Author's note: Just wanted to thank you guys for the comments, and to the guests I can't respond to personally, your words really helped a lot. :)


Star had never been strong. A free spirit, perhaps, or even more. Before she'd met, or even heard of the Lost Boys, she was the kind of girl who'd always catch a ride and let the world carry her. Family was a broken memory. Friends were a one night promise. She'd never known how to belong to something bigger than herself. Something more dangerous. The only control she'd ever seemed to have was her soul, and now that it was gone, she simply didn't care. Laddie was an annoyance now, buzzing in her hair when she'd much rather be dancing, or flying, or killing.

She still didn't know how to belong to anything, or anyone. Only a strong sense of self-preservation kept her from trying to dig already bloodied claws into Dwayne's arm when he'd finally managed to catch her at the shore, gripping her tightly about the neck to restrain the hissing Star.

The tide had begun to come in, licking at her bare feet, scalding it red hot with that strange magic running water seemed to have over undead flesh. Salty foam rinsing the bloodied hem of her spangled skirt clean. There was no way she could possibly have drained the many victims she'd already laid waste to over the past few days, but it was so satisfying to watch the sand turn pink beneath them.

"Are you done?" Dwayne demanded, once Star had finally gone lax beneath his grip, the burn of the water on her feet getting to be too much to bear. She could almost swear it was melting through to her bones now.

Paul popped his gum, kneeling down beside the shredded couple on the beach, one of them still wrapped in a beach towel. "Must've been a fucking killer picnic," he remarked, dipping his fingers into some of the blood that had pooled on the girl's stomach and spitting out his gum so he could taste it. "Coulda shared," he complained, his smile turning bitte once he'd finished savoring the taste. There wasn't enough left in their bodies to really get a good meal, and neither of them much liked the idea of trying to suck it out of the sand.

"Let me go," Star demanded, halfway between a plea and a demand. If it was Marko holding her, maybe she could take him. Maybe. Dwayne was another story altogether, and fighting was almost suicidal.

"No. Calm down." he didn't even sound irritated. His tone was flat, almost bored. "You left Laddie alone in the lobby. You're drawing too much attention to yourself and to us." The last word held more of a threat, now. "David's pissed."

If her heart was beating, it would have shuddered to a stop then and there. "What's he going to do?"

Paul gave her a suggestive wink, climbing to his feet to dust the grit from his bloodied fingers, "stuff and mount you. Guess I could do it, if you-" His mouth snapped shut at a look from Dwayne. Throwing up his hands, Paul stepped back, "alright man, alright, I get it. Message received. No more talking."

Using his free hand to comb through Star's hair gently, a parody of tenderness, Dwayne pulled her a little tighter and pressed his lips against the wild fledgling's ear, "there's rooms in the hotel you've never seen. If you don't get on his good side soon, you'll find out what's in them. Understood?"

She didn't need to say anything. Star got the message. She behaved. All the way back to the cave. Through David's patient, almost pleasant laughter. He seemed to be in a pretty good mood, despite what Dwayne had said.

She behaved despite Paul's sneaky gropes while Marko and Dwayne shared a joint. Behaved and played nice when Laddie sadly asked her to read him a bedtime story. Star was very good. Right up until the boys decided to call it a night, and she fled before they could catch her.

None of them was stupid enough to bother chasing. Not this close to sunrise. None of them cared enough to try.

Somehow, though, instinct took her to a new place. A house. A man she knew without actually remembering how. He welcomed her with open arms, called her his daughter, and promised to punish the boys for bullying her. Star didn't care, she was just glad to escape. Glad to be lost again.


"You're up early," Lucy observed, walking into the kitchen as she tied up her robe, "trying to catch the worm?" She squinted through the kitchen window curtains, "I thought you were going to sleep in."

Michael gave his mother a noncommittal shrug in response, peering down at the milk carton in his hand and only briefly looking at the little boy's picture on the back. "Thought I'd make breakfast. You're up pretty early too."

"You know," Lucy put her hand on her hip, turning back to face her oldest son, "it's the strangest thing. I only dropped off about three or four resumes yesterday, and right at eight I got a phone call for an interview this afternoon. Apparently this jewelry shop had so many young men quit this summer, they've hardly got any staff left." She shook her head, "so I guess I caught them at just the right time. That's good news, though, it means Sam won't have to wait to go to that comic shop he found, and you won't have to make the trip."

Giving a box of Bisquick a good shake to gauge the amount of pancakes he could get out of it, Michael yanked a measuring cup out of one of their boxes on the kitchen counter Lucy hadn't gotten around to unpacking. "I don't mind."

"It's your summer too, honey. Here, let me help you," Lucy rushed forward, slim fingers digging into one of the kitchen boxes to find a large mixing bowl. "You do whatever you want."

"I think I'm going to go there tonight anyway. Check out some record stores, maybe find a consignment store to sell grandpa's-" he caught himself, looking back at his mother with a nervous frown.

"It's okay," she told him, reaching for the Bisquick and taking the measuring cup from him, "I won't break, honey. I know he's gone." Lucy hated how fragile she probably looked to both of her sons now, how little control she seemed to have over anything these days. She just didn't know how to fix the spiral they all seemed to be falling into together.

Several loud knocks rang on the front door, thankfully cutting Lucy's thoughts short before they got worse, and she hardly had time to wonder at all who would honestly be visiting them at this hour when she heard Sam clambering down the stairs with all of the frantic energy and noise any hormonal teenaged boy would create this early in the morning.

"I'll get it!" Sam shouted, a little too loudly, dashing to the front door.

"Hattie, Hattie Johnson!" A woman crowed, "you must be little Sammy-boy. Harold told me all about you! Listen, I've got a few things here, do you mind if I come inside?" She had the wobbly voice of an elderly chorus singer, each word on the verge of turning to song. Cracked, melodic, and all too familiar from the occasional phone call Lucy had made to her father, the woman busily shouting in the background, when he would inevitably tell Lucy 'later would be a better time. Maybe after Matlock.'

Never mind the fact that the man never owned a television set.

In a flurry of yellow chiffon and sunflower scarves, she arrived in the kitchen with Sam trailing behind her, clearly bewildered. The old woman was certainly a presence. Maybe a bit too much of one, judging by the way Michael quickly dodged behind Lucy to avoid having his feet stepped on by a pair of lemon colored mary janes.

"Lucy! I'm Hattie Johnson!" She announced needlessly. Anyone the next county over probably would have heard her the first time. Hattie thrust out an arm bedecked with plastic bracelets, "I was a close friend of your father's. He stuffed three of my poodles and my precious Poggie. A spaniel. I didn't want to bother you at the service, but I just couldn't stop myself from coming over to meet you at long last."

Lucy was almost dizzy, the woman had spewed out her odd introduction so quickly, and so loudly, she could almost hear her ears buzzing while she tried to mix the batter she'd just barely managed to pour milk into before Hattie's other sweeping arm came close to knocking over.

"Listen, um-" Lucy began.

"Hattie. Hattie Johnson."

"Yes, Hattie. Listen, I'm very happy to meet you, but this is a little-" Lucy stumbled for the right word, not wanting to offend the boisterous woman, "-unexpected. We were just making breakfast, and-"

"Breakfast!" Hattie surveyed the kitchen, "of course! Breakfast! Let me help, dear," she took the bowl from Lucy before she could even protest, gesturing towards the kitchen table, "go ahead. All of you, sit, sit. We've got so much catching up to do!"

Faced with the challenge of either bodily throwing an elderly woman out of their house, or meekly doing as she practically ordered, all three of the Emersons sat down together, meekish, dumbstruck at the fury of color and noise Hattie Johnson had brought into their lives in less than the span of five minutes.

"Why're you here?" Sam asked, finally breaking the 'silence', almost rudely enough for Lucy to scold him, but honestly she'd also like to know the answer to that question. She'd wait until they were alone to tell him that wasn't how you spoke to guests, even the unexpected or uninvited ones.

"Well, like I said, I wanted to meet you three. Harold used to gush on and on about his family so much, I felt like I already knew you. I think he was doing some touch-ups on my Poggie right before the accident happened. I tell you, I don't know where that deer could have come from out in the middle of the road like that. I didn't even know we had deer here!" Her chatter verged on inane or rude, and Lucy still wasn't sure which one was closer.

"Deer?" Michael spoke up, "he had a heart attack."

Hattie paused, setting the mixing bowl down on the counter, "you know, I think you're right. A heart attack. That's what he said. Anyway, I guess you were wanting pancakes, weren't you? This batter looks a little thin for biscuits, honey. I don't mean to hurt your feelings if that's what you were planning."

Lucy stood up, finally seeming to gather together some sense of control, "we were making pancakes. I'm sorry, Ms. Johnson."

"Hattie, call me Hattie!"

"I'm sorry, Hattie, but maybe now isn't the best time. Maybe you could leave me your number, and I could call you later." Not very likely, to be honest. This woman was far too much for Lucy to handle at the moment. Maybe even before her father had passed.

"Oh, no, I completely understand!" Hattie waved at them all, "I completely understand. It's been such a tough week, I know all about it. Trust me. Anyway, you just remember, the name's Hattie." She smiled, "don't forget to call, Lucy. I'll be here if you need anything. Anything at all!"

Just like that, she was gone, as abruptly and swiftly as she'd arrived.

Lucy stared at the mixing bowl in silent astonishment.

"Mom," Michael called out, tapping her on the shoulder, "who do you think she was talking about?"

"Wh-what?" She nearly jumped, spinning about to face him.

"A heart attack. She said 'that's what he said'. Who do you think she was talking about?"

Lucy wasn't too sure she wanted to confirm the woman's loose screws by speculating on that answer, "probably just a friend, Michael."

"A freaky old lady like that has friends?" Sam asked, staring at the kitchen door as if he expected her to come back at any second.

"That's not nice, sweety. Of course she has friends." Hopefully.


"Family," Max stated, furiously polishing one of the lenses of his glasses, "it's a pleasant idea, isn't it? I've always liked having family. Children. Respect. I may not have seen the sun in a good few centuries, but I don't think it would be unfair to say I've become a pillar of this community, David. I wish I could say the same for all of my boys."

The rest of the pack were waiting outside in the frontyard, biding their time and pissing Thorne off while David had his little fireside chat with the head vampire. Their leader in name only. Max was the only one stupid enough not to realize it.

David focused on a floating speck of dust just behind the old nerd's ear. A lot easier to control the ticking muscle in his jaw that way, and avoid saying anything he regretted. Laddie sat in the corner of the room nursing a juice box, probably heavily dosed with Max's blood to keep him dazed.

"Star came very close to meeting the sun this morning. Did you know that?" Max placed his glasses back on his face, his voice deathly calm. The only indicator of his temper was a single claw scratching lightly at the arm of his leather recliner.

The whole place reeked of Aqua Velva and humans. Not even a hint of blood. Max was eternally finicky about making a good impression, even if it was the exact opposite for David and the boys. Antiseptic. Everything about the head vampire was antiseptic. Empty. Fake.

Weak.

"David, I asked you a question," Max repeated himself, shaking the blonde out of his bitter thoughts.

"Yes," David ground out, "I heard you."

Max's upper lip curled back into a silent snarl, "why?"

"Because she's an idiot," he replied flatly, "not my problem, either. Your blood's in the bottle, not mine." As much as David resented it, he wasn't the head vampire. The city may belong to him and the boys, but it would be stupid to challenge Max for no reason. Besides, his blood did taste good, and it was taking a little of the edge off of their hunger these days since Star had decided to make the whole fucking boardwalk her own personal buffet.

"When you asked for me to make her, David-"

"I didn't ask," he snapped back. "She did, and I told you."

Max's lips pursed together in growing agitation, "not eating her the moment she asked was as good as you doing it. When you asked for me to make her, I consented, with the expectation that you would be responsible-"

"You just wanted someone to look after the brat."

The sting of Max's backhand to his cheek didn't hurt quite so much as the blow to David's ego when he had to force himself to remain motionless, taking it and feeling like he'd enjoy nothing more right now than tearing out the head vampire's throat. He wouldn't even drink the blood, he'd just enjoy watching it stain Max's pristine white living room carpet.

"Now, I will offer Star and Laddie shelter for the next week, get to know them both a bit better so I can have a better idea of what sort of woman I'll be looking for to take over as your new mother," Max went on, reseating himself as if nothing had happened. "In the meantime, I expect you to make the hotel a much more pleasant home for them to be. By Sunday, Laddie will have his first kill. See to it that you boys help the hunt run smoothly."

So there it was. The other shoe dropped. This psychopathic fuck-face playing house had decided to drag them into another idiotic plan to complete his little fantasy family unit.

"Yeah, sure," was all David could manage, voice dripping with bitterness. Something had to give, and David would sooner stake himself than continue being Max's good little lackey. He was not going to take any fledgling on a hunt in the near future. Maybe he'd just leave a trail of body parts leading to Max's front door one of these nights, but David seriously doubted even then that the police in Santa Carla would do anything. They'd have much better luck if Star's behavior just brought in hunters to off him instead. Maybe David would take out an ad or something.


"I'll pray I never need to call you," Sam repeated sarcastically, after Edgar Frog had managed to force a free comic on him. Horror or not, free was free. These guys were nuts, but pretty funny. Rambo Van Helsing wannabes.

"Hey, Mike!" Sam shouted, heading towards the shop exit where his brother was supposed to be waiting for him. Supposed to be. Sam gave a nervous look around to make sure that wacko from yesterday wasn't hanging around ready to jump him, but it looked like the coast was clear. Mike wasn't gone, either, he was just standing at the opposite side of the boardwalk holding out his uninjured hand for some blonde chick popping bubblegum to scrawl something on it with a sharpie.

It was tempting to go bug Romeo right then and there just for scaring him, maybe make a remark about sticky socks, but his sense of self-preservation and need to actually buy something while he was still near the comic shop won out. He'd managed to find a couple of bucks that morning in the bottom of one of his old coat pockets, and Sam planned to burn through it before they went back to that creepy house they now called home.

He didn't notice the chick with the dark perm and spangled skirt standing at the back of the store, watching him. Sam only had eyes for the poorly-sorted DC comics, of which there were a lot. Let Mike take all the time he needed flirting with bimbos, Sam had something way more important to do. Like see just how many comics he could read before the weirdos at the counter gave him the 'buy something' spiel.

At least one of those Frog brothers looked like he'd found something more interesting to do, but the other one, Edgar, his eyes were still firmly trained on Sam as if an alien was going to burst out of his chest at any moment.

It was just a tiny bit creepy.

"Dude, do you always follow customers around like this? Or are you about to come onto me?" Sam demanded, glaring back up at Edgar.

"You don't believe us."

"About what? Vampires? Look, man, I figured out Santa was just some fat guy on coke cans when I was seven. Your freaky kinks are your own business."

Edgar was standing on the other side of the rack now, dangerously close to giving Sam an eskimo kiss as he leaned forward close enough to intimidate, "listen, buddy, there's a lotta stuff that goes on in Santa Carla. Bloodsuckers aren't some make believe game me and my brother do while we run the shop for our folks. Every Fall when we go back to school, there's another kid we used to know going missing, or a teacher not showing up to class. Last Summer we got to see a vampire up close and person get a grade A barbeque tan right outside," he flung his hand towards the general direction of the boardwalk, just past the discount comic cart stationed outside.

"I'm sorry," Sam blinked several times, "run that by me again?"

"You gone grocery shopping yet, huh? Notice how garlic costs ten times as much in Santa Carla as it does back in yuppies-ville, Mr. Phoenix?" Edgar sneered, "we're not the murder capital of the world. We're vampire heaven."

"Ooooookay," Sam couldn't help but take a step back. Between the intense stare, the decimation of his personal bubble, and Edgar's bean dip breath, the idea of grazing for comics was suddenly very unappealing. Maybe there was another comic shop in Santa Carla. On the opposite side of the city, far away from here.

"Don't forget our number on the back of that comic!" Alan shouted out as Sam decided to beat a hasty retreat from them both, and out into the safety of the summer crowd outside. He didn't notice the girl at the back of the shop trailing after him. Sam's observational skills left something to be desired.


Usually, it was pretty easy to get over the 'father son' meetings Max made David go through every once in awhile, he could take out his anger on a large meal and forget about it, have a bit of a party with the boys, enjoy everything that came with the territory. Not so easy tonight, now that Star's antics had made a lot more people less likely to go off on their own or even in small groups away from the safety of the boardwalk lights.

"We could just play a few tricks," Paul blurted out, reaching for Dwayne's joint and yanking it away before Dwayne could even register what was going on. He just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking back at the people walking by for a hopeful bite.

"What, like tire slashing?" Marko suggested, all too happy to cause property damage whenever he could just to get a good laugh.

"No, man," Paul stuck the joint in his mouth and tapped an index finger against his head, "head games."

"I'm too hungry to do that right now," David grumbled. It took too much effort and energy to do that stuff when you hadn't fed in two nights. He needed an effortless distraction tonight. Like that Michael kid. Where was he, anyway? The blood from his injured hand would be too dry now, not fresh enough to pick up easily. David would just have to count on sheer, dumb luck-

"So you surf?"

"Sometimes. I'm not very good."

"That's cool. You could probably still teach me a few tricks. No waves back in Phoenix, y'know?"

Vapid giggles followed, when the couple strolled by David and the boys.

"Oh, that's the gu-" Marko started to talk, stopping immediately at a warning look from David. Not a threat, just a silent command.

It was definitely Michael. David hadn't seen the girl before. Or maybe he had. Hard to tell when the summer crowds of bottle blondes and string bikinis all seemed to blend into the same patterns.

"So," the girl popped her gum, looking around, and distancing herself a little when she caught sight of the boys leaning against their bikes. Michael glanced over at them and then back at her, clearly nonplussed. "So," she repeated, "call me tomorrow, I guess. There's a few new movies out, we could probably catch them or something like that."

"Yeah, sure," Michael nodded, "I've got a few things to do at the house, but I'll give you a call. If you need a ride, I can pick you up," he nodded towards a bike parked further along the gate beside the boardwalk. Maybe not a powerhouse like David's baby, but a decent ride. It was a pleasant surprise to know they had some common grounds.

They parted ways, and on a sudden whim, David nodded at Paul, as if to say 'go ahead'. The rocker was off like a shot after the girl in the crowd. Let him play those head games if he wanted, trick her into walking in the wrong direction, or corner her behind a tourist shop. It didn't really matter.

Marko and Dwayne looked after him, while David remained silent. They'd both already planned to take a quick ride outside the city tonight for a fresh meal anyway. Summer nights brought out plenty of hitchhikers to mess with.

Before Michael could turn to leave, David called out to him, "hey, that your ride over there?" He nodded towards it.

The human looked back at David, his eyes scanning over their bikes, Marko, Dwayne. He may not be intimidated, but he was clearly smart enough to tell they were the 'bad crowd' every poorly-written after school special always kids about.

"Yeah," Michael finally managed to reply guardedly. "Why?"

"No reason," David replied, snatching the cigarette he'd been keeping tucked behind his ear, "never seen it before. You new around here?"

Michael visibly relaxed, "yeah. Just moved. I think I saw your bikes here last night, so I guess you guys have been here for awhile?"

David didn't need to look to know Dwayne's lips had curled into a dark smile, or Marko was covering his mouth to hold back a snicker. "Yeah," David nodded, "we're pretty much permanent fixtures."

"Right," Michael nodded, the joke going over his head.

"The name's David," he nodded over to the others, "that's Marko, Dwayne. I think Paul went to grab a drink or some shit," David shrugged, stuffing his cigarette into his mouth so he could light it with a blood-smeared zippo. His hand was blocking it, so not like anyone else could see anyway.

"My-" Michael began, only to be interrupted by the sound of furious cursing as a fight broke out in the crowd, started by none other than their very own Paul. David could smell the blood that was likely still caked under his nails and sticking to the soles of his shoes. It was a miracle that he'd somehow managed to keep his shirt and jacket clean enough to still be seen in public.

"Is that him?" Michael squinted through the circle forming around Paul and some dipshit Surf Nazi he'd decided to pick a fight with. Their beloved packmate was of course letting himself actually take all the hits, just so he could laugh like a psycho and spit his own blood out onto the ground. Security should come running any minute, once they wore themselves out. Well, once the guy Paul was badgering wore himself out.

The show-off picked a real good time to drum up their bloodlust. David kept his smile firmly in place, despite the fact that he really wanted to jump in on that fight now, as well as Dwayne and Marko. When one of their pack was threatened, the others could actually feel it. Whether Paul was asking for it or not.

"Yeah, he's not great at playing well with others," David managed, thankful that he'd had years of experience dealing with all three of his pack members. Otherwise he'd have lost it then and there.

"Are you going to go help him?" Michael wasn't looking at David at all now, his eyes were glued to the fight, but not Paul. The guy he was fighting.

David's eyebrows shot up, "friend of yours?"

"No," Michael absentmindedly rubbed at his bandaged hand, "not a friend."

None of the boys made it a habit of prying into human minds unless they were playing a nasty game; there was rarely anything of interest otherwise. Michael's thoughts in that moment, however, were so forceful that David couldn't help but catch at least a small impression of them.

He narrowed his eyes, looking back towards Paul's opponent.

"Paul," David's voice brushed through the rocker's thoughts, grabbing his attention. Paul nodded over at him, delivering a good sharp punch to the Surf Nazi's stomach to cut the fight short, dodging through the crowd with a quick flip of the bird at the human's friends as they rushed forward to help him to his feet. It was a very slow process.

"Yeah?" There was no mistaking that shit-eating grin, even through his cracked lips and quickly mending cheekbones. There was thankfully enough blood covering Paul's face to disguise the unnatural healing process.

"We'll come back to that one."

"Alriiiight!"

Michael was still watching the skinhead recovering, one arm draped over another's shoulder, while the victim of Paul's boredom managed to stare blearily in the Lost Boys' direction. He blinked several times, taking in a deep breath, before locking eyes on Michael.

The human was too far away to pick up what the man was murmuring, but David and the boys heard it crystal clear.

"That guy too."

Now that things had begun to settle down, people were losing interest one-by-one, though some watched Paul curiously, and more watched him with a sense of renewed fear. He was far too much of a show-off not to preen a little at the attention, despite his gruesome appearance.

"Nice, Paulie, " Marko snarked, propping his chin on his hand as he leaned against one of his bike handles. None of them expected an apologetic response, neither did they get one.

"Sorry," David spoke up, "you guys haven't even met, and already the crazy fucker's trying to scare you off."

"Uh-" Michael hesitated, clearly having trouble deciding whether he should stay and hang out, or beat it before the crazy rubbed off on him. Apparently he'd decided on the former, because his feet were still glued firmly in place, "you should go to a hospital, man."

"He's fine," Dwayne assured him, "he's already pretty ugly. A few scars will be an improvement."

"Suck it," Paul made a lewd gesture with one hand, while his other hand was busy dabbing at his cheek with a monogrammed handkerchief. Souvenir from a very old meal. The lace edges were tea-stained and curling.

Michael laughed, "you guys are insane."

Taking a deep pull of his cigarette, David considered the remark, "nah," he breathed out his smoke on that one word, "we're just bored."

Ferris wheel lights were flashing, the tide was getting higher on the beach while the wind began to stir itself up, and the Surf Nazis finally beat a retreat while the boys continued to chat it up. David could feel Marko and Dwayne getting a little more restless. They were hungry, and spending their evening hours talking to a human was only making it worse. He'd have to do something to make Michael seem less appealing as a meal, but David wasn't quite sure whether he was ready to do anything drastic. Max was still in charge of the city, and they weren't exactly on the best terms right now, but there had to be something he could do. While he pondered this, Michael shifted on his feet.

"Listen, it's been fun, but I've gotta give my little brother a lift home tonight," he waved, turning to go.

"We were gonna grab a bite to eat," David called out to him, "c'mon, hang out a bit. My treat."

Michael looked doubtful, "he's probably still dicking around anyway. Yeah. Sure. Why not?"


No sign of Mike. Actually, no sign of almost anybody. Sam could swear he'd been going in the right direction. His brother's bike wasn't that far from the comic shop, and since the jerk was planning to take him home, it made sense that's where he'd be waiting since he wasn't standing outside anymore.

Every time Sam thought about turning back, he'd second guess himself and keep going. It was kind of weird, how his feet just kept going even while he thought about changing direction. He'd actually gone so far now that he was walking on beach sand. Could hardly hear the music back on the boardwalk anymore.

"Christ, why would he be out here?" Sam snapped at himself, finally seeming to get through to whatever bizarre impulse he had that was driving him forward. He was getting pretty cold.

The minute he stopped in his tracks, an ear piercing shriek echoed into the night sky, and he felt sharp claws digging into his shoulders, shredding his poor shirt as he was tackled to the ground. Sam cried out in surprise and pain, getting a mouthful of sand for his efforts.

"Let the nerd go, death breath!"

Sam would know that voice anywhere. Well, he would if he could actually hear it. The wild animal on top of of him demanded a little more attention right now. Maybe if he wasn't so terrified he was on the verge of pissing himself, too, he'd notice how feminine the wild animal felt, how human.

He whimpered, trying to spit out some of the sand and grit when he felt the claws drawing out of his skin, pulling at the cuts and tearing his shirt even more. Then, thankfully, whatever- - whoever was on top of him quickly got off, and Sam was able to pitifully crawl to his knees, adrenaline giving him the much-needed strength to stand up and turn around.

What he saw that night would be one of the few things in the coming months that burned itself into his mind forever.

Edgar and Alan Frog stood in all their glory, or lack thereof, garlic string necklaces wrapped around their necks and water pistols ready to fire. It was sort of hard to pay much attention to them, though, because the she-beast with the crazy hair and dripping fangs was a hell of a lot scarier.

"Stay back, Phoenix!" Alan instructed, not having learned Sam's actual name, when the monster launched herself at Edgar Frog. With one loud battle cry, he fired his water pistols as quickly as he could manage, which made Sam wonder if this was one of the last things he'd ever see. Two crazy guys fighting a demon with kiddie toys.

There was another shriek that followed, even louder and more horrible than the one before Sam had been attacked, the monster stopping in her tracks as she held up her clawed and bloodied fingers to her face, while smoke filtered from her hands. In an instant, the wind picked up, forcing thin waves from the high tide to come in and soak the soles of Sam's shoes. Then, in an instant, she rose into the sky and fled.

Sam's jaw dropped open, while Edgar slowly lowered his water pistols, giving his brother a quick nod. Alan strode forward, hand lashing out to grab Sam's chin and turn his head left to right.

"He's clean," Alan said.

"Clean?!" Sam demanded, yelped, squeaked. One of the three, he couldn't really tell which. Right now his voice wasn't his own. Neither were his feet anymore. They felt like faulty slinkies.

"Welcome to Santa Carla," Edgar whispered in his typically raspy voice, straightening up and glaring back at Sam. It would have been a very intimidating introduction, if not for-

"Shit!" Alan shouted, "Ed, we left the store open!"

"Shit!" Edgar echoed, taking off back towards the boardwalk, Alan close on his heels.

Sam stared after them, bewildered, and frankly still scared out of his mind. He somehow managed to make his legs work and carry him back the way he'd come, as fast as he could manage before that weird vampire freak came back to finish what she'd started. Mike and mom weren't going to believe this!