Chapter 2
Ella

The door held up, just as they had hoped – no Slayer followed the vampires as they hurried through the tunnels and surfaced in their emergency home: a one-family house in the good parts of town. They tumbled into the living room, only four of them where the same evening there had been seven.

"Slayers!" Mr. Merriweather spat, as if the word hurt his mouth. "After all these years, Slayers in our own homes! My poor Sire would have turned in his grave. A good thing that they staked him when they did."

Ella wrinkled her nose. She had been feeling all tired and dreary after the fight, and she blamed it on losing the shop. It had been such a good place to rally, and even better for parties. "They were really strong, weren't they?"

"Slayers usually are," Jeremy scoffed. He sat down on the sofa, checking his arm. "Damn it, I think she broke it."

"The girl was a Slayer," Ella said, annoyed with the way Jeremy had spoken to her. He always treated her like an idiot. "The boy can't have been. Can he, Father? Did they make boy Slayers when they did that... spell?" That abomination, rather. To think of hundreds of Slayers all over the world – ptui!

"I don't think so," Mr. Merriweather assured her, smiling gently despite the grave situation. She had always been his favourite, ever since she was a human, and she knew just how to pull his strings. "He was probably just a Watcher, or perhaps some kind of... what's that word again? Ah yes, wannabe."

Ella made a grimace. Wannabe Slayers. How utterly pathetic.

"Why don't we just kill her?" Dean asked, baring his fangs. "A couple of quick bites, and so long Slayer?"

"Why don't we just kill you?" Ella countered with a sweet smile. "That'd go even quicker, and it wouldn't even attract any more Slayers to our home."

"Show your nephew some respect, Ella," Mr. Merriweather said. "He's just lost his mother."

That stung. Patience had been a valuable member of the family, and Ella was willing to bet she'd miss her a lot more than Dean would – he was really just a dumb kid with no thought in his head beyond the next meal. She was surprised he had survived and Patience hadn't. If she ever found that he'd escaped by putting his mom in harm's way, he'd better find himself a hell-god fast and start praying.

"Yes, father," she said reluctantly. You didn't argue with Mr. Merriweather.

"We're gonna need more people," Jeremy said. "She kicked our asses even when there were seven of us. Now we're four. That's not enough."

Mr. Merriweather thought about it for a while, and then nodded. "You're right. We're going to have to recruit. I suppose we can put word out on the street - it won't be the same as family, but everybody opposes the Slayer menace."

"That's not what I was talking about." Jeremy got off the sofa, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "That occultist bar downtown is full of humans. One night, and we have ourselves an army."

"Them?" Ella said, not believing her ears. "I'm sorry, were we not just on the subject of why wannabes are losers?"

"They'd be family," Jeremy pointed out.

"Family, my ass." Ella was raising her voice now, but only because none of the others would step up to tell Jeremy just how stupid his idea was. "I'm not sharing a home with some heads-in-the-clouds ex-humans who take their fashion statements from Hollywood."

"Oh, come off it! We're all ex-humans! We got over it."

"Some of us are a little more ex than others."

"I see." He nodded several times, his chin out. "It's the old 'I'm older than you, so I know everything' routine again, is it?"

"I don't have to know everything," she said sweetly. "I just have to know more than you."

"Children, please!" Mr. Merriweather protested. "I'll have none of this! We need to stand together now. Ella, I do think that Jeremy's idea may... have some merits."

Ella sat back down, pouting. She didn't argue, but she was very disappointed in her father. He usually showed much better sense than this, and the humans he chose usually had something going for them. The bare thought of calling those idiots in black lace her siblings made her nauseous.

"They're willing," Mr. Merriweather continued. "They're gathered together. Out of the dozens in that bar, there must be a few that could make passable vampires. At the very least, we could make some..." his mouth twitched in distaste, "...minions."

Ella couldn't stop a small, incredulous noise from escaping her lips. Her father had always hated the thought of creating minions. Always. Siring a vampire was serious business for him, not something to be undertaken because you needed servants.

The only explanation she could think of was that he was frightened out of his wits, and that frightened her. All the tales she had been told about Slayers came back to her mind. Multiply that with a hundred, two hundreds...

For the first time in over a century, she seriously feared for her unlife, and she remained quiet as the others made their plans on how to find the best humans and turn them.

She missed Patience, and Horace, and even Pearl a bit. One fight, and half her family were gone. That was what Slayers did to you. It was wise to fear them, to mount up... to sire children you wouldn't end up missing.

That didn't mean she had to like it.

"Will we do it tonight?" she asked.

Mr. Merriweather fished his watch out of his pocket – she had told him to get a wristwatch, but he was so old-fashioned in some ways. "Yes, I believe we should. The night is still young, and we have no time to waste."

"What if the Slayer raids the club?" She knew it was a ridiculous notion as soon as she said it – no vampire with any self-esteem would hang around such tacky places. It was the perfect spot to hit, in a way. If only it hadn't made her feel so dirty.

"That's settled, then," Mr. Merriweather said, ignoring her question. "I suggest we get ourselves prepared."

Ella obeyed, but with slow, dull movements, trying to postpone the demeaning moment as long as possible. On their way out the door, Mr. Merriweather touched her cheek and smiled at her.

"Don't you worry, my child," he told her. "We'll find you some suitable brothers and sisters."

She forced herself to smile back, even though she very much doubted that one night's hunting among needy humans would bring them anyone as fierce and glorious as Patience and Horace had been. It took more than innate talent to make such a creature, it took skill and experience honed over centuries.

"I will have to trust your taste in people, father," she said.

He put her arm around her waist. "That's my girl. Now, give daddy a kiss?"

She let her lips touch his, and as he changed into his demon face, she ran the tip of her tongue over his fangs. He pulled her closer and bit into her tongue, sucking just the tiniest bit of blood. Normally, this would be enough to bring her demon forward, but tonight her face felt stiff and heavy, and though she shuddered in delight, her fangs remained hidden.

"Is my girl feeling tired tonight?" Mr. Merriweather asked, letting go.

Licking the blood off her tongue, she replied, "Just a little bit, father. I can hold my own."

By the time Mr. Merriweather picked out a seventh candidate, Ella was starting to wonder if perhaps he was getting delusions of grandeur. Sure, he had spoken about minions, rather than family, but seven in one night?

He wasn't finished yet, either. By the time they drove back home, somewhat hurriedly to get inside before dawn, there were a dozen humans following their car.

"Are you really going to turn them all?" she asked Mr. Merriweather, looking behind her at the cars and bikes behind them.

Brushing the hair away from her face, he replied, "I thought we would all share in the fun."

That was a strange thought; Ella had never sired another vampire in her entire unlife. The idea of doing so was oddly appealing, but at the same time she had always assumed that if she were to sire someone, it'd be someone of her own choice, not someone her father picked out in an occult bar.

"There are so many of them," she murmured.

"We're up against the Slayer, darling," he said. "You're a smart girl. I know you know what that means."

"They're cannon fodder." She remained looking out the window, her eyes fixed on the dark windshields. "What if they survive?"

"If they survive the Slayer..." He silenced, and sighed quietly. "Well. Then they have rather earned their place in the family, haven't they?"

Dean snickered beside them, and Mr. Merriweather asked, "What's so amusing?"

"Them." He nodded towards the following cars. "Listen to them."

Both Ella and Mr. Merriweather listened. A cynical smile spread over Mr. Merriweather's lips. "They're young. They'll get over it."

Ella listened harder, trying to hear what they heard, but the noise of the motor drowned out all sounds from the other cars. She should be able to hear at least parts of the conversations from this distance, but there was nothing, not even a murmur of voices.

Mr. Merriweather noticed her consternation. "You can't hear them?"

She shook her head mutely, afraid to ask what it might mean.

His face grew concerned, and he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Perhaps you hurt your head earlier."

"Yeah, when you were a baby!" Dean said cheerfully. Ella growled at him.

"Not now, Dean," Mr. Merriweather reproached him. "Your aunt is feeling ill."

She didn't really – just very dull and heavy, as if the entire world had been wrapped in cotton. That seemed bad enough.

"Do you think I'm really sick?" she asked her father. Her voice sounded small and quivering to her own ears.

"We're vampires," he reminded her. "We don't get really sick."

"You'll be all right," Dean assured her, patting her back. "You're just a bit shook up from that fight with the Slayer, that's all."

"I'm not weak," she said, irritated at his tone even though he was trying to be kind. She hadn't even been fighting the Slayer; she had fought that black minion of hers. The one who had killed Patience.

She pulled her cardigan closer around her chest and rubbed her arms. For some reason, her skin had started to crawl.

Jeremy pulled over by the house and stepped out. "Okay," he shouted to the humans, "last stop for the undead-to-be!"

The humans stepped out of their cars and off their motorcycles, floundering and wide-eyed, but clearly excited. Vampires leading the way, they all entered the house.

The disappointment among the humans was so palpable it was like a drop in temperature. A tall girl with black-dyed hair picked up the table cloth from the kitchen table, looking about to burst into tears. "You're not real vampires, are you?"

In reply, Mr. Merriweather grabbed her neck, and then changed into demon face so he could drink from it. There was a collective gasp from the humans. Ella positioned herself closer to the door, but even though some of the humans looked ready to bolt, none of them did – and some looked mesmerized by the blood-drinking business. Perhaps they might make good vampires after all.

"We are vampires," Mr. Merriweather assured the humans, taking a break in his meal. "You have a problem with that, start running... now."

There was a moment's pause, and then half of the humans bolted for the door. Ella grinned. He hadn't said a word about them escaping, and they weren't going to. She punched the fastest in the face as soon as he reached her, and while he was still reeling from the punch, she snapped his neck.

"Ella!" Mr. Merriweather chastised her. "We are meant to sire these people, not simply kill them."

"What, even the cowards?" she asked, looking with disdain at the shuddering crowd her nephews were in the process of rounding up.

"Even the cowards."

Well, he could have said that a little earlier. She picked up the boy, but of course he was already quite dead.

"Never mind that now," Mr. Merriweather said impatiently, "just eat the boy before he goes cold."

She obediently leaned in for the drink, but made a wry face when the caught the scent of the boy's clammy skin. "He smells like sweat and fear."

"Well, doesn't that make it even better?" Mr. Merriweather asked.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. He sighed and took the boy's body from her, briefly juggling two humans before hoisting off the groggy-but-living girl on her. "All right, I'll eat him. You turn this one."

Ella grabbed hold of the girl, who weakly tried to resist. She was quite feisty for a human; maybe she'd make a good vampire after all. Using her father's teeth marks, she sucked the blood out of the girl, and when she felt the pulse slow down, she drew her nail across her own chest. The skin was tougher than she had thought, but pushing harder, she managed to break it, and she gently placed the girl's mouth across the wound, making her drink.

"What are you doing?" Jeremy asked, utter contempt in his voice.

"Turning a human, like you all wanted me to," she snapped.

"You ought to be in demon face for that, honey," he said with a grin.

"Oh, what difference does it make?"

The girl in her arms shuddered and stopped breathing. Ella stared at her, baffled. Was this supposed to happen? Looking up, she found Jeremy giving her an insufferable grin.

"Eat shit, Jer," she told him.

She expected her father to chastise her for her language, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned the corpse he was drinking from against the wall and came over, taking the girl from Ella's arms. He lifted her eyelids, touched her neck, and finally lay her down on the ground.

"She's dead for now," he said. "It's too early to tell if she'll rise again." He regarded Ella with a puzzled expression that made her squirm. "Why didn't you wear your demon face?"

"It's so heavy," she complained, worried that she might have spoiled it all. "It's been heavy for hours."

Mr. Merriweather opened his mouth to speak, but just about then one of the people Dean was holding broke loose and tried to escape.

"We'll talk about this later," Mr. Merriweather said, punching the running human hard in the nose. "For now, I suppose it's best if you help rounding up the humans and leave the actual turning to us."

Ella sulked. She hadn't wanted to turn any humans in the first place, but being left out was even worse. Still, it was pretty obvious they needed her help. By now, even the humans who hadn't started running were looking a bit jittery.

Well, she sure as hell wasn't going to play babysitter for a bunch of freaked-out heartbeaters.

"Here," she said, shoving the most nervous-looking off on one of the few calm ones. "Make sure he stays for the rest of the party."

The calm one reluctantly grabbed hold of his fellow human. "Shouldn't this, like, be a voluntary thing?"

"It's just cold feet," Ella said between clenched teeth. "He'll change his mind again later."

The nervous one started crying and tried to break loose. The calm one held on, but not tight enough. Another minute and they'd have more humans running for the door. Ella sighed and slapped the nervous one so hard he sagged in the other guy's arms.

"Listen up, you fucking pathetic little heartbeaters!" she yelled. "I don't know what you thought you were in for, and I don't care. This deal is non-refundable. You either handle this with some sort of dignity, or you lose our eternal respect. But that's one eternity you're gonna have to face either way."

That didn't seem to calm the jittery ones down any, though one or two made some sort of attempt to pull themselves together. Jesus, they'd have a stampede on their hands any minute. That was what you got for bringing home cowards and trying to keep them alive.

Jeremy took the two he was holding and slammed their heads together. Both of them fell to the ground.

"Wow, that's so much easier," he said.

Ella shrugged. "I know."

Jer leaned down and slapped the humans lightly. When one of them flinched, he hauled her back up and bit her. Unconscious humans were more manageable, but for the turning bit, they needed to be able to drink.

And so Ella spent the next few hours punching humans unconscious, waking them up, and handing them over to the boys to turn. It was a fucking nuisance, and she was relieved that at least some of the humans seemed to have meant it when they'd volunteered to become vampires back in the club.

Unfortunately, their sincerity didn't stop them from being complete morons. After a while, the worst of the cowards had been knocked out or turned, and though it was becoming increasingly hard to tell who was unconscious and who was currently dead, at least Ella could have a moment to sit down and relax.

The last human waiting her turn sat down next to her – a woman with her skirt so long and tight that she'd have had no chance of running away even on an open field, much less in a crowded room. Then again, she didn't seem to want to.

"To think," the woman said in an awestruck voice, "in just a few more hours - immortality!"

"Yeah, well," Ella said, "I can still hear your heartbeat, so shut up."

The woman breathed out through her teeth – death would clear her of that habit – and sat quietly sulking for a while.

Ella watched as her father offered his bleeding wrist to a ginger-haired young man with a ponytail and a dorky cape. It was a travesty of what this moment was supposed to be about, but even so, she was starting to feel hot and bothered, and she wanted desperately to get laid.

With half of her family dead and the other half busy, it didn't look like that would happen any time soon. She suddenly missed Pearl. Of everyone in the family, Pearl had been the most accomplished when it came to having a good time, even if she hadn't been much good at anything else.

"You know," the human eventually said, "we're going to be sisters, so you might as well be nice to me."

Sisters? This one instead of Pearl? That was a laugh. And "nice" - hell, where did this people get their ideas about vampires?

"Actually," she said, "I'm going to be your great aunt. Dean has his eyes on you."

The human looked at Dean under her eyelashes, and he gave her a fanged grin. Suckers.

"He's cute," she said. "A bit young, though."

"He's old enough to be your grandfather," Ella said dryly.

"Oh." The woman pondered that for a while, and then asked, "So, how old are you?"

Had no one taught her that you never ask a lady her age? Spending eternity with this one would be a hoot. Then again, maybe they'd be lucky and the Slayer would kill her quickly.

"Old enough to be his," was all Ella replied.

Her eyes was still on Mr. Merriweather, watching him lay his new child down, blood still glistening on both their mouths. He was very careful crossing the corpse's arms over its chest, and even making sure that ridiculous cape was lying neat on the floor.

The affectionate gesture reminded her of her own awakening. She had been lying just like that, arms crossed, clothes arranged to fall prettily. Other vampires had been forced to dig themselves out of graves, but Mr. Merriweather would never have allowed one of his to be buried. She had died and come back to life in Mr. Merriweather's south parlour, and when she opened her eyes, the sheets of her coffins had still been white as snow. It was the best memory of her unlife.

The second best had come an hour later.

She gave Mr. Merriweather an impish smile. He smiled back, placed the corpse's ponytail over its shoulder, and came over to her.

"So," he said, his gaze moving from her to the woman beside her, "only one left."

"Oh, Dean wants that one," Ella said quickly.

Mr. Merriweather raised his eyebrows. "Dean wants her? Maybe Dean and I should have a talk about seniority."

"Let him have her," Ella said. "What's the harm?"

He smiled. "My little bird... you're not jealous, are you?"

She looked down.

"Good lady," he told the human, "I'm afraid I will not be able to see to your comfort personally. Rest assured that my grandson will be more than sufficient."

Ella met his gaze. His eyes were sparkling, but sincere. She smiled and stood up.

"Is it just you and me now, father?"

"Mm." He ran his hand through her hair. "I'm spoiling you. Then again, if you're ill, we probably ought to figure out the reason."

That wasn't exactly her idea of a good time, but she obliged, following her father to the hall.

"All right," he said, holding her shoulders gently as he guided her down onto a chair. "Show me your demon face."

Changing was so hard she feared she'd fail altogether, but she could feel her demon face coming forward very slowly, like putting on a pair of too-small stretch jeans. Once finished, she touched her face tentatively, making sure that the ridges and fangs were actually there. Feeling them under her fingertips, she relaxed - for all that her face hurt to put on, it still seemed to be in order.

Relaxing made it go away though – under her searching hands, her features rearranged themselves to smooth humanity once more.

"That's as far as you can hold it?" he asked her with a frown.

"I don't know. It hurts."

His face grew concerned, and he took his watch from his pocket. "The sun will be up soon. Once it is, Ella, there's something I need you to do. Something brave."

She didn't feel up to being brave, with everything that was going on, but she listened and nodded as he gave his instructions. They weren't so bad; it was the implications of what she was about to do that scared her.

They waited in silence, and when Mr. Merriweather glanced for the final time at his watch before putting it back in his pocket, Ella stood up and walked over to the door. She paused for a moment before cracking it open, but her hand was steady as she held it into the sunlight.

At first, it just felt warm. Kind of nice, even, like sitting in front of a fire. Then it started to tickle, and after that to itch. She watched her hand closely, but it didn't catch fire. It didn't even hurt very much.

"How long am I supposed to stand here?" she asked, increasingly nervous.

"Until it catches fire, as I said," Mr. Merriweather told her. His voice was level, but he couldn't fool her, not after all these years.

There was definitely pain now. "It's going red."

"Is it?" He sounded excited. "Show me."

She pulled her hand back, glad to have it out of the sun, and closed the door. Her skin smarted and was burned bright red. Looking closer, she found that it had started to blister.

Mr. Merriweather took her hand in his, looking puzzled and worried. "I don't believe it."

She flexed her aching fingers. "What does it mean?"

"A vampire would have caught fire," he said, running his thumb over the singed skin.

Her head whipped up. "I am a vampire."

He continued as if she hadn't said anything: "A human would have been unaffected. I don't know what that makes you."

"I'm a vampire!" she exclaimed, unable to believe that he would say such a thing. "I've always been a vampire - I mean, for hundreds of years! You know that! You made me!"

"For hundreds of years," he agreed, "but not anymore. Vampires burn in sunlight. We don't hurt from turning into gameface. The smell of fear and sweat entices us, it doesn't sicken us. Whatever you are, you're not a vampire."

"I am!"

He shook his head slowly and lay his hands on her shoulders. "No."

Horror and pain and the fatigue she'd tried to fight for hours got the better of her, and she burst into tears. It had been decades since she last did that, but Mr. Merriweather said nothing of it, simply fished a cotton handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

She wiped her eyes and her nose and tried her very best to calm down. Crying was another sign of this insipid humanity that seemed to be creeping up on her, and she'd have none of it. She'd fight it until... until her first breath.

Oh hell. It wouldn't really come to that, would it?

"All right," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "So resire me."

"What?" he asked, clearly taken aback.

"Make me a vampire again." She grabbed his arms hard, pulling him closer, and tilted her head up so her neck became visible. "You did it once before, you can do it again."

"No, I can't," he said in a low voice.

She pushed him away violently. "You can turn them, but not me? That idiot - " she jerked her head towards the inner room " - with his cape, he gets to be a vampire, and I don't?"

His voice was even lower as he replied, "I don't know how. You're not human, you don't have a pulse. Unless you go all the way back..." He shook his head, and his expression was so helpless that it terrified her.

That was when she completely lost it, pounding her father so furiously with both fists that he didn't have a chance to fight back.

"You can't do this to me!" she shrieked. "You promised me it was forever! Ten years you waited for me, or have you forgotten? Ten years, and then you killed them all, just for me..." Her voice quivered, and though she didn't want it, her fist uncurled and she stroke his cheek tenderly. "So I'd be all yours. And I was, wasn't I, Father?"

"You were," he said hoarsely. "I wish it could stay that way. But you're not the daughter I sired."

She tried to hit him again, but this time he was prepared and caught her hands.

"I hate you!" she yelled.

"Hate me all you like," he replied, holding her wrists tight, "but keep those nails away from me or I will stake you, child." He flung her aside, her head knocking against the wall in a dizzying blow.

Sounds were coming from inside, bewildered voices that told Ella the new vampires were awaking. Mr. Merriweather must have had heard it too, because he straightened his cuffs and moved to return to the others.

"You'd do well to remember one thing, Ella," he said, stopping for a moment in the doorway. "I am not the reason you're like this."