if something went wrong and you were delayed trying to come back? You'd have to beat the dawn.'

'Thomas, I'm not a child and I'm not an idiot. I know there's a risk! But I have to go! I'll fly there and back – I can do it.'

'Why, so you can moon over a prepubescent pop star like an ordinary 12-year-old? You have all his albums, you can hear the music anytime.'

'But I have to see him in person! I have to know! What's his secret? There IS something strange about him, something going on...'

'You still think he could be a vampire? Impossible. He goes out in the daylight all the time. He's got a nice voice but he's just another flavor-of-the-month boy singer whose career will fizzle out in another year or two.'

She hated putting her foot down and just ordering him around. Why did it seem they argued so much more now, more than she could remember? What was wrong? But this was something she had to do.

'Thomas, this isn't open for discussion. I'm going. You don't have to take me there – I can fly most of the way, rest once I'm at the concert. You can pick me up there. Or not. Do what you want, I'm going.'

'You do what you want, Abby…you're in charge, right?' She was surprised and hurt – again – by the sharp edge of bitterness and resentment embedded in his voice.

The evening of the concert she headed out as soon as she had awoken and dressed – ordinary girl clothes, shoes (she was going to be surrounded by humans – no sense in sticking out), a jacket (a real live girl would be chilly on an evening like this). At first she walked through the dusk, so as not to appear conspicuous. As the evening shadows grew deeper she started to run, faster and faster, dashing through woods and along side roads near the interstate a few miles from their house, the highway that led to Indianapolis. Finally – when she felt she would likely go unnoticed – she vaulted lightly into the air, soared up higher, until she was several hundred feet above the ground, and rushed towards the city. She gripped the corners of the jacket in her hands and spread it out – from the ground she would appear like a large bird, sailing through the sky, but with nothing behind her to gauge distance and size, it would be hard for an observer to realize just how big this 'bird' actually was. Thomas had gotten a street map from the truck stop down at the interstate and she had studied it intently with the single-minded obsessiveness that (though she didn't know it) characterized all vampires. She knew exactly where the arena was, how to locate it once in the city, and when she found it she looked over the roof for entry points and for anyone who might be standing there. Dropping down once she saw no one, she tried the door at the roof exit. Unlocked – no one expected anyone to be coming in that way. She slipped inside and hurried down corridors and stairs towards the arena space itself, the thumping music she had heard from miles away as she approached.

She easily evaded the few wandering security staff and roadies and made her way onto one of the upper levels of the packed arena, leaning against a balcony railing near some girls her own physical age who were also standing, just blending into the crowd. The backup band was working their way through one of the love songs, and there was Timmy, front and center on stage, mike in hand, singing his little heart out. Abby was unused to crowds; she stayed in most of the time and only went to local stores on rare occasions when there were few others around. The smells and sounds were almost overwhelming – the aroma of sweat was everywhere, and below it the smell of blood, of the blood in the veins and arteries of thousands of people all around here. She was acutely aware of not having eaten for several days, the hunger growing within her. Maybe this was a mistake – she couldn't lose control, not here! She tried to focus on Timmy but it was impossible to pick up any clues. Any scent he had was lost, overwhelmed in the crowd. And he was in performance mode, strutting and hopping and waving his arms – none of the stillness she had seen before. She realized she would have to get close to him after the show. So she simply tried to relax, focus on the music and not the hunger, listen to his voice. Towards the end Timmy vanished offstage for a few minutes while the band played on, and when he reappeared she was surprised by what he was wearing: a poofy white button-down shirt and dark slacks and a black cape – looking more like a Halloween trick-or-treater vampire than anything else, in costume for the show. He started into the newest songs, and then he sang it at last – Vampire Junction. The crowd of fans, most of them appearing to be middle-school girls, was even more frenzied, bopping to the music, weaving hands in the air, calling Timmy's name.

I'll hop on the train in Kansas

You change at Santa Fe

We'll cross tracks at the Vampire Junction

That sucks our souls away

She knew the show was coming to an end and darted back through the crowd, realizing she had to find a way backstage, to meet him. Again it proved easy enough – she scuttled up a wall in a dark side corridor, made her way along the ceiling into the backstage area. Now she had to search for his dressing room, but she also knew the security staff would challenge her if they spotted her, so she quickly moved through the halls, trying to duck or turn away if anyone came near. Just as she found the room - 'Valentine', the sign on the door said - a voice rang out from behind.

'Hey – kid! Who are you? What are you doing here?' A burly security guard.

She turned towards him, her mind spinning. "I – uh – I just want to get his autograph. Please, I…'

"You need to get out of here – now. You're not authorized to be back here. Sorry, kid."

A lie sprang to mind. "Please, my little sister is home sick – she wanted so very much to see Timmy, this was going to be her first live concert – can't you help me?' Her best smile, which seemed to win over the hearts of so many adults, spread over her face.

The guard appeared to soften, but did not relent. 'Look, kid, I'm sorry. This is my job, I can't just let anyone wander back here no matter what their story is. Let's –'

'She can stay.' A clear high voice, HIS voice, and there he was. Timmy had slipped up just a few feet away from them, without making a sound, it seemed, and in his white shirt and cape and black pants he still looked for all the world like a kid on Halloween.

But she knew instantly that he was more than that. As the three of them stood there, she could only hear one heartbeat – the security guards'. Now she could see the stillness of Timmy's chest – he was not breathing. No warmth radiated from Timmy. And his scent – she could smell him now – not the warm earthy mix of aromas from a live person, hot blood and sweat (an hour and a half on stage, and he did not sweat) and body functions and food odors from the last meal, but just a faint pungent smell – a smell of cold stale blood and death. It was the odor of something that had died but barely started to decay – like a roadkill animal.

Timmy was quite dead, as dead as she herself was. And he stood there looking at her with open curiosity and (was it?) a hint of eagerness.

'It's OK, I heard what she said, she can come in' he told the guard.

'Sure, sure' the guard replied and turned to move off. He muttered 'kids' under his breath, but to Abby's senses it was like a clear speaking voice.

Timmy swung open the dressing room door, and held it for her. A little gentleman.

'Come on in!' he said, and there WAS eagerness in his voice. 'We have a lot to discuss, you and I.'

Nearly giddy with disbelief, Abby stepped through the door and Timmy came in and closed it behind her. It was all true, everything she had suspected, he was like her, a vampire, and he had been turned as a kid too, and it was true, they had SO much to talk about.

"I – oh my God – I just – " she paused, trying to think what to say, and realized that she sounded exactly like a delirious little groupie stricken speechless by the closeness of her idol. I sound like an IDIOT!

"It's OK" Timmy said. "Wow. This is great. I'm so glad you found me – it's been a long time since I met someone else like me. Did you like the concert?"

Who cared about the concert? She had so much she wanted to ask.

"Sure. It was great. I knew there was something about you from the first time I heard you, and saw you on TV. I knew it! I'm so glad you came here to do a show, I couldn't have traveled far to try and see you."

"Well. I guess you know my name – so what's yours?"

"Abby, I'm…Abby." I sound stupid AGAIN!

Timmy grinned, and he really did have such a winning smile. "I guess we both want to ask about each other, Abby. I really don't know the etiquette for a situation like this. I rarely meet…others. But I guess you're the guest here, so you can go first." A brief pause, and then he added, "But I might not have all the answers you want."

What did that mean? Abby didn't want to seem rude. She didn't want to pepper him with a stream of personal questions. But she couldn't help it, not really. A chance to speak to another of her kind – a very rare thing indeed. Well, she would keep him talking all right!

'Timmy…how is it possible, you go out in the daytime, why don't you burn up? How?"

A slightly troubled look flashed across his face, and was gone, and there was a barely perceptible pause before he answered. "I told you I might not have all the answers. Something…I don't know what…happened to me a long time ago. I had already been a vampire for a very long time. And I always hid from the sum. More than a thousand years, I hid from the sun! And then something..I don't remember, and I wish I could…But I found myself on a village street, in France, in the morning, and the sun was on my face, and I thought to myself, Why do I not burn? What have I become? And I remember…I was there because I wanted to burn, because I had decided to finally end my existence in this world, to escape from what I was. I wanted to truly die. That I remember. But the rest of it, the days before…it's an empty hole."

Abby was stunned. A thousand years?

'Timmy – how old are you?'

Now he grinned again. 'Sometimes 11, sometimes 12, sometimes 13. Depends on how long I've been in one place.' She opened her mouth to speak again and he held up a hand. 'Really, I know what you mean. Tell me…did you ever hear of someone, a prophetess or seer, called the Sibyl?"

And she had. When she had been a human girl, basic education had included much about the Classical world, ancient Rome and Greece. You could also read a lot of history books in two hundred years. 'Yes…the Sibyl was an oracle of some kind, right, in ancient Rome?'

'Before I became a vampire, I was a servant – a slave boy, really – to the Sibyl. In Pompeii.'

'Pompeii? But…but that would make you two thousand years old.'

'Closer to 1,900, actually. But yes. I sang for her, and I played the lyre, I and some other boys. And I sang during the centuries I lived in darkness, and then afterwards, when I could go in the daytime again. I have moved from place to place, across countries and continents…lived with many families…had hundreds of names…music and song have been the only thing I always had.'

She sat down. She was stunned. Over two centuries she had lived as a vampire, and when she thought about it, thought How old I am! It seems so strange! – and this boy had been ancient when she was still human. She tried to wrap her mind around it.

She was about to speak again, to ask him what he meant, had lived with families, when suddenly a double knock came at the door. It then swung open and a man stepped inside; he appeared to be in late middle age, perhaps his late 50s, the graying hair and facial lines indicating his age. He was tall, and wore a chaffeur's uniform. Under it he looked well-muscled.

'Master Timmy, are you…oh…' He paused a beat on seeing her, then continued, 'I'm sorry to intrude. You are a fan, miss?'

'Oh, she's more than that, Rudy – she is of the night! Like me! She came to see me when she heard of the concert here."

Timmy turned toward her, eager again. "Abby, you must come with me! Rudy is here to take me to the hotel! We can talk more, I have so much I could tell you…and you could tell me about yourself, how you came to be here."

The appearance of Rudy, who obviously knew what Timmy was and enjoyed his confidence, reminded her of Thomas. Friend? Caretaker? Platonic lover? What was Thomas to her, anyway? What was this man Rudy, to Timmy?

'Well…maybe for a short while…but I will have to head home before much longer, it's a little far from here.'

"And someone is waiting for you there?'

'Yes, my…helper, Thomas, he takes care of me.'

'A little while, then. But you must come to my concert in Chicago, too, it's just a couple of days from now. I hope you can make it. Oh, we can be friends, Abby, we can be friends!' It was the sudden enthusiasm of a child, again. At that moment, Abby's stomach gurgled. Loudly. She suddenly and intensely remembered her growing hunger.

Timmy stepped towards here, where she sat in the chair, and bent down to put his hand on her shoulder. 'You're hungry, aren't you? Well, so am I. I think we need to do something about it.' He turned towards Rudy. 'Rudy, let's all head to the car.'

'Yes, master Timmy.' He gazed curiously at Abby, then turned and led the way out the door. Down corridors they walked, past roadies and some of the band members, all of whom greeted Timmy, and he waved and smiled, telling them they had done a good job, the evening went great, the Chicago concert would be even better, until they came to the garage. A limousine stood next to the exit from the arena, and she followed Timmy inside as Rudy held the door, then stepped around to the front and slid into the driver's seat. Soon they were on dark downtown streets. She marveled at the feel and smell of the interior, its roominess – she rarely rode in cars.

'Timmy?' Suddenly she wondered if she was being too trusting, too open, even with another vampire. She had hidden so carefully for so long and Timmy was such a…celebrity. Were they really going to..feed together…in a large strange city? 'Where are we going now?'

'Looking for dinner. Pull over here, Rudy. Circle back and get us in…30 minutes or so." He had taken off the silly cape and put on a light jacket, presumably so he would look more normal – as she had done herself. He opened the door himself, stepped out, and reached back to take her hand as she squirmed out.

'Timmy, I don't think…'

'It's OK…I'll do the work. We have to eat, don't we?'

Feeling reluctant now – her feeding had always been so private, something only she and her caretakers were ever present for - she walked down the dark street with him. The neighborhood looked rough and seedy. She might have fit in, in her old and frayed clothes, but Timmy was perhaps a little too well-dressed. In any case, two 12-year-olds walking together would soon attract attention in an area like this. A young woman in clothes much too skimpy for the weather, somewhat covered by a thin jacket that barely cam down past her waist, called out to them. "Hey! Kids Better get home to your mamas, someone out here might bite you!' She laughed at her own wit. Timmy ignored her and marched on, Abby trailing behind. They ducked into an alleyway, and partway down, Timmy stopped.

A man, surely a junkie of some kind, sat with his back against the brick wall, and stared up at them with glassy eyes. His worn clothes were threadbare, his jacket torn, his arms marked with needle tracks clearly visible to her enhanced night vision even in the unlit alley. 'Hey…kids…shouldn't be here, this time of night…' he mumbled.

Timmy bent towards him, and his voice was gentle. "Hi. We're fine. You're having a rough time, aren't you?"

"Huh? Yeah…yeah…I'd get back on my feet again, if I could get this monkey off my back…what do you kids know about it?' He coughed, a hacking cough, and phlegm gurgled deep inside his chest. Pneumonia, or TB. 'But you kids shouldn't be here.'

'We're fine…we just want to help you…Help you escape all this.'

Sure we do, Abby thought. Escape to the grave. But she had killed hundreds, thousands of times, hadn't she? And others had killed for her. How much blood was on her, why should she feel uncomfortable about this?

'Help?...How?'

Timmy got on his knees next to the man, spoke gently again. He gazed into the man's eyes, and his tone was gentle had an almost hypnotic quality. 'Just relax. You'll see. You won't feel pain anymore. Look in my eyes. You can trust us.'

The man's eyes were even more glazed now, and he fell silent. Timmy leaned in, opened his mouth, and she saw the fangs jut out and sink into the man's neck. 'Oh!' was all the man said. Timmy had placed his hands on the man's shoulders and held him, gently it seemed, as he drank. The he leaned back and turned his face up to her and – with blood dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin, blood on the handsome youthful face that gazed down from posters on a million bedroom walls – he said 'Want some?'

And, God help her, she did. She knelt down on the man's other side, and leaned in, and drank, and when they both had had their fill Timmy placed his hands on both sides of the man's head, and with a sudden twist snapped his neck. 'So he doesn't turn' was all Timmy said, and Abby nodded, she understood perfectly, she was always so careful not to turn her victims, and Timmy seemed almost gentle and thoughtful in how he had handled the man. She realized what had made her uncomfortable, or part of it - she had been afraid. Afraid that Timmy might turn out to be the horror movie stereotype, an unfeeling monster, despite the emotions she was certain she had heard in hi s music. Does he feel too? She wondered. Does he care, does he go out of his way not to brutal or inflict unnecessary pain? I hope so. Because she did want a friend, but she knew she could never be brutal and unfeeling, like the one who had turned her. But she felt it was not yet time to ask him these questions – they had to know each other better.

They soon returned to the corner, where Rudy appeared exactly 30 minutes after they had been dropped off, and she rode back towards the hotel with them. Timmy proposed that he and Rudy drive her home, it would be fun, she'd never been in a limo before, right? But she was still cautious and knew that Thomas would be outraged if she revealed where they lived. Also, she could hardly show up in front of the old farmhouse, in view of even the few neighbors they had, in a fancy limousine. She thought that Timmy's enthusiasm was outracing his good sense.

'Timmy…Thanks, that's really nice. But no, I have to go back on my own now…and it's time for me to leave, to beat the sun. I will come to Chicago to see you, I will. But - it's farther for me - and I don't think I can make it to the concert in time. I saw the ads, it starts later than the one here.'

'Okay. Come to my motel - I'll be there soon after the concert's over. I'll be staying in the Downtown Hilton. When you get there, go to the front desk and tell them you're Timmy's friend Abby from Indiana. I'll leave word with them to tell you my room number.'

'Thank you. Please, pull over now, I need to go.'

The limo slid to the curve and Rudy got out, came around, and opened her door. When Abby had stepped out he said "It's good to meet you, Miss Abby. Timmy needs…more companionship. I hope to see you again.'

'Thanks' she said quietly Timmy was leaning over in the seat, looking out at her, and she smiled and waved, then darted off quickly and down another dark alley. No on was there. She started to climb up the wall, slowly, then faster, then she was nearly scampering up the wall and launched herself into the air. The limo appeared tiny now, far below, heading off down the main street, and she spread her jacket corners out like wings again and headed toward home, and all the way back she thought about what had happened and wondered what might yet come.