"—Can't take her. There's way too much shit going down today, buddy. There's nothing we can do."

Greta cracked open one eye, then shut it again immediately. A fluorescent light was glaring directly into her face. So, she was indoors. Were they back at the hotel? Back from where? Her thoughts tumbled and rolled around in her head, none of them willing to sit still long enough for her to grab hold of them. Her body was uncomfortably warm. She moved her arm and realized why—she was wrapped in a large, stiff blanket. Confused, she turned her head slightly in the direction of the voices and tried to make out what was going on.

Two people in torn, bloody clothes, a man and a woman, were arguing with a policeman behind a desk. A quick look at the various signs and badges on the wall told Greta that she was, in fact, in a police station. But why?

"She's a minor, you've got to take her! Her family was in the attack on the cathedral!" The woman thrust a finger towards Greta. They were talking about her, then. Still, why?

"If they're alive, they'd be in a hospital. Why didn't you take her there first?"

"We tried! St. Vincents, Bellevue— they all told us the same thing. The ERs are swamped, there's no way they could ID all the victims so soon. They told us to come here to try and get a room for her until her parents are found.

Attack on the cathedral? Her family? A thousand images swarmed into Greta's head at once— red snow, the exploding head of the cardinal, blood oozing from her father's mouth, the Freak who'd shot him leering down at her after he'd done it— She sucked in a breath of air and squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the stinging tears behind her lids.

"Lady, I'm telling you there ain't a room left in any ward or orphanage from here to Staten Island. You leave her here, I'm not guaranteeing a thing. They'll probably send her off to New Jersey, and good luck finding her again if that happens. System's worse over there than it is here."

"No. We won't do that."

The speaker was the man— he was the one who'd thrown her under the stage! Nate, that's what his name was.

"Nate, we don't have much choice." Said the woman. "Where else can we take her?"

"You heard what he said, we can't just leave her here! I left the system for a reason, and I doubt things have improved much in the last ten years."

"It's only for a few days!"

"Not if it's what we expect—what happened to them, I mean."

"They'll contact her relatives. Even without a passport she should still be in the fingerprint ID system. It will only take them a week at most."

"A week, hah!" The policeman interjected, "You have any idea how many stiffs they've gotta tag at the hospital morgue? It's one system for the whole city, lady, and you gotta think of the lag this attack's gonna put on it. If the hospital's as packed as you said it is, then you're looking at a two, three weeks at best."

The woman gave the policeman a dark look.

"See, Seras?" Nate said.

Seras. Seras in the blue dress. She was the one with the gun who'd saved her. She'd done something strange after that, but Greta couldn't remember what it was.

"Well what do you want me to do, Nate? We can't take her ourselves—"

He slapped his thigh. "That's it! Of course we can!"

"What? Nate, how can we? We aren't…I don't think having a child in our house would be a good idea."

"Hey, we'll deal with it. You can't honestly tell me you want to leave this girl with him, do you?" He jerked his head toward the policeman.

"No, but—Nate, it will be…difficult."

"Seras, come on. It's not like you haven't done this sort of thing before."

"Don't even try and compare your situation to this. You were entirely different, and you know—For God's sake, stop giving me that look! Oh, fine, we'll take the girl."

"Works for me," The policeman said. "Sign this release form and when someone comes looking for her, you'll be the first to know. You said she hasn't got a passport or anything, but at least we know she's not a Freak. When she comes round see if you can get a city, an address, all that stuff. Worse comes to worse, we'll call up what ever embassy she belongs to and get her on a plane home."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Seras muttered as she pressed her thumb on the ID box of the release form screen.

Nate grinned and turned, and for a reason Greta couldn't see, the policeman jerked and reached for his gun.

"Relax," Nate said. "I'm registered." He produced an ID and flashed it to the cop. The latter grunted, but didn't relax.

The policeman looked at the screen. "Hey, you live in that house by the Park, don't you? That's one nice place you got there; me and the wife always talk about it when we walk past."

"Thank you." She said.

His voice sobered. "Well, your information checks out," He said. "But I'm not turning over this kid to one of them." He looked pointedly at Nate.

"You're not turning her over to one of them, you're turning her over to me. And even if he was the one applying for the child, I'd love for you to point me to the law that says he can't."

"Laws don't know shit. All I know is, we're the natural part of this world and those—"

Seras leaned forward and whispered something to the policeman. When she drew back he said, "Fine," And stared blankly at a spot on the wall.

"Let's go," She said to Nate.

They both approached Greta. She pulled the blanket around herself tighter and stared at them with wide, glistening eyes.

"Oh, she's awake!" Seras knelt next to her and took her hand. "Hey there, sweetie," She said. "My name's Seras Victoria; this man over here is Nate Cawlson. I don't know if you remember, but we helped you back at the plaza—?"

Greta nodded slowly.

"Oh, good. Well, we're going to take care of you for a little while until the police find your parents. Is that okay?"

Greta looked straight into her eyes. "Are my parents dead?"

Seras seemed taken aback, but she quickly recovered. She shook her head and squeezed Greta's hand gently.

"I don't know, sweetie. We have to see."

"I want my mommy," Greta mumbled.

"I know you do. We'll do our best to find her—what is your name, sweetie?"

"Greta. Greta Fergus." She said.

"Well then, Greta, are you ready to go?"

Greta possessed neither the energy nor the will to move from the bench she was lying on. So, Nate scooped her into his arms and carried her outside, where a sleek navy blue sedan was parked. He put Greta in the back and Seras joined her, leaving him to drive.

The stark beauty of the New York City skyline was lost on Greta. Things were happening too fast. Looking down, she saw that her frilly white dress was caked in dirt and blood. Her stockings were torn, and she'd lost one of her new shoes. There was a Band-Aid over her knee, and now that she'd noticed it, her knee burned in a way that told her she'd scraped it.

"Where are you from? England?"

The speaker was Seras. Greta continued to stare at her feet.

"Yes," She said. "How did you know?"

Seras smiled. "It's the accent. What city?"

"Manchester."

"I used to live in England myself," Said Seras. "But I never went to Manchester. It was always too far from London for my tastes. Is it nice?"

"Uh huh."

"That's good."

A pause. Then:

"Thank you," Greta said.

"What?"

"Thank you for saving me at the church."

"Oh! Oh, you don't have to thank me, I was glad to do it. Had to give 'em the old one-two, as the saying goes."

Greta forced a smile; Seras seemed relieved.

"We'll try and make you comfortable for as long as you stay," She continued. "I promise, you— well."

She hesitated, then said, "I promise we'll do our best to get you home."

Greta perked slightly. "And my parents?"

"We'll see."

"Oh. Alright."

Her brief spike in mood dwindled away. Greta drifted into a fretful sleep.

- - -

"Hey."

Greta whimpered.

"Hey, sweetie. Wake up. We're here."

Greta opened her eyes and stretched as best she could while still being strapped to the seat. Seras came around and opened the door. Greta unbuckled herself and clambered out onto the polished sandstones.

They were in the driveway of a small Tudor manor, complete with ivy scaling the sidewalls and flamboyant architectural details all around. The part of the front yard that hadn't been taken up by the S-curve of the drive had been divided into little patches of flowers. On the far left, a few yards away from the wrought-iron fence separating the house from the sidewalk, was an enormous oak tree. In the shade of it was a stone bench, and Greta was fairly sure she spied a pond before that.

"It's beautiful!" She said.

"Thank you." Said Seras. "I'm glad you like it."

Greta continued to marvel at the grounds. The yards where she lived were nothing more than little strips of grass lined by dying marigolds and poppies. There were too many buildings in Manchester for people to have land this size, and the few that did lived well into the country.

Nate drove the car onto the large rack plate next to the house. He flipped the switch adjacent to the plate and the car sank down into the basement, then doors painted to match the sandstone driveway closed over the hole left in the plate's absence.

He twirled the keys once around his finger, winked at Greta, then thumped up the stairs into the house.

"Come on, Greta. I'll show you around," Seras said.

Greta bowed her head briefly, then quietly followed Seras.

The front hallway of Seras's house was polished mahogany from ceiling to floor. Photos of Seras with a boy a few years older than Greta lined the left wall, eventually giving way to photos of the same boy, much older, at various ceremonies and graduations.

"Mr. Cawlson—"

"Ugh. Nate, please, I hate that name."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, don't get upset! Hey, you can call me Mr. Cawlson if it makes you more comfortable."

"No. It's okay. Mr. Nate, are those pictures of you on the wall?"

He looked. "Oh, yeah. Those are from back when I was a kid. And those over there are me in high school and college."

"Oh."

"Greta, do you need anything? Are you hungry, thirsty?" Asked Seras.

"Can I have a glass of water, please?"

"Alright. I'll take you to the kitchen. Nate, go prepare a room for Greta. I need to speak with you when you're done."

"What for?"

Seras gave him a Look, one that Greta had had directed at her many times by her own mother and one that she was certain most people had to obey.

"Yeah, sure." Nate muttered, and he walked down the hall to what Greta assumed to be the living room, then rounded the corner and disappeared.

"It's really dark in here," Greta said, once Seras had shown her to the table.

"What? Oh, yes. We keep the blinds down during the day."

"Why?"

Seras put the water glass down in front of Greta, then she looked towards the ceiling and scratched the top of her ear.

"Well, you know— We're kind of under a bunch of buildings here, so there's not really all that much light."

"But if you opened the blinds, wouldn't that still be better?"

Again, Seras's odd smile crawled onto her lips. "I suppose so. Perhaps I should do that from now on."

Greta sensed that Seras, who didn't seem happy with her to begin with, now liked her even less. She finished her water in guilty silence, and was relieved when Nate returned and announced:

"The room's ready. You done there, Greta? Let's go."

They climbed the stairs to the second story. The second story hallway was shaped like a short, rounded T, with the bottom going back into the wall and the top stretching out over the living room like a balcony. Greta's bedroom was the last room at the bottom of the T, and it was nearest to, as far as Greta could see, the only open window in the house.

Nate opened the door. "What're you waiting for? Go on in."

Greta stepped into the room. She glanced over it, once, then she gasped with delight and cautiously approached the large, plush bed in the middle of the room. She patted it with her hand and the comforter sank immediately; it was filled with goose feathers. She looked up and saw an armoire taller than she was on the opposite side of the bed. She ran her fingers over the delicate carvings of flowers on its doors, then her attention was drawn by the more reasonably sized vanity on the far wall. Its mirror was only a little taller than she, and on the surface of the table were all kinds of little perfume vials that had been shoved into a pile. She turned to Nate, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Is this really my room?" She asked.

"Sure thing. Have fun, kid."

Greta squealed and started to clamber onto the bed.

"Ah, wait a minute! Maybe you want to change out of those clothes first?" Then, a little lower, "Please?"

Now Greta remembered the state of her dress. She picked at the furry fringes of her white puff coat and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine. I'll—find you an old T-shirt of mine to wear, just wait here."

He returned three minutes later bearing a dark grey shirt with a smiley face outlined in blue on the front, with the words, "I thought what I'd do was, I'd pretend I was one of those deaf mutes." in a ring around it. The shirt color made his eyes stand out, she thought. They were a light, almost filmy sort of purple grey.

"Um…are you sick, Mr. Nate?" She asked as he handed her the shirt.

"Me? No, why?"

"Your eyes."

"Oh…"

He closed one eye and touched the lid. "It's a…condition. I guess you could say I'm sick, in a way."

He looked sad now, and again Greta regretted having spoken.

"Um, thank you for the shirt." She said, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah. You're welcome."

"Nate, are you done yet? I still need to speak with you!" Seras called from downstairs.

Nate ran out and leaned over the balcony railing.

"Hold on a minute, I'm coming!" He shouted.

He returned to the room, frowning and rubbing his hairline.

"This is going to end badly," He muttered. Then he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. Hey, Greta, I've got to go. Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything—and I'm not still being chewed out by that one," He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the kitchen, "Just yell down the stairs. I'll be up in a minute."

"Ms. Seras doesn't want me here, does she?"

"Hey now, no one said that. It's just that…she needs her space, sometimes."

"My mom used to say that to me, when she was upset."

"Did she?" He leaned over and patted her head. Greta flinched; his skin was tight and dry and it sounded like paper when he rubbed it over her bountiful brunette curls. He jerked his hand back and the sad expression came over his face once more.

"Give her a few days to get used to you." He said dully. "She'll be fine."

"Mr. Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think my mommy and daddy are okay?"

He sighed. "Honestly kid, I—"

"Nate!"

"Coming, coming!" He yelled. Then, to Greta, "Sorry kid, I've gotta go."

He left, closing the door behind him. Greta shrugged out of her clothes and put them in the laundry hamper next to the door, then she pulled on the shirt he'd given her. She tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing a stranger's clothes, and the fact that she was likely to trip on said clothes because they were about ten sizes too big for her.

She clambered into the bed and looked at the nightstand. An old-fashioned digital clock was there. It flicked, once, and the neon green display now showed four twenty-seven P.M.

Four hours ago they were still in the plaza. Her father was there, her mother and grandmother were on their way, and she was overjoyed to be in the United States for the first time in her life.

She rolled onto her stomach, clutched the pillow and began to sob loudly as the full impact of what had happened that day crashed over her in waves. She wore herself out, finally, and fell asleep, completely missing the argument that was gradually gaining volume downstairs.

- - -

"And what do you think she'll do when she realizes, Nate? Say, 'oh, you're both vampires? How neat!' and throw us a tea party? Oh, yes that's exactly it. 'How many meat chunks would you like with your blood, Mr. Nate, one or two?' "

"She's young." He muttered. "She might understand."

"For God sakes Nate, she just witnessed a Freak-run massacre in which her parents were very likely killed. Do you really think a child who's been through that sort of thing is just going to brush it off and live happily with the same sort of people who caused it?"

"There's always the chance—"

"—That she'll call the police and we'll both be in a hell of a lot of trouble. Our ID's aren't exactly accurate, you know, and we don't need to be doing anything that would give some nosy official a reason to investigate the fact that I have no documented history for the supposed twenty-three years of my life."

"I thought you had some forged? Isn't that how you got into the system in the first place?"

"No, all I had done was the basics. Name, age, residence, etcetera. And in your case, your record was in need of a little cleaning. The files look good on the outside, but if someone broke past the surface, they wouldn't find anything underneath. Nothing that would be good for us, at any rate."

"I can deal with it. You're the one who stands to lose something here." His tone contained no sympathy. Seras sighed, the lines of the impending argument already running through her head.

"Don't start that again, Nate, please. This isn't about that. I do what I do because I have to, because it's in their best interest. Mankind has enough to worry about without knowing there are real vampires running around."

"Even at the expense of your pride?"

"I'm not sacrificing my pride, I'm trying to survive. Let it go. Now, about the girl."

"She's only staying for a few weeks."

"She'll have noticed by then. Besides, what are we going to do with her? I sleep during the day and you don't usually wake up until one. And it's been well over eight years since I've had to cook anything."

"Yeah, you weren't very good at it then, either," Nate muttered.

"Good or not, I hope you were watching, because you're the one who's going to be doing it."

"What?"

"Which means you'll need to go to the grocery store sometime this evening. And the department store. Well, that can probably wait until tomorrow—"

"Department store?"

"To buy clothes for her. You do realize the only thing she has to wear is that dress, don't you?"

"I know! Have you seen that thing? I think it was a wreck before the whole plaza mess. I just didn't think—"

"—That you'd be the one doing the work? Hah! This was your idea, so if she's going to stay you're going to have to provide for her. Good luck with that, Mr. Mom."

"So you're letting her stay?"

"Well I don't have much choice, do I? I'm not going to turn the poor thing out on her ear, but I'm not going to pretend I'm happy about this either. This puts us in real danger, and you know there will be consequences, if it comes to that."

"We just have to get her to trust us," He said. "At least that way, when she does figure it out, it won't be too bad."

"With luck we won't have to wait that long. I'll be checking the status of her family with the police. If the news turns out to be bad, I'll have the hospital get in touch with her relatives. Everything should be fine from there."

"The police said that could take weeks."

"I know. But it's still worth trying."