On September 7th, Lucy was not my Lucy.

The first thing I noticed was the roses, however faded, were back, and her hair had some more shine, and her skin was brighter. Either she was closer to death than I had envisioned, or something else was the matter. The second thing I noticed was that she tasted different. Ordinary, she tasted the way watermelons smell, but then she had a bitter flavor, kind of like coffee.

"Ugh!"

Lucy's eyes opened faintly. "Hmm?"

I shook my head, and doing so I noticed her arm. The sleeve was pushed back a little, showing a bruise and vaccination mark. I reached over, took her wrist, and looked at it. "Lucy, what is this?"

"My cure?"

"What is it?"

She looked unable to comprehend why I was obsessing over this. "A needle mark," she said slowly. "A doctor arrived today. He gave me a blood transfusion. He said it would make me healthier. It is. I'm feeling better. That's good . . . isn't it?"

This was no ordinary doctor. He knew what was happening to her. "What was his name?"

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Van . . . something. H-something. Herring . . . Helping . . . Helsing! That's it. Dr. Abraham Van Helsing."

My jaw must have hit the floor, because Lucy said, "What?"

It amazes me how often Lucy is the bearer of bad news, and how often she is unaware of it. I bore my teeth in what was supposed to be a smile. "Nothing. Dr. Van Helsing and I are . . . acquainted."

"You are? Really? You know what a nice man he is, then."

"Oh yes." The smile was getting harder to keep in place. "We have history."

"Oh good!"

"Mmhmm."