I sat in the armchair opposite the couch and watched TV while I waited for Edgar to wake up. He was completely out of it, and I suspected if I disturbed him, he'd throw up everywhere, so I left him to sleep it off.

Eventually, about an hour before dawn, he opened his eyes enough to squint at the TV and realise he wasn't alone. Then he covered his face with his hands and groaned. "Fuck."

"Hangover?" I asked wryly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. This is my house, remember?"

"Sorry, I'll go." Edgar sat up quickly, then dropped his head into his hands, cursing.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

I headed for the kitchen and switched on the kettle. A moment later Edgar thundered up the stairs to the bathroom. I made myself coffee and sipped it while I waited for him to finish puking and come back down. I poured a mug for him when he slunk into the room, shame-faced and looking like he'd woken from the dead.

"I like milk in my coffee," he said, glaring into the mug.

"Too bad. There isn't any."

He drank it slowly, wincing and grimacing with every mouthful. I watched in silence and waited for him to say something.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he exclaimed. "I needed to get away. Just for a few hours. I didn't think you'd mind me coming here."

"I don't mind. You can come here any time you want. Clearly you know where the key's kept."

"It took me a while to find." He made a face. "Sorry."

"It's all right. What I mind is that I came in here and found you passed out drunk."

"So, I had a little too much. It was a tough day. I got a fucking detention."

"What for?"

"Fighting."

"Well, then you're lucky you didn't get a suspension."

"Right." He glowered, much like the way he always had when I first knew him.

"How often are you drinking?"

"Not that often."

"How often?" I cringed at the sound of my voice. I sounded like my own father when he'd been around.

"What does it matter? It's not hurting you."

"Isn't it? Edgar, I don't want to see you hurting yourself and fucking your life up. Alcohol doesn't solve anything. It just makes you feel like shit afterwards. Where are you getting it from, anyway?"

"The Emersons have a tonne of booze in the basement," Edgar blurted. "From when their grandpa was alive. I won't be doing that anymore anyway."

"Really? Just like that?"

"I've, um, I've moved out." He flushed and avoided looking at me.

"What? When?"

"Today."

"And you talked to Mrs Emerson about this?" I didn't believe him for a second. He looked as guilty as hell.

"She, um, she was cool with it."

"So, if I ask Michael what happened, he's gonna back you up, is he?"

"She asked me to leave!" Edgar snapped. "I'm a liability and a bad influence on Sam, apparently."

I shook my head in exasperation.

"What? Nothing to say?" Edgar taunted. "Usually you've got plenty to say about stuff that's nothing to do with you."

"What is there to say, Edgar? We all tried to help you and you threw it back in our faces. Mrs Emerson didn't have to offer you a home, but she did so because she's a good lady and she was sorry about your situation. And I helped because I know what you're going through. I don't know what else I can say. I have to go upstairs. It's gonna be light soon." I walked away from him, hoping my bluff would prompt him into changing his attitude. I had no intention of abandoning him the way it sounded like I might.

I stomped upstairs and slammed my bedroom door after me, wanting to sound as pissed off as possible. I kicked my boots across the room, tossed my jacket onto a chair, and lay down on top of the bed covers. Then I listened to every sound downstairs.

Tap running, water filling a glass, Edgar gulping water, boiling the kettle, making more coffee. Soft footsteps on the stairs, then the landing, hesitating outside my door. A gentle, timid tap on the splintered wood above the spot I'd rammed my fist through.

"David?" I stayed silent. The door opened and he slipped inside. "David, what happened to your door?"

"I punched it. Not now, a while ago."

"Was it 'cause of me?"

"Possibly."

"I'm sorry." He came over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. "I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. Don't give up on me. I don't know what to do." Tears spilled over and he put his hands over his face.

"Edgar…"

He sobbed harder.

"Hey, come here." I reached for him tentatively. "Is this okay?"

He slumped into my arms and soaked my shirt with his tears. I wrapped both arms around him as he poured out his agony. When he stopped crying, he was completely silent for a long moment, holding his breath. Then he spoke suddenly. "Did Max rape you?"

"Shit. Are you sure you want to talk about this?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, he did, when I was human. He was too strong to fight off."

Edgar talked in a whisper, his voice so low another human wouldn't have heard him, but I did—I heard every word. His guilt from getting aroused by his uncle's actions, thinking he must have enjoyed it, convinced his response to it was to blame for it happening repeatedly. His fear of getting close to anyone else, and unhappiness that he might never trust anyone else that much. He spilled it all out rapidly as if he were trying to spit out something nasty. His heart raced and his body shook in my arms, but he didn't make any attempt to move away. He curled his fist around a handful of my shirt and hung on as if I were a lifeline.

"Nothing that happened was your fault," I said softly. "There's nothing to feel guilty about." I'd researched my own reaction to what Max did to me. I had no one to talk to and wouldn't have been able to anyway. As a vampire, I'd probably have lost control and killed anyone I attempted to confide in. But I'd figured it out for myself, mostly—involuntary reactions brought on by fear and anxiety; confusion over being unable to stop your body responding no matter how much you hated what was happening. "It'll take time. If you want to talk to someone who knows more about this, maybe that would help."

"No. I'd rather speak to someone who's been there."

"So, will you promise you'll do that rather than drink?"

"Yeah. I'll try." He lay still and silent, his breathing slowing. I almost thought he'd fallen asleep and I couldn't let that happen. The sleep of the dead was calling me and if I passed out with him like this and he woke up and freaked out, it could be a disaster.

I decided to try lightening the mood and shook him gently. "So, Mrs Emerson asked you to leave, huh?"

"Yeah, I burned my bridges. I did the best I could, honestly. But when I was in my room at night, on my own, I couldn't stop thinking. If I drink, I pass out and it goes away. She tried to help me at first, but I admit it, I was horrible. I got Sam drunk one weekend and she was furious. She even sent me to a shrink. She couldn't really afford it, and I fucked that up, too. I wouldn't talk, and the second appointment, I didn't show up. She doesn't want me back."

"You want to stay here?" I suggested.

"Can I?"

"Yeah, but there's a condition."

"Surprise me." He pulled out of my arms and sat up.

"Keep going to school and get your fucking exams."

Edgar rolled his eyes. "If I must."

"You must."

He nodded. "All right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Go get a shower and get some sleep. You can have that room you slept in before. We'll get your stuff moved in tomorrow night."

"Thank you, David." He left, and I lost consciousness before he'd even closed the door behind him.

When I woke again at dusk, the house was silent. I hoped Edgar had gone to school and then the store afterwards. I was about to leave the house when Michael turned up with a large plastic bag.

"What's that?" I looked down as he placed it on the hall floor.

"Edgar's stuff. I'm sorry. He's out of control. Mom can't deal with him."

I shook my head. "I know all about it. He was here last night. Have you seen him?"

"No. Sam said he was in school, but some other kids were picking on him because he looked like he hadn't seen a shower for days and he reeked of alcohol. It's a wonder his teachers didn't send him home."

"Shit. I was about to go to the store and look for him. I said he could live here for the time being."

"Great. That's not gonna make things easy for Star and Laddie and me." Michael frowned. "We can handle him or Sam being around in small doses, but not all the time."

"Well, you know what to do, don't you?" I snapped.

"You know I won't ever do that. Nor will Star." He glared back.

"I meant stay out of the house. You can do that, I'm sure, if you can't control yourself. Edgar stays. Since everyone else has given up on him, it seems he's my responsibility."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted." Michael walked away to his bike. Moments later, he was gone.

I went back inside and took the bag of things up to what had become Edgar's room. I didn't want to dump it there for him to find, like all his belongings had been thrown out. I tipped out the bag onto the bed and sorted through it.

Mostly, it was clothes, army style, and a few shirts and pants for school. I hung them all in the wardrobe, and put socks and underwear in a drawer, shoes and boots in a corner of the room. He had a bunch of comics, some school books, a Walkman, and a handful of tapes by bands I'd never heard of. Hardly anything for a teenager. Then again, this was only the stuff he'd taken to the Emersons' house—there was probably more in the apartment above the store.

I left the house and made my way to the boardwalk. Thursday night wasn't the most buzzing night of the week, but the food stalls were busy, and the rides were running. I called in at the video store first, out of reluctant courtesy, to see Michael's mother.

"Mrs Emerson," I greeted with a nod.

"I do wish you wouldn't keep coming in here," she said. "You intimidate the customers."

"I intimidate you, only because you know what I am. They don't." I smiled. "I'm sorry about Edgar. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate you trying to help him. He'll be okay."

"What does this have to do with you? I find it worrying that you have any involvement in what happens to him."

"You think I'm gonna make him my next meal or something?" I teased. "I won't. And you needn't worry about Sam, either. I can't help what I am."

"I'm beginning to have second thoughts about Edgar. He shouldn't be around you and your… people." Lucy Emerson frowned.

"You can't mess him around. You threw him out, remember? He needs somebody he can trust."

"And that's you, is it?"

"It would seem so. Good evening." I left her gaping and tutting in my wake.

There were a few people in the comic book store when I walked in. Edgar noticed me and actually smiled. I flicked through some comics and chose another one for Laddie while I waited for him to serve everyone. When the last person left, I went to pay for my comic.

"If it's for Laddie, you can have it," he said.

"Ah, but if it's for me I have to pay, right?" I teased.

"You don't like Batman."

"You got me." I looked him up and down. He looked clean and fresh, and he smelled of my shower gel instead of drink. "Michael said you had a hard time at school."

He shrugged. "I went looking like a homeless person. I didn't have any of my stuff at the house and I was too late to come back here or go to the Emersons. I showered after school and changed my clothes. Thanks for putting my stuff away."

"That's okay. If there's anything here you want, you can bring it over later. You look better," I added. The dark circles under his eyes were almost gone. He even looked relaxed. I wasn't under any illusion it was all fixed now, but at least there was a small improvement. There was also a small problem—for me, anyway. The scent of Edgar's blood was tantalising, and the more time I spent around him, the more it bothered me. I had to restrain myself from licking my lips, and I tried not to look at him too much, in case my hunger came across as lust on my face. I would have to ensure I hunted more regularly than normal, otherwise having him at the house with me all the time was going to be more difficult than I'd anticipated. Michael had voiced his opinion on how he, Star, and Laddie would feel, but I hadn't considered myself.