How long I kneel there, clutching Bryce's lifeless body, which is limp, like a doll, I do not know. My body shudders uncontrollably, and my face screws up in agony. Bryce was right. Newborns are stupid, reckless, and more than anything, uncontrollable. I am living proof of all three of these things. I press my face into Bryce's mangled shoulder, and think of everything he has done for me-stopping me from murdering all those humans in Argentina, saving me from the mugger when I was a weak, frail human, taking me all over the world, putting up with me when he did not have to...He was full of goodness, and he tried to project that into me. He failed, of this I am sure. I am evil. Truly from hell, the devil's daughter. Even when I was human, I was by no means a nice person. I killed often, and I stole from innocent people.

There is a knock at the door. "Hello?" a man's voice floats in to me from the other side. It is the manager, of this I am sure, and he has come to talk to the pair of humans that Bryce and I just killed. I do not answer. I cannot. After all, the manager expects to hear another man's voice answer, and, being female, I would arouse his suspicion. That cannot happen. The man tries again. "Mr. Finn?" He knocks again, more impatient than concerned. The man has been drinking; I can smell the alcohol. I put him at about forty-five years of age, and rather short and plump. He is an arrogant man; I can tell this just by hearing his voice. He knocks again, slamming his fist into the door. If he is not careful, he will break that fist. Perhaps I will break it for him. Then I remember that I am holding onto Bryce's mangled body, and I feel like weeping once again. "If you do not answer me," the man rumbles, "I will break down this door!" Let him. I lift Bryce's body and place it back onto the bed, next to the human males' wife. I pull the doona over their bodies, pulling it up to their noses. Then I go to answer the door.

As I open the door, trying hard not to rip it off the hinges, I see that I was right. The man is as short as he is wide. It is a wonder he can fit through the doorway. He has no hair at all; his head shines like a beacon. His eyes are shrewd and calculating; he expects to get his way. He has grease stains all over his too-small shirt, and he is holding a beer bottle in one fat fist. His eyes widen, however, when he sees me, a young woman in her early twenties, with tangled shoulder-length brown hair and shocking crimson eyes. I wear a black leather jacket over a tight-fitting black top, and black pants. "You called?" I ask, making my voice silky and slightly seductive. He is not sure how to react. "I-I-"he stutters, taking a hasty step back. He sees that I am beautiful, but he also senses that I may be dangerous. I give him a questioning look, leaning against the edge of the doorway. Inviting, warm red floods his cheeks. The fire rears its ugly head and sears angrily at my throat. I swallow tightly, wanting to murder this human, but not wanting to as well. "Yes, well..." It takes a moment for the fat human to manage to get the words out: "Some people that are staying in the room above you have told me that they heard some snarling. Like an angry dog or something. Now, I know you know it is against the rules to keep animals in this motel. If there is an animal in there, would you hand it over? I shall take it to the pound, and if you are lucky, you will get it back." I do not like this man. Not at all. "An animal?" I inquire lightly, making my eyes go wide with surprise. "There is no animal in here." "Then what was that noise that those people heard?" he asks, suspicious. "Noise? There was no noise," I say, as I stare deep into his bloodshot, beady eyes. "There wasn't any noise," he mutters dully. I think for a bit. "And there is no pretty girl with red eyes," I tell him. "Understand?" "Yes," he whispers. "There is no pretty girl with red eyes." I break our eye contact and lay a pale hand on his shoulder. He regards me with dull, confused eyes. "I think the people who have the animal are next door to me," I say, pointing to the white door on my left, which is number sixteen."Okay," he mumbles, turning away, "Sorry for bothering you, miss." "No problem," I say, smiling at him. For a moment, he is dazzled by my beauty. Then, with a ghost of a smile of his own, he waddles over to the door I pointed to and begins hammering on their door. I hurry back inside my own room and search through the humans' bags, ripping apart a few before I find what I am looking for: two jumbo-size garbage bags. I stuff Bryce into them. I plan to bury him somewhere isolated, perhaps under running water. There is nothing I can do about the humans; I leave their bodies where they are, hoping it will be some time before anyone comes calling. I glance outside, to see if it is safe for me to drag Bryce's body out, and I see no-one. The only humans awake are the fat manager, now safely inside next doors', and the angry and confused humans that stay in there.

I drag Bryce's body outside, and lift him effortlessly over my shoulder. There is still shock, and horror at what I did to him, but it is far away, in the back of my mind. I do not have time to grieve for him at the moment. I have more important things to do, such as trying to navigate my way through Frankfurt to find an isolated place, in the dead of night, carrying two garbage bags that contain a dead body. It would cross the humans as quite strange if they were to see me. I slowly walk through the car park, my eyes and ears alert. I spy a shiny black Jag, in the corner of the car park. It is brand new, and looks incredibly fast. I am on it in an instant. Glancing around carefully, I hear that the owner is currently in bed at the moment, with his wife. They are both asleep; I can tell that much. I punch through one of the car windows, and quickly unlock the door before the alarm can go off. I am in the car and down the street before anyone can realize that I have stolen somebody's car.

There is not much traffic at this time of night. I am lucky. My car glides almost silently down the German streets, and I marvel at how easy it is to steal. Being a vampire, I do not have to worry about people trying to shoot me, or being caught by anyone. I am a killing machine, and I love being one. I love how I can snap a human's neck with my bare hands, and feel my teeth sink into them and feel their life slowly drain away, into me. I love that I can run very fast, about as fast as this car I am now sitting in. The only reason I am not running at the moment is because I have to remain inconspicuous, at least while I have a body with me. It would look rather odd if someone were to see me, wandering down the street at this time of night, when everyone should be asleep, carrying a body with me. Yes, I think, that would not go down well. Especially if the police were to see me. I do not understand a word of German, and, if I am to stay here, that seems a serious flaw for me to have; I do, however, understand French, and some Italian. Considering I have been only in English-speaking countries when I was human, I had never felt the need to learn a language. But, when Bryce and I stayed in France for a few days, I picked up a few odd phrases here and there. I am not sure where I learnt Italian, though; perhaps I DID learn it when I was human, but I do not remember.

I find an isolated spot; it is in a dark forest, where mist drifts, blocking out the sound of my car engine roaring, and the headlights that would normally light anyone up like a torch. The mist and the darkness do not bother me; I can see perfectly well in these conditions. I suspect that I could still be able to see if I was in a blizzard, or at the bottom of the ocean, where it is pitch-black and strange sea creatures dwell. I have no need to breathe, I still do, of course, but I do not need to. If I don't however, it cuts off my sense of smell. I open the car door carefully. I do not know why, but I feel like someone is watching me. It is not a human; otherwise I would be able to smell them. It is an odd smell, and I do not recognise it. I swallow nervously, a pure human reaction that I have not yet forgotten, and reach into the backseat for Bryce's body. I hurriedly take it out, and then I hurry into the darkness, not at all sure where I am going; but I am confident I will find my car again. I pause by a lake, the water appearing to be jet-black and like glass; it does not move, not at all. All the animals are asleep, hidden away, yet I know exactly where they all are. I carefully slide Bryce out of the garbage bags and start to ease him into the water. Then I abruptly stop, and peer into the darkness. I cannot see anything, but I am sure I heard somebody whisper. "Who's there?" I shout. There is no answer. I shrug and continue sliding Bryce into the water. For a moment, he appears to float on the surface, like some bizarre kind of cork. But then his body sinks down, into his watery grave. Once again, I feel like weeping. But I keep this emotion on the inside and simply look out at the spot where his body had been a moment before, my expression perfectly neutral.

I find my car without any problems. It is still running, its engine humming quietly. I place the garbage bags beside me, in the passenger seat, close the door, and once again, I am off. But I am left with a problem: I do not know where to go now. Should I return to the motel? I think not. Should the police come, they will discover the humans' bodies and will undoubtedly want to question everyone. So I settle for driving around with no real purpose; I stick to the back roads, which no-one seems to use anymore, and I cut across people's properties more than once, to avoid being seen. It is light now, and my skin sparkles like diamonds. It is very beautiful to look at, but is definitely a problem. I must get some sunglasses, and some gloves, to cover up my very obvious hands and face. I stop at a gas station and steal some fly sunglasses that are almost exactly the same as my old ones. I pick out some gloves that go past my elbow and pull the sleeves of my jacket over the top of them. I also pick out a black cap, for good measure. I miss my caps. I tuck my brown hair underneath it; now I could be either a boy or a girl. I am in my car once again and streak away, not bothering to get petrol because the man running the cash register has only just realized that I have stolen some of his merchandise. I hear his angry shouts, and I smile, because I cannot understand a word of what he is saying.

My car breaks down half a mile from a city. I leave it where it is. I will find another car. I troop along the side of the road, my head and my shoulders slumped, the perfect figure of sadness. Sure enough, an elderly woman pulls up to me after only ten minutes and asks something in German. I shrug and indicate that I cannot understand her. The woman immediately switches to English. "Do you need any help?" she asks, a heavy accent making her words seems twisted. "Yes, please," I say innocently, in such a way that does not reveal what gender I am. "Did your car break down?" the woman asks, looking at me with such concern that I feel bad about wanting to kill her. My throat is searing, not quite as bad as when I killed Bryce, but dangerously close. My eyes are coal black behind my sunglasses, I am sure. I nod dumbly, as if I am in shock that my car has broken down. I decide that I will not kill this woman. She has a good heart, I see. I will settle for using my strange power on her instead. "Please, hop in and I will drive you to wherever you need to go," she insists, opening the door for me. I hop in, a huge smile plastered on my face. "Thank you so much for this," I say, doing my seatbelt up and smiling gratefully at the woman. "Oh, please dear, think nothing of it," she smiles. The drive is short. She asks me where I want to go, and I tell her I was heading for the city straight ahead. "I cannot pronounce it," I confess to her, as we enter the outskirts of a city with a name far too long for me to pronounce. The woman smiles. "You're not the first," she chuckles, patting my arm. It is strangely comforting. "Where did you want to be dropped off, anyway?" she asks now. I smile and tell her I don't mind. She drops me off in front of a motel. I thank her and undo my seat belt. This is it. I twist around, too fast for her to see, and I take my sunglasses off and have them in my pocket, just before she starts to speak. I take her face in my hands and stare hard into her eyes. Again, that strange feeling of power washes through me. She stares back at me, her beautiful brown eyes entirely consumed by my black ones. "You did not see a hitchhiker on the side of the road," I say confidently. "You never picked me up. You never met me. I do not exist." The woman's eyes glaze over. "I did not see a hitchhiker on the side of the road," she whispers. "I never offered to pick you up. I never met you. You do not exist." Then her expression clears. I am hidden from her human eyes when this happens. "What...? Why am I here?" I hear her say. Then I am off, into another motel room. I kill the young man in there, sate my thirst, and I sit on the bed. I am not tired; I do not tire anymore. But I am unsettled. I am not sure why. I spend the remainder of the day pacing around my motel room; it is too light for me to venture outside today. My throat starts to burn again, but it is not unbearable.

When it was dark again, I exit the motel room and head out. I decide to go for a walk. I wander around the city, quite aimlessly, when I see a flicker of movement ahead of me. It is a human. A male, about thirty years old, perhaps a little older. I smile. He smells good, and I am thirsty. He has a small girl and a woman with him-obviously his family. They will douse the fire for a few hours. I approach them casually, dressed in jeans, several long, baggy singlet tops, and a long trench coat pulled over the top. The coat is a favourite of mine. It clings to my body nicely. I am still wearing my black converse sneakers that I had when I was human. I need to get another pair. They are ripped and worn, held together by the tiniest of strings. My chocolate-brown hair is hanging loose, brushed and looking quite nice, if I do say so myself. The family is moving slowly, the mother and father holding onto the little girl's hands, as she skips along the path happily. I move closer, my movements swift and silent. The humans will not even hear me coming. I can kill them all, quite easily. I pick up my pace. I am now in arm's reach of the family. The fire burns more furiously than ever, as I notice how the little girl's cheeks are flushed from skipping. Her eyes are bright, and alive with an inner happiness. Her mouth in stretched into a happy smile, even as sweat drips down her forehead. I lash out with my hands, and twist the woman's neck-all the way around. The male human spins around, as he hears the bones in his wife's neck shatter underneath my hands. He begins to scream when I swipe at his neck. My hands lodge in his throat. He gives a gargling scream, and warm, lovely, dripping blood swells from his neck, where my hands are buried. I decide to put out the fire before I deal with the child, who is watching me with a curious expression on her face. She thinks this is a joke, that her parents are faking and will jump up from the ground, laughing, any second now. If only she knew. I finish with the man and I yank my hands from his neck. My hands are covered with blood, but I do not lick them. Not yet. I turn my blood-red eyes on the girl, who seems to realize that this is no joke, and that her parents really are dead. She gives a high-pitched scream of terror and starts to run away. I am on her before she can scream again. She is whimpering, locked in my icy grip. She cannot break free, though she tries many, many times. My arms are like stone. I stroke her head gently. "I am sorry," I say quietly. "But I must douse the fire, and you can help me do it." "You killed my mommy and daddy!" she screams. I clamp a hand over her mouth. "Yes, and I would say I am sorry, but I am not. They helped me, and now you must finish the job. You are a good helper, yes?" I make the girl nod. "Then help me. For your mommy and daddy's sake." And with that, I open up her veins and drink from her. I am right; she does help to douse the fire. Feeling satisfied, I dump the family's bodies in a dumpster. To get rid of the evidence, I pile stacks and stacks of newspapers on top of the bodies. I then light a match and casually toss it into the dumpster. The effect is instantaneous; in seconds, the whole dumpster is a huge fireball, a mass of power and heat that washes over me. I step back; the fire makes me nervous.

I stay in Germany for quite a while; about seven months. I try and kill in isolated places; where the humans there will not be immediately missed. I glide through Germany, stealing things like fresh clothes and cars. I use my gift a few times on humans that happen to see me stealing or feeding. I like using my gift. It makes me feel powerful, in an odd sort of way.

I am in a large shopping mall, during after hours, and I am strolling merrily through a clothing store, picking out some new clothes, when I hear a human shout out. "Hey-is someone in there?!" It is a male, and he is angry. I tense, standing near the t-shirts. I am at the back of the store, and it will take some time for the human to reach me. I will open him up, and I will drain his life away from him. I need to feed soon; my eyes are as black as night, and my throat sears angrily. The man shouts again, this time in German; as if he is hoping that the thief is a native and speaks his language. I smile. He is wrong on both counts. "Who's there?" He tries again. I duck underneath the clothing racks and move closer to the front, where I discover that the man is not alone; he has three security guards with him. They are bulky and slow-moving; rather odd for security guards. The man who has been shouting at me is only about nineteen. He is handsome, with straightened black hair and dazzling green eyes. I may regret killing him. But only a little. There is no time for remorse in this life, not when the fire is nearly always burning. I will have to deal with the security guards first; then, when the leader realises he is alone, then I will kill him. I will draw it out; I am feeling particularly murderous tonight. I will listen to his screams of pain, his begs for mercy, and I will laugh, as I pierce his skin with my fingernails and feel his blood dripping down my hand...

I shake myself out of my insane fantasy. Abstaining from feeding does have its effects; apart from feeling more irritable and thirsty, I sometimes can be quite delirious- I see things that are not there, or I get sucked into my own twisted little fantasies. I prowl closer to the humans, as silent and graceful as a cat. My speed, however, is more like a bullet from a gun; it takes me only seconds to reach the humans. I jump out from under the clothing racks and lash out with my right foot; it connects with the first guards' jaw and removes his head with a pleasing crack. It bounces once, and then rests on the ground. I kick out with my other foot, and crush another guards' chest. His ribs explode under my foot, and he is dead before he hits the ground. I land nimbly on both feet and punch the last guard in the face. His face falls in on itself, and he staggers around even though he is dead, and nearly crashes into the last human, who is staring at me with wide eyes. "Hello," I say pleasantly, smiling coyly, approaching him slowly, carefully. The human is amazed. He sees a stunning young woman who has just murdered three of his colleagues. "I-I-"he stammers, as I grab his shoulders and stare deep into his eyes. I have no intention of using my gift on him. This is just another form of torture I like to use. He is swallowed up by my dangerous black eyes. He sees nothing else, of this I make sure. "Hello," I say again. "H-Hello," he whispers. I stroke his cheek gently, and he shudders, though not in displeasure. I have a very sensual touch, for a vampire. I know this because Bryce told me, almost a year ago, when I was first changed, after I killed that young girl. My touch can be pleasant or torturous, whatever I desire. I lean in close, as if to kiss him. He breathes in my intoxicating scent, and already he is under my spell. Instead of kissing him, I open up his jugular and start to suck at his neck. He sighs in wicked pleasure. To humans, I can make it feel like they are being caressed by my soft, pale fingers, inside and out. I remember Bryce telling me that that is what it feels like to be bitten on the neck by another vampire. Not in the vicious way I did to Bryce: that was pure bloodlust, the true nature of the vampire acting through me. No, only when a vampire finds its 'mate'; its lover. I would not know. I have not found a mate, and I have no intention of finding one.

The memory of Bryce is too much, and I simply snap the human's neck. His eyes go wide, then slack. I do not like remembering Bryce, and his goodness, and how I repaid him. I feed on one of the security guards and grimace; his blood tastes sour. I do not like it. I bury the bodies some time later; and then, I troop back to my motel. It is a different one than the one the elderly woman dropped me off at; I need some change in scenery. It is a rich, snobby place, and I take a liking to it instantly. There are many, many humans in here, and they all smell delicious- a far better meal than the fat security guard I briefly fed upon, which was enough to keep me going. It is late, and the owner of the motel is sound asleep. So I simply break in and discover that the room is empty. That does not bother me; I am not in the mood for killing. That may sound odd, coming from a monster like me, but even I get sick of killing sometimes. It is too easy. There is no real challenge in killing humans, and, more than once, I have used my gift instead. More often these days. Sighing loudly, I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I am not tired; I cannot sleep.

Time passes. How long, I do not know. Sunlight replaces the darkness and washes over my skin, making it sparkle beautifully. Soon enough, though, the sun is swallowed by the darkness. And the cycle starts again. No humans come calling, for which I am grateful. As the cycle of night and day continues, I feel something changing, deep inside me. It frightens me a little, but still, I do not move from my place on the bed. As sunlight once again lights up my skin, I let my mind go blank.

I sit up with a gasp. There is something different about me, something I cannot imagine. I walk into the bathroom and peer into the mirror. I gasp. My eyes have darkened to a deep burgundy colour, no longer bright crimson. I flex my arms. They are still powerful, of course, but they are not as strong as before. And the fire is not as fierce as before. Realization courses through my veins, and, as I stare at my reflection some more, I start to laugh.

I am no longer a newborn vampire.