3. Nate

"Carlisle asked earlier, why it never occurred to me to abstain from human blood, when I learned I could exist just as well on animal blood," I begin, looking round at the assembled party, who simply wait, expectantly. My voice is weak, barely a whisper. It is still dark outside, and the cosy living room is lit by a single standard lamp, but that's ample light for us. I'm wedged between Esme and Alice on a wide, overstuffed couch. Jasper sits on Alice's other side, while Carlisle perches on the arm, next to Esme. Opposite, Edward and Bella occupy the only armchair. Normally, I would find a crowd like this threatening, would feel trapped in such a small room, but Jasper exerts such a calm influence, I find myself not minding so much.

"Well, I simply never viewed them the same way you do. You have such a sentimental view of them, an unnecessary concern for their souls, I think. To me, they are no different to the other animals. When you take down a doe, do you not worry whether she had a fawn dependent upon her, who would surely now be doomed; do their lives not have the same worth? Are some animals not rare, while humans are plentiful? But we are what we are, and when I am thirsty I feed on whatever blood is available to me. Like all – well, most – of our kind, I find human blood vastly preferable, but towns attract other vampires, and I am too small and vulnerable at the best of times to mingle freely with our kind, so I generally remain in the mountains, feeding mostly on animals and the occasional lone traveller. Sometimes, I become lonely, and will join a coven, a small one, for a short time. I am careful who I join with, but I often get it wrong – hence my current predicament."

I look around again, catching Bella's eye, who asks,

"How old were you, exactly, when you were changed? I thought you were an Immortal Child – that that was why you had been attacked – but Edward said no, you would have been considered near enough to adulthood in your time."

"That's true," I agree. My voice is quiet and husky, not at all returned to strength yet, and it sounds strange in my ears.

"I was nearly fourteen," I explain, in answer to her question. The others look surprised – I appear small and underdeveloped, and I am often taken for a child of only ten or eleven. It's clear my hosts have made the same assumption.

"My human life was short and brutal," I continue. "I was born a slave in the cotton plantations somewhere in the south. I'm not sure where – I was unaware of my geography at the time - but I know it was somewhere in Louisiana. My kind were regarded as little more than live-stock, bred and bought and sold like cattle. I was born early and very tiny. The Master did not expect me to live, and took me from my mother immediately, placing me in the care of his daughter, who had been known to take runts from their sow's litters and nurture them to a decent weight. Just like a runt, I was now her pet, and my survival or otherwise would have no consequence in the scheme of things. My mother was set back to work only hours after my birth – there was cotton to harvest ahead of storm season, so I'm told – but she never stopped bleeding and died a few days later. I never knew her, and never knew who, among my fellow slaves, had been my father either. He chose not to make himself known to me.

"The Master's daughter, Eloisa, named me Grace, but to everybody else, I was just The Runt. She kept me until I was nearly six, then she began courting the son of a neighbouring plantation owner, and she was encouraged to set aside childish things, myself included. So I was returned to the bosom of my brethren, with whom I now had nothing in common except the colour of my skin. Eloisa had taught me to speak proper English, and I had the vocabulary and manners of a true Southern Belle, while my brothers and sisters spoke exotic languages from far away, using Creole as their common tongue. They knew and whispered the old religions, I knew only Christianity until that point. It was a tradition among the slaves of our plantation to secretly give their children an African name in addition to the one chosen by the Master – I had been given no such name, and nor was one offered me. My diminutive stature went against me from the start – if daily yields were down, I was blamed as the weak link. On cold winter nights, when the women and children huddled together in the draughty shed, I was left on the edge, shivering and alone.

"Once Eloisa left to get married, nobody even called me Grace anymore. I became known as simply The Runt. Every undesirable and dangerous job came my way – if a knotty boll jammed our ancient cotton-gin, The Runt had to crawl in to clear it. When the Master's favourite dog fell into the latrine, The Runt was thrown in to get him out. Nobody helped me out afterwards – I nearly drowned that day, then was wracked for days afterwards by a terrible sickness.

"When I was about eleven, a wonderful ray of light came into my life, called Nate. The Master's ancient stable-hand, inherited from his father, had a stroke and was too weak to work, so Nate was bought from another plantation. He was known to have a gift with horses, and he did not disappoint. When the old stable-hand died, Nate took up his lodgings in the stable. Mucking out the sty next to the stable was one of my morning duties, and for several weeks, he would pause in his own work to watch me.

"Then, one day, he spoke to me. All he did was ask my real name, and reward my shy response with a kind smile, but from that moment, I was head-over-heels in love. His fondness for me soon became apparent, too – he was, after all, only three or four years older than me – and we became fast friends. That hour or so that I spent every morning mucking out became a life-line to me. Sometimes, at night, I would sneak out of the women's shed and make my way over to the stables. We would lay together in the hay-loft and talk together. Nothing untoward ever happened – this was the eighteen hundreds – but Nate was a great dreamer, and he laid out his plans for us. As a talented stable-hand, his work often impressed visitors to the plantation – he could calm a stressed beast in seconds, remove foreign bodies from sore hooves in a heart-beat, and locate and soothe any source of lameness – regularly earning a penny from the grateful rider, which he stowed religiously.

"A change was coming, he would tell me. In the north, there was whispering that slavery was not such an acceptable state of affairs; there were white men who believed that human beings, even black ones, were not live-stock. And there was talk of unrest, and acts going through congress to make slavery unlawful. One day, he promised me, we would have our freedom. Either it would be granted from the north, or he would buy it with his savings. Either way, he would take me away, marry me, and we would find paid work with some rich gentleman farmer in the north. He would tend the animals, I would work the kitchen, and our children would be born to freedom."

I pause, savouring the vague, human memory of his warm, musky arms around me, his breath tickling my ear as he wove his fantasies in his gentle, gravelly Creole. I glance at Edward, suddenly conscious he might see my memories. He meets my eye and blinks slowly once – he will not betray these private thoughts.

"Of course, none of this came to pass," I go on. "I was approaching my teen years, and the Master was waiting for me to reach woman-hood, when I could be sold to another plantation."

I remember how, like live-stock, the local planters liked to keep our gene-pool carefully varied. Since the trade routes with Africa had been suspended, and fresh slaves illegal and therefore hard to come by, they managed their 'stock' by selling the female children when they reached puberty. I don't know my exact birth date, and there's a simple reason for that. The date was left blank on female birth certificates on our plantation. The Master would wait for our first menses; that date was recorded on the birth certificate, counted back sixteen years. Then we would be sold, as a sixteen year old, as a wife for another slave on another farm. In that way, girls as young as thirteen were becoming mothers. I have no idea whether this was a wide-spread practice, but it was the fate awaiting me, if other things hadn't intervened.

"But the Master was becoming impatient," I continue. "I reached thirteen, still with the stature of a child, not a developing woman, then my fourteenth was fast approaching, and still nothing. He was beginning to think I would be barren and therefore useless – he would be unable to sell me, and I would be too small to carry out the work of the other women. I did not like the way he glowered at me when he watched me work. In the past, unsatisfactory workers had mysteriously disappeared; lame slaves had unexpectedly died; I became afraid a similar end was planned for me. After all, a runt pig, if it could be nurtured to a couple of months old, made for a small but tasty meal. I could not even be of that much use, it seemed. The safest thing for me, I decided, was to be wherever the Master was not."

For a few moments I fall silent, the vaguely remembered human fears coming back to me. The strongest of them involves Nate. It's a memory too painful and too private to share, especially not with Edward, so I picture a wall as he has instructed me. But to make sure he keeps to his side of the bargain, I picture razor-wire on top, an un-subtle reminder of the white hot pain awaiting him if he does pry. I meet his eyes, and he blinks slowly again. Message received and understood.

I remember how terrified I was that some terrible 'accident' would befall me, or worse, that the Master would sell me even though I was too small, and I would be taken from Nate and put in the hands of some stranger. I couldn't stomach the thought of any man but him being my husband. While the other women and children slept, I tossed and turned and worried until I could bear it no longer and crept from the shed in search of Nate.

It was very late, really the small hours of the morning, and he was soundly asleep as I crawled into the hay beside him, crying silently. After a while, he awoke. Wordlessly, he wiped my tears away and drew me into his arms. I don't know why, we had always been so chaste, but suddenly, he was kissing me hungrily, and I responded with equal fervour. When we broke apart, I asked him what it would be like, to be given to a husband. For a long moment he just stared, horror-struck, then understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes. He pulled me closer and pushed his face into my shoulder. His breath became ragged, and I realised he was crying, too.

This had been our last night together, sobbing in each other's arms, the un-nameable fear hanging silently over us.

I come back to myself, and glance around the room. The others are waiting patiently for me to continue. It's time to tell them how I became a vampire. After all, hiding from one fate was what had led me to the other.

"It was harvest time again, and after mucking out duties, I went down to join the others, picking cotton."

I needed to stay as far from the Master as I could, so I made my way down through the rows so that I was furthest from the scales, where the white workers weighed and bagged and tallied our haul under the Master's watchful eye. Then Saul and Joseph, two burly, taciturn slaves, would heave the bags onto the cart. When the cart was full, it would be Nate's job to hitch up the two cart-horses and lead them to the cotton-gin. Usually, I would find some excuse to approach the scales when Nate arrived, but not today. I saw him scan the field for me, and kept my head down. I could not afford to draw attention to myself while the Master was there beside him.

"As always, we had a race against time – the rains were coming and the crop had to be in, so we worked well into the night, the cotton bolls gleaming white in the moonlight. The row I was in would have been a poor choice ordinarily – it had already been worked once, so all the bolls within easy reach were gone, and I was on my knees, reaching far in for the lower bolls that taller eyes had missed. My knees were raw on the stony ground, my back ached from stretching, my arms were scratched and bleeding, but I continued feverishly, a silent prayer on my lips that I was far from the Master's eye and should be spared whatever horrors he had in store for me.

"And that was when he came – a pale, slim stranger with translucent skin and a gentle, musical voice."

I pause and sigh.

"You know what happened next – I should have screamed and run back to the others, but his voice captivated me, and I stood transfixed as he appeared to glide down the row toward me. He placed his cold hand on my cheek and I shuddered, but his cool, sweet breath washed over me, rendering me completely helpless so that when he swept me up in his arms and began to run, I fell into a stupor, powerless to resist.

"He took me far into the hills to a disused hut. I know now that he bit me, injected me with his venom and left me. But at the time, all I knew was the pain and fear. When I opened my eyes to my new existence, he was gone.

"I don't know how, maybe I subconsciously followed my own trail, but I found my way back to the plantation. Nate was not there, so I crept into the stables and up into the hay-loft to wait for him. It was dark; surely he would be back soon to sleep. The horses seemed agitated beneath me, and I wondered what was wrong with them. They smelt funny, and I couldn't understand why, but that fragrance was making me unbearably thirsty.

"Then Nate entered, with the Master just behind him, looking for me. I listened to their conversation while I hid in the loft above.

"Non, Met," Nate was saying, his voice more beautiful to me than ever. "Grace is not here. She is good girl. Som-tin bad hap-pen to her, I know it."

"Well, if I find she's hidin' down here with you, you'll both get a whuppin,' do I make myself clear?" the Master answered.

"Wi, Met." Yes, Master.

"And git those horses quiet!" I noted Nate's baleful scowl at the Master's retreating back – he clearly suspected the Master was the reason for my disappearance. Nate would certainly have thought the Master was the cause of the 'som-tin bad.' Then he was alone, and - "

I pause again, remembering how I had swept down the stairs, planning to throw myself into his arms and beg for his help. His relieved expression as I emerged from the hay turned to one of disbelief then horror, for the moment I got to within a few feet of him, his scent struck me a physical blow, a thirst erupting in my throat the like of which I had never before experienced. Before I even knew what was happening, I fell upon my Nate and drank him dry.

My eyes meet Edward's again, and his expression seems to match my own agony. I glance at Bella, wondering how he had managed to keep her from the same fate. He grimaces at me in response.

Esme pats my leg, soothingly. "You fed, didn't you?" she whispers. "You couldn't help it. You were alone; you had no idea what you had become."

"But he was the one person who would have helped me, and now he lay dead in my arms," I tell her. "Barely aware of my new strength, I cradled him like a baby to my chest and bore him away across the fields and back into the hills. All the time, I sobbed and wailed and cursed the ancient spirits, especially Baron Samedi and Legba, who had sent the strange white Bokor – our name for a Voodoo priest - to make me into a Zombie and have me commit this terrible evil, maybe as a punishment for not knowing my ancestors and revering them as I should. Then I cursed the Christian God and the very ground His Son had walked upon, for surely they should have protected me from this demon?

"At last I was spent, and I lay under a tree, shielded by long tendrils of Spanish moss, still hugging Nate's body, and closed my eyes, awaiting sleep that never came. The sun was rising in the east when I came to the decision that I must kill myself to be free of the Bokor's power. Then I would lie next to Nate as my life ebbed, and hope for one last glimpse of his beautiful soul and the chance to beg his forgiveness before the Devil took me.

"I felt around for the sharpest flint I could find, and, steeling myself against the pain, drew it along my inner arm from my elbow to my wrist. To my amazement, my flesh did not yield – there was no pain, no blood, not even a scratch!

"I rummaged through Nate's clothing and found the small blade he kept and plunged it into my stomach. I felt the pressure of the blade, and pushed with all my might, but it could not puncture my skin. By now the sun was high in the sky, and I stepped out from the shade of the tree to rail at it – and stopped to stare in wonder, for of course, my skin reflected the sun as though I were bathed in gold-dust.

"For a long time, I was hypnotised by my own beauty and could not move. Then, a movement in the corner of my eye broke the spell, and I saw, to my horror, that the Master on horse-back, with Saul and Joseph running alongside, were heading straight for me. They must have seen the gleam in the distance and come to investigate. I tried to shrink back under the shade of the tree, but it was too late. The two burly slaves charged me with a roar of triumph, but I was too strong for them. As they bore me aloft, I placed my hands one on each head and cracked them together, rendering them unconscious. The horse shied and threw the Master, but I was barely aware of him until I had finished feeding on the other two. His spine was broken, so he could not get away from me. He saw what I did to his two best slaves, knew what was coming for him, but he was courageous and showed no fear. When I dropped Joseph's corpse on top of Saul's, and turned my attention to him, he said, 'I'll be waiting for you in Hell. The Devil's got nothin' on what I got planned for you, girl.'

"He didn't get a chance to elaborate, for, in the grip of blood frenzy, I fell upon him too, and sent him the same way as the others. Then, I sat and wept again, huge tearless sobs, for I knew that suicide was no longer an option for me – I was far too afraid of death now that I knew who was waiting for me. I feared the Master far more than I did the Devil. I crawled back under the tree and tried to cuddle against Nate but it was no use – in the heat of the day, his body had begun to decay. To my new heightened senses, the smell quickly became unbearable, and I knew he was truly gone.

"I decided to bury Nate and the other slaves under the tree. I found a rock and began to dig. With my new-found strength, this was no more difficult than a spade through newly-ploughed soil, and I soon had three graves prepared. I laid Saul and Joseph first, then took Nate into my arms one last time before I laid him to rest. Once they were properly interred, I found a small, straggly handful of wild flowers to place over Nate's mound. I remained by his side until darkness fell then I turned away for the final time and walked into the night, dragging the Master's body behind me for a short distance before leaving it for the coyotes.

"I wandered aimlessly for hours before I came to rest beneath a tree. I was lost, afraid, grieving and the most alone I had ever been when the Bokor at last came upon me. At first, his face was gentle and full of concern. He had been so worried when he returned to the hut and found me missing, he said. He had feared for my safety, wandering alone and unprotected, and was so relieved to find me safe. I didn't have the will left to run, so I allowed him to approach, place his hands on the sides of my face and gaze into my eyes.

'I see you have already learned how to feed,' he told me.

'I couldn't help it,' I sobbed.

'It's all right,' he soothed, 'it's your nature now. You are a hunter like me; man is your prey and his blood is your sustenance.' He put his arms around me and drew me to him.

'Am I not undead then?' I asked. In that moment, cradled in his arms with his sweet scent and his perfect marble skin and his beautiful, angelic voice, I began to doubt that he could be the witch I had thought him to be. Bokors, for all their magic, were human after all, invoking the spirits to do their will. This creature seemed far more ethereal.

'My name is Reuben,' he informed me. 'I am a vampire. Do you know what that is?' I shook my head. 'We are children of the night. We possess superior speed, strength, intellect – '

'We?' I interrupted. 'Who else is there?'

'Well, there's you. I have created you. You are a vampire, like me. And we have a family – a brother - I will take you to him when you are ready.'

'No,' I whispered, shaking my head. 'I don't want to be like you. I don't want to join your family. Why did you do this?'

Reuben sounded genuinely hurt by my response.

'I have given you a great gift,' he told me firmly. 'I do not give my gift lightly. You will come with me, I will teach you.'

'But I don't understand,' I insisted. 'I'm just a slave. Not even a good slave – they call me The Runt. Why choose me for this so-called 'gift' of yours?'

'You're not a slave now. You're free. You'll live with us and be part of our family.'

"I pondered this for several moments. This Reuben, this vampire, whatever that meant – remember, I understood only God and the Devil, and the spirit world the Creoles among us spoke of – had set me free. But at what cost? I had murdered the one person who had ever promised me freedom. My dream of freedom had been entirely dependent upon Nate being there with me. Without him, it was worthless – how could this Reuben claim I was free, without my Nate by my side? And something further occurred to me. His 'gift' was to blame – he had made me this blood-drinking creature – he had caused Nate's death as surely as if I had been a Zombie and he my controlling Bokor!

"Then the most terrible rage overcame me, the like of which I had never before experienced. I turned on Reuben, and, snarling like some wild animal, I crushed his skull to dust in my hands."

I look around at the others, suddenly worried I have said too much.

"What's the matter?" Carlisle asks me. When I don't answer straight away, he looks at Edward.

"It's okay, Grace," Edward says. "We're not here to judge you."

"I just told you I killed one of our kind."

Jasper leans across Alice, and to my astonishment, he winks at me!

"I've killed hundreds! And they didn't all have it coming like this Reuben."

"What happened then?" Alice presses, after giving her mate a disapproving frown.

"Well, not much. I fled, leaving his twitching, headless body behind me. I ran even deeper into the hills and for many months all I did was to hide by day and wander by night, too mad with grief to have any kind of plan. It was during this time, when I hadn't encountered a human for weeks and the thirst was becoming unbearable, that a mountain lion attacked me. Naturally, I defended myself, and that was when I learned that human blood was not the only sustenance available."

By now, my voice has faded to almost nothing, and my throat is hoarse and quite painful. I also feel a strange, drooping sensation that I can't explain, even to myself. It's as though I can't hold my head up any more, so I lay it against Esme's shoulder and close my eyes. I hear the sofa creak, and Carlisle's hands are over my wrists.

"Grace? Whatever's the matter?"

I lift my head, force my eyes open and find myself staring straight into his face, which is frowning with concern. He caresses my cheek and feels my forehead as though trying to take my temperature.

"She's tired," Jasper announces, sounding surprised.

Yes. Tired. That sounds about right. It's not something vampires should feel though. We never weaken, never tire, never sleep. This tiredness is a worrying development. What's wrong with me?

Carlisle looks thoughtful, then sets my head back against Esme's shoulder.

"I think that's enough story-telling for now," he decides. "You're still healing. You clearly need more rest to allow that to happen. You stay here with Esme, Edward and I will make your room ready."

"I'll come, too," Alice announces, jumping up.

When they are gone, Esme shifts, and I find myself being laid across her lap with my head cradled on her left arm. Jasper lifts my feet onto the sofa. He squeezes my ankle gently, then, murmuring something about helping Alice and not letting her go overboard, he's gone.

"Can you tell me one more thing?" asks Bella, from the arm-chair.

"Mmm?"

"Why did you bury Saul and Joseph? Why not leave them out for the coyotes like your Master? It's not as though they ever showed you any kindness."

"Can't you guess?" Esme answers for me. "One of those men may have been her father."