Christchurch, New Zealand, 1960
Fear leads to death; courage leads to Heaven. ~ Lucius Aeneas Seneca
Daisy Turner sat on a wooden bench on a wooden floor in a plaster hall. Her shirt was white and her skirt was blue, her skin was darker than the other orphans', her socks were white and her runners were leather. She had been summoned to Sister Jeannine's office, but she didn't know why. A picture of Jesus in a silver frame hung on the opposite wall, reflecting an afternoon sunbeam.
The door opened. "Come inside."
She stood and followed the nun into the room.
"Sit down."
She sat in the chair in front of the desk. Sister Jeannine stood before her, and tucked her hands into her habit.
"Do you remember the conversation we had when you came to us three years ago?" The nun spoke in a quiet hush. The window was open, and the shouts and laughter of recess sailed in from the courtyard.
"Do you? I told you that while you had no living relatives in the country, you had an uncle in England. And that one day he might come for you."
She stepped silently across the floorboards to the window and lowered the sash. Silence filled the room.
"Well, he's arrived," Sister said, turning around. "Your uncle, Hugh St. James. He's come to collect you today. He's waiting in the front parlor."
She moved across the floor to her desk, reached down and slid open a drawer. She cupped something into her hand, and slid the drawer closed.
"I have something for you." She stood directly in front of Daisy, so close that the girl could see nothing but rough black cloth.
"You're a very special girl." Her hands went around Daisy's neck and fastened a chain into place. Its medallion dropped into the open space in her collar, and she immediately reached up to feel its shape. It was the shape of a cross.
Sister Jeannine put one cold finger under Daisy's chin, and raised her head until their eyes locked. "You are a very special girl. Never take this off."
Sister William, an old woman with a cane, opened the door. "Is she ready?"
"Yes," said Sister Jeannine. "Daisy, your belongings have been placed in the front parlor. Your uncle is waiting. Go to him."
Daisy left the office. She walked, one step at a time. No one in her family's last name was St. James. Would he be white like her father had been, or Maori like her mother had been? And just by walking there she was, before the open doors of the front parlor. She stepped inside.
He was very tall, and white. Pale, with dark hair. He wore a suit, and when he spoke he sounded like a pom.
"Hello, dear," he said. "It's time to go."
Her few possessions slid back and forth in her small satchel as she followed him across the gravel to his car. It looked brand new and very expensive, although she didn't know anything about cars. When they sat down inside, he turned on the engine, and the car glided smoothly across the gravel, through the gates to the street. Daisy didn't look back.
After a bit of time, he spoke. "My wife and son are still in London. They'll fly down when the school term is over. Adrian's just a year younger than you."
Daisy looked out the window. Blocks of tall buildings surrounded them. It was a sunny day, and the sidewalks were full of pedestrians and bicycles and baby prams.
"You know I'm not really your uncle. You know that, right?"
She turned her head to look at him.
"You're a very special girl," he said. He was watching the road.
When the car finally stopped, it was in the driveway of a house at the bottom of a dead-end street. A tall fence made of whitewashed planks of wood surrounded the section of land. Climbing vines covered the fence and the walls of the house. Trees and ferns grew thick around the edges. White walls and brilliant green grass set off pink and yellow blooms.
Daisy left the car when Hugh St. James did, and after he got her satchel she followed him inside. The large windows let in sunlight and the singing of birds. He sat her satchel down by the door and they walked through an arched doorway into the living room. A few open boxes were close to the fireplace, in a half-unpacked state.
"Big day, right?" he said, sitting down on the sofa. "Come sit down. I've a great deal to tell you."
She crossed the room and sat on the smooth green fabric, leaving the middle cushion empty between them.
"You're a very special girl, Daisy. And the last four days, things have been different, haven't they?"
She clasped her hands together in her lap and looked down at the floor.
"You're stronger than you've ever been. All of your senses - your eyesight, your hearing - are keener. And you've been having dreams that are more vivid than any dreams you've ever had. Dreams about monsters, about killing monsters."
She felt her eyes fill with tears. How did he know?
He leaned towards her and cupped the back of her neck in his hand. As the tears rolled down her face, she turned away.
"You're the Slayer," he said. "And I'm your Watcher. I'll teach you everything you need to know."
He told her that the world was full of monsters - demons living in human corpses. But that there had always been a girl - the Slayer. A girl with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil...to destroy them. When one Slayer died, another was Chosen - it had been that way for thousands of years. And now...that girl was her. Thirteen-year-old orphan Daisy Turner. The Vampire Slayer.
And now Hugh St. James, her Watcher, was on the phone in the kitchen, talking to his wife, who was back home in England. Daisy sat on the sofa, hearing bits of what he said.
"Yes, she's here...I don't know, she hasn't spoken...no, not at all...I don't know...nearly time for supper. I'll wait till tomorrow to begin her training."
When the conversation was over he hung up the phone and leaned into the living room doorway. "Steak and veggies for supper? That sound all right?"
Daisy nodded, looking down at the floor. She could feel him looking at her, as if he had more on his mind, but then he went back to the kitchen. Soon the house was filled with the aroma of dinner on the stove.
They sat across the kitchen table from each other. Hugh St. James had set the table. His jacket and tie were off, and the top button of his shirt was undone. "I hope it's edible," he said, smiling. "When Quilla gets here, we'll eat better."
Daisy had to pee. But what was she supposed to do? Say, "I need to go to the loo"? "Excuse me, where's the dunny"? He'd never stop laughing and she'd never stop feeling embarrassed. She slowly took bite after bite, chewed and swallowed.
"No one can know you're the Slayer," he said, laying down his fork. "That means nobody. You're to call us Uncle Hugh and Aunt Quilla, and as far as anybody knows, that's who we are. And Adrian is your cousin. Do you understand how important this is?"
She nodded, straining her muscles to fight the urge to run through the house in search of a toilet.
"If it was found out in the demon world who the Slayer is, there's no telling what might happen. Most likely hundreds, thousands of vampires would descend on our house, set it afire and kill us all. That's why the Slayer, traditionally, lives a solitary life. Close friendships are forbidden. If you were to tell just one person, it could spread throughout the world. Are you listening?"
Daisy nodded again, looking down at her plate. She stabbed the undercooked stake with her fork, and blood spread onto white porcelain.
The sun had set. The sweet scents of flowers and the distant ocean blew in the open windows.
Daisy followed Uncle Hugh upstairs. He opened the first door on the left and switched on the light. The walls were white, the windows bare. He set her satchel down by the foot of the bed. White furniture, pink rug, pink covers.
"If it's not to your liking, a paint job might do the trick."
He stroked her hair a bit. "Get some sleep tonight," he said, and left the room.
Daisy closed the door and found her nightgown in her satchel, along with her other shirt, other socks, and other underwear. She changed clothes and lay down in bed. The cross still hung around her neck and she rubbed her fingertips over its smooth surface. The aching in her abdomen wouldn't cease no matter what position she twisted into.
She heard Uncle Hugh step down the staircase. She waited. She counted to one hundred in her head, but it didn't seem that enough time had passed, so she continued to one thousand. Then she left her bed and opened her door, slowly and silently. One of the doors across the hall was open, and she glimpsed a toilet. She hurried into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Pulling up her nightgown and pulling down her knickers, she sat down on the toilet, and a relief like no other came into her body.