IRELAND, 1146

As children, Oisin and Etain imagined that the boulder was the thumb of a buried giant. They'd spent many days trying to wake him up. Etain pressed her ear to the forest floor. She held her breath. Once, she thought she'd heard the giant snoring.

"What are you doing?" said Cian, laying beside her. He was afraid, and confused, and trying not to be. So was Etain.

"Listening for giants," she whispered. "That is his thumb right there."

Cian's eyes slid to the boulder. "How did he get here?"

"Who knows?" said Etain. "Mayhaps the gods buried him a long, long time ago."

"Hush," hissed Mamai. She looked sharply to Etain. Her face was pale and drawn with worry, but even now, she would not tolerate sacrilege. Papai was the one who told the old stories, of fairies and magic, the same stories his parents used to tell him. He'd only converted so Mamai would marry him, but sometimes Etain caught him leaving offerings for the old gods. He'd named her for the great goddess of love and fertility, the rider of horses, and he had named Oisin after the legendary warrior.

Only he had gotten it wrong. Oisin was no warrior. Oisin was gentle as a lullaby, more like the poet than the soldier, and he was out there somewhere now, fighting for them with only farm tools, while the Normans had swords and iron-plated armor. The forest turned a deep purple as twilight gathered around them. They had been waiting for hours.

Etain leapt to her feet. "We should help them," she said.

"We stay here," said Mamai. "Or do you expect the children to take up swords?"

Etain glanced at the little ones gathered around Aurelia. They all looked back at her with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard enough about the invaders to know there was danger even if they did not understand it. She looked to her sister, six months gone with yet another babe, and knew that Aurelia could not fight, and despite all of Mamai's strength, she was an aging woman. What use were they to the men? What use were they to anyone?

"Then I will go," Etain declared.

Mamai blocked her path. "Fool of a girl," she said, "No one is going anywhere."

Etain glared at her mother. She could not wait here any longer. She could not hide while her brothers and father were cut down. It did not matter that she was only a girl. Her fear hardened into rage. Who were these strangers to come to her home, her country, and try to steal it away? What right did they have? She would not cower in the woods while they killed the ones she loved, her twin, the vein of her heart.

"You may be content to let them die," said Etain, "I am not."

The slap came without warning. Etain's head snapped to the side. Aurelia gasped. Niamh ceased crying. Not even the birds sang. There was only silence, heavier than an axe, and again Etain sensed they were not alone. Someone was watching.

She faced her mother. "I hate you," she said, giving voice to the words long bottled up inside of her. "I hate you more than anything."

Now it was Mamai who looked as if she'd been struck. She did not try to stop Etain as she darted past. "No, do not go!" cried Aurelia. "Etain! Etain!"

Soon, she could no longer hear Aurelia calling her. She did not notice the shadow following her through the trees.

Eric is sleeping now. He looks troubled, to most he would look dead, but I've spent centuries studying his face and I know it well, better than my own perhaps. I know the depth of his loyalty to our Maker. It goes beyond that of the normal bond between parent and progeny. I used to envy their closeness, the trust they had in one another, the family they made for themselves. I did not feel myself to be one of them for many, many years. I grieved for my human family and could not imagine taking another. Ultimately, I had no choice. The blood is powerful, especially the blood of one so old as our Maker, and it binds us together even now.

I concentrate on the blood, feel it move like ice water through my veins, and I search for Godric, but I can't find him inside myself anymore. I don't know if it's because he doesn't want to be found or if he's gone from me. He can't be gone. My blood is still his. I should be able to sense him. I search deeper within and I can feel Eric- tangled up, angry, and afraid.

"Stop," murmurs Eric, eyes closed still. "Rest."

He is hardly resting. Why should I bother to try? I often stay awake during the day. It weakens me only temporarily and, to be truthful, I sometimes enjoy feeling weak. Those are the moments when I'm most human. Of course it hurts. Everything does.

I leave Eric be for now and stand by the shuttered window. I press both palms to the cool steel and imagine the sun's rays striking the other side. This is as close as I will ever come to sunlight again.

IRELAND, 1146

Etain burst free of the violet forest into the bronze cast of the setting sun. She paused only to tie her skirt and petticoat about her waist, so she could run more freely. She was swift as a deer. Her feet barely grazed the plowed earth of her father's fields as she ran. The shadow that had followed her through the woods was no longer with her. She felt no eyes now. She was alone, but she was not frightened. Her cheek stung where Mamai had slapped her. Let them cower in the woods as women are meant to do. Etain had never done what she was supposed to.

The sun was a bloody smear on the horizon now. She seemed to be running towards it, following the last of its light to her father and brothers, and possibly to the Normans themselves. She had never seen the fearsome warriors who came every few years from across the sea. She knew the stories well. They had raided nearby villages before and they left nothing but smoldering ash. Rumors she'd heard all her life that the invaders were fair-haired giants, fearless in battle and merciless, leapt about in her mind as her breath turned ragged.

Etain had no plan. Beyond finding her family, she knew not what she would do. She had no weapon. She had certainly scrapped with her brothers enough to know a thing or two about fighting, but she was no warrior. None of that mattered much to her. Death did not frighten her. She thought nothing of herself, only of Dadai and her brothers. Eamon, the oldest, was to be wed next spring. Fionn had only just begun shaving. She even thought of Aurelia's husband, who she resented for taking her sister away, though he was a kind and simple man. She swore she would never think ill of him again if only she could reach them in time.

I slither from the room just before the sun sets. Eric has finally fallen into the deep slumber of the dead. The hotel is silent as the grave at this hour. On my way to the lobby, I see one bellboy and no one else. He hugs the opposite wall as we pass. His eyes stay on the ground, even when he nods to me. He is a smart one, not like the bartender from last night. He's not a fang banger. He's young, trying to make a living for himself, and I am sure this establishment pays well. I glance back at the bellboy as he rounds the corner at the other end of the hall, thinking he might likewise steal a glance of me, but he doesn't.

"Good boy," I say, "Don't ever play with monsters."

The lobby is as empty as the corridors. A lone woman sits at reception. She's in her forties, trying to look younger, with an inch of make-up painted over her wrinkles and her hair dyed a vibrant red with nails to match. She smiles as I approach. Her perfume is choking from six feet away. Gardenias? No, lilac.

"Good morning," she chirps. "How can I help you?"

Now that I'm here, I realize I don't have a reason for coming. Can this woman erase my past? Can she find my Maker? Is there anything, anything at all, she can do for me? I realize I've been staring at her for minutes, but her smile has not faltered. "I'd like a case of Trueblood O neg delivered to room 466," I say. The receptionist nods. She enters something into the computer system.

"Of course," she says. "I'll have that sent up right away, Ms. Danahy. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No," I say, "No, thank you."

Eric is awake when I return to the room. He doesn't ask where I've been. I tell him anyway. Old habits. "I ordered some Trueblood."

"Hungry again so soon?" he says with a quick inspection of the blood soaked room.

"I thought you might be," I say. I can feel his turmoil, his impatience, in our shared blood. He's ready to go. "But I see you don't plan on staying long enough to break fast."

"I have some business to take care of," he says. "There's someone who might be able to aide in our search for Godric."

"A human?"

Eric frowns. He's keeping secrets from me. I can't blame him, but now is not the time for mistrust. "I've agreed to stay," I say. "I want to find Godric as quickly as possible, if only to be done with this, so you had better tell me everything you know, brother."

Eric considers for a moment. He looks deep into my eyes and I hold his shrewd icy gaze. "There's a woman," he says, "a waitress in Bon Temps. I don't know what she is, but she possesses certain gifts that have proven useful in the past."

"What sort of gifts?"

"Telepathy," says Eric. "She can't be glamored."

I can't help smiling. Clearly, this waitress is a thorn in his side. The fact that he can't control her is maddening to him. I'm not surprised. He's always wanted most what he couldn't have.

"I'm eager to meet this woman," I say.

"Don't be too eager," says Eric. "She belongs to another."

"Who?"

"William Compton."

I purse my lips as I quickly flip through my expansive memory in search of a face to the name. It is not familiar to me. "And while you're gone to fetch this waitress, shall I remain here?"

Eric nods.

"To do what?" I say.

"You're resourceful," says Eric, grinning at me like he used to. "I don't need to instruct you, dear sister. You've always been a better detective than me."

Again, I find myself matching his smile without meaning to. "Go," I say, "before I change my mind."

Eric pauses at the door. He turns to me for a final time. "You will be here when I return?" he says.

"I will be here," I say. I mean it now, in this moment, but who knows what the next moment will bring? Eric seems assured for now. I do not trust myself quite so much.

Eric has only been gone a few hours and I've decided to break my promise to him. It only took a phone call and five minutes to book a flight to Louisiana and another five minutes to call the number on the business card Eric left on the bedside table. The card, of course, was to a vampire-owned company that specializes in cleaning vampire messes. I'm sure they're not approved by the VRA and, despite what I said last night about wanting nothing from Eric, if I'm to remain here for awhile then it's better not to leave any crime scenes.

Now, lying in my travel coffin, hundreds of miles above ground, I consider what Eric is hiding. I did my research before returning to the States. I know of his promotion to Sheriff of Area 5. He's done well for himself. Louisiana is prime territory, especially since we introduced ourselves to the public. I am not surprised by my brother's rise of position and fortune. He's never craved power as our younger sister Nora, but power seems to crave him.

Where is Nora? I expected her to be here. She wasn't in Dallas. I would have felt her presence. Perhaps she had her own falling out with our Maker? It's hard to imagine. She always groveled at his feet. He doted on her, his last child, and I admit that I was jealous. I did not always treat Nora as I should have. By the time she joined our family, I had forgotten how to love as a sister.

There is so much I left unmended when I disappeared, enough that I am afraid to be here, but I did not come to prick myself on the thorns of regret. If I do this for Eric, then I can say I've paid my debts. I have no intention of seeing Godric once he's found. I will go and I will stop looking backwards. I will disappear to somewhere Godric does not know, if such a place exists.

My thoughts roll over and I am back to the barmaid. The one whom Eric thinks could be useful. I have never known him to place such value and respect on a human life. It was clear when he spoke of her that he feels something for this human that not even he is sure of. He does not want me to know anymore about her than he deems necessary. But why? What is so special about this barmaid? Telepathy is a rare gift in humans, but not so rare that most vampire kings and queens do not have a retinue on hand. Surely Eric could have borrowed any one of them. Unless he does not want to draw attention to Godric's absence.

The plane touches down. I'm jolted in my coffin. Soon enough, I will sniff out my brother's secrets.