Forever's come and passed when I stand, all quivery. I can hear Mummy and Daddy upstairs. They're yelling. I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it. I go out on the front porch. Daylight. I don't go out in daylight much. It's a grey daylight.

The gravel driveway stretches a long way down a hill to the street. The rule when we stay in houses is that I have to stay in the yard, but this house has a big yard. I walk down the porch steps and along the driveway, staying on the grass next to it, because it feels better than the gravel. In Sunnydale we had a garden. Mummy and I planted flowers and Mummy said if I listened close I could hear the flowers talking, and sometimes I think I did. That made her happy. There are some yellow flowers hiding in the grass out here, but they aren't very pretty, and I don't want to listen to them anyway.

I'm over halfway down the hill, halfway to the street now. I haven't seen a car come along yet. We're not in a city. I'm not sure what we're in. But it's not home, we don't have a home now. Sunnydale was home. All of my toys, except for Rosalie, are back there. All of my books. Mummy's dolls. And the pretty garden.

I have to stop thinking about it because I'm almost back to crying. I rub my eyes until they're dry, and when I quit, there's a car in the street. I stop dead, because now it's pulling up the driveway. Right up to me. It stops and the window rolls down. An old man with thick glasses sticks his shiny bald head out the window. "Hello," he says.

All I can think to do is say, "Hi."

"What's your name?"

He's human. I mean, probably. I don't speak to many humans. Daddy says I shouldn't bother because I'll eat them up one day, like he and Mummy do, and it would be like playing with my food. But Daddy's all the way up in the house and he just yelled at me.

"What's yours?" I say.

"Jesse Lowe."

I play with the lace on my wrinkled dress. "I'm Amara."

"That's pretty. Are your parents here, Amara?"

"Why are you here?"

"Well." He taps his hands on the steering wheel and smacks his lips. "I go to church with the Stephensons, and they weren't there this morning. Not like them at all. I live down the road, so I thought I'd stop by on my way home and check up on them. Are they inside?"

I'm trying to think up a lie when I hear someone shout my name. I turn fast and see Daddy standing on the porch, inches away from the steps and just out of the sunlight. My belly gets tight, because I know I've done something wrong, though I'm not sure what. I look at the man in the truck again – he's staring up at the house and my daddy with squinty eyes – and then I race up the hill. I get there fast and jump up the stairs to Daddy. "He just showed up –"

"Quiet," Daddy says, and I lower my head. I hear gravel crunch-crunching behind me – the truck following me up. I move behind Daddy as Jesse Lowe gets out of the truck. He slams the door and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Make it a habit of talking to little girls when they're alone?" Daddy asks.

"I came to check on my friends," Jesse Lowe says easily, walking closer. His voice isn't shaky and his eyes don't dart away from Daddy. He's not afraid of him. He doesn't know he should be. "This is their house, I'm guessing you know that. Whoever you are. Where are they?"

"Well," Daddy says in a tone just as easy, "The Missus is working on lunch right now. Quiche, apparently."

"And you're . . . a friend of the Stephensons?"

"Oh, yeah, old pals. Even got a bit of her blood in me."

"Huh." Jesse Lowe tilts his head way back and looks at Daddy over the tops of his glasses. "Well, know what?" Next thing, he's coming up the steps towards us. "I think I'll pop in and say hi to 'em."

"Are you sure?" Daddy asks. "Don't mean to be rude, but I don't think there's enough for all of us."

Jesse Lowe reaches the top of the stairs. He's shorter than Daddy but he still doesn't seem scared. He looks straight at Daddy, and he says, "I'll be quick," and then passes him by. I move out of his way, and I see Daddy make a face before he reaches out and snaps Jesse Lowe's neck. The sound is ugly and I flinch as the man hits the ground with a sound that might be even uglier. His glasses fall off his face. His eyes are blue.

Daddy faces the yard and then me. "Have you seen anyone else?"

"No."

He keeps looking at me, a moment goes by, and I feel my belly get tight again right before Daddy's fists clench. "Why the bloody hell were you outside?"

"I just wanted to take a walk," I say in a little voice.

"You do not do anything without my permission! You know better than to wander off in the day, anyway! Things are already difficult for us, Amara – I don't need you making it worse." He jabs a finger at me. "I haven't put you over my knee in a good while, have I? Has that been a mistake? Do I need to?"

"No, please, I'll be good, I'm trying to be good, Daddy . . ."

He grabs my arm, fast enough to scare me and hard enough to hurt. "Try harder," he says with our faces really close and his voice more of a hiss. "Your mother is in an extremely delicate place, and the slightest thing could push her over the edge. You will do as I say, you will do as you think I would say, or I will make you cry."

"I'm already crying," I try to just say, but it ends up as more of a whimper accidentally and a sob jerks from my throat, too.

Daddy's hand loosens. "I . . ."

I hide my eyes behind my arm. I want Mummy, safe and soft and not all burned up, and thinking about that pushes more tears into my eyes but just then Daddy pulls me closer, and I'm afraid, until he wraps his arms around me and smooths my hair.

"Oh, Mar . . . I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about Mummy and I'm taking it out on you, sweet."

"I didn't mean – he just, he just drove up –"

"Shh, it's okay, darling. You shouldn't have come out here, that's true, but I know you didn't mean to cause trouble. You're my good girl, I know that."

"Then please don't give me a smacking. Please."

"I won't, I won't. Hush now, Princess. Everything's fine, Daddy's here . . ." He picks me up and I cling to him as he walks back and forth across the porch, hushing me and rubbing my back, being careful to step around Jesse Lowe's body.

. . . . .

"Daddy, what're we going to do?" I ask him later, when I've calmed down and we're sitting on the porch swing. I'm playing with his hand, chipping some of the black polish off his nails.

"We're going to find a new place to live. A better place, where we can have some peace for a change."

"And there won't be a Slayer?"

He closes his eyes. "There won't be a Slayer."

"Is Mummy going to be okay?"

"Of course she is, darling. You know how fast Mummy and I heal."

"I don't mean about the burns. I mean . . . in her head. About . . ." But Daddy told me to forget about Angeles. He told me to forget about Sunnydale too, though, and I haven't done a good job with that.

"She'll be fine, baby. She just needs time." He's quiet for a minute, pushing us back and forth. The chains on the swing go creak, creak. "Maybe we'll go south. Cross the border. Your mother used to talk about Brazil."

"Brazil? Isn't that where you found me?"

He gives a little smile, which is nice to see. "No, love. That was Brussels."

"Oh. Can we go there?"

"There's nothing for you in Brussels."

"I want to see what it looks like."

"You'll like Brazil."

I don't argue because that would be pushing him, which I'm not supposed to do, and anyway, he says we can travel more when I'm older and I've turned, like him and Mummy. And then I'll have forever to go to Brussels or anywhere else I want.

Like Sunnydale.

Forget about Sunnydale.

"Mar," Daddy say softly, "I shouldn't have yelled at you, sweet girl. But I meant what I said. Mummy's in a delicate place. I need you to be on your best behavior for her. And for me."

I don't think I've been bad, but I don't say that.

"Mind me well enough, and I'll take you toy shopping when we settle down. You can pick out whatever you like."

"Can I get a kitten?"

"Only if I'm feeling peckish." He winks at me and I can't help but giggle, even though I really do want a kitten and he knows it. Daddy sighs and looks past me. "I'm going to take our friend up to your mother and have her eat. I saw some cereal in the kitchen last night, up in a cabinet. Pour yourself a bowl. Then you can watch the telly for a bit before you go back to bed."

"I don't want Mummy to sleep with me," I whisper. "I'm afraid she'll open the curtains again."

"I'll keep Mummy with me," Daddy says, sounding like he needs sleep more than any of us. He kisses my hand. "Come on, then."

. . . . .

I try to watch the telly with my cereal but there's nothing good on, just a bunch of boring people talking about God, or just human stuff that I don't understand and that Daddy says I don't need to, because I'm not really one of them, in the ways that matter. I go upstairs, back to the room where Mummy burned herself. There are ashes on the ground and there's a funny smell. I take the blanket and Rosalie from my bed and return downstairs, to the living room sofa. It's comfy enough. I snuggle Rosalie and close my eyes, and I guess that works, because when Mummy wakes me up, it's nearly dark outside.

"Hello, lovely," she whispers to me, tracing her fingernails across my face. The light's on in the kitchen but the living room is very dark. Her skin is so light, though, that I can see her pretty well anyway. She doesn't look burned up anymore. She and Daddy do heal so fast. "We're going to Brazil," Mummy says. "We're going to dance there and meet magical people. We're going to be so happy." She picks up my hand and sniffs my wrist. "Mm."

"Daddy says I can get new toys."

"All the toys in the world for a princess."

"And you can get new dolls."

"Yes. And we can get a new daddy for you."

I sit up. "You're silly, Mummy."

She smiles, then laughs all-out.

"Amara."

Daddy's standing at the foot of the stairs, mostly in the dark. Mummy laughs harder, and a bad feeling hits me so strongly I almost lie back down, curl up with Rosalie, go back to sleep.

"Go upstairs," Daddy says. "Brush your teeth and draw a bath. We're leaving in an hour."

He sounds like him. But still wrong. And he hasn't looked at me. He's only looking at Mummy, and he keeps looking at her as I tiptoe past him with Rosalie, up to the bathroom, where I turn the bath faucet as far as it will go so the water comes pouring out hard and the sound is loud enough that I can't hear anything they say downstairs and maybe they can't hear me crying, crying again, this time for no reason I can understand.