In which no one takes Josie's advice (although they really should), and Cutler has big news to share.

Thanks, anyone who's still reading, and to Crazyidea-inc, WhiteHare, SunnyFla, Jac_E , and AquamarineJo.

Roger flings open the studio door and strides in, trailing chilly air and agitation. I'm nearly ready to head home, but he paces back and forth across the small front office, getting in my way while I'm trying to prepare attendance lists and choose music for my morning class.

"We need to talk, Josie. Why did you tell Lydia horrible lies about me? You said that I called her a whore? That's fucking ridiculous, and you know it. And anything I did tell you was said in confidence."

I'm taken by surprise. What else did she say to him? How did she explain seeing me while she was out with Nick?

"It might sound mad, but she was in a seriously risky situation and I convinced her to get out. She could have been hurt."

"She never mentioned any such thing. What sort of situation, exactly? And if it was so risky, why were you there?"

"Don't worry about me. Worry about her."

"What could you possibly mean by that?" He crosses his arms and peers down at me, frowning. The overhead light outlines each hair in his furrowed blond eyebrows.

She was going to be eaten.

I take the ragged stack of paper out of my clipboard to straighten it. "I was trying to stop her cheating on you, okay?"

He grins like he's just thought of a joke. "Yes, with a random grey-faced lawyer, very dangerous." The little snort at the end is the one he reserves for the poseurs and the hopelessly uncool.

Shit. There's no point in continuing this conversation; I'll only raise questions I can't answer. But now Roger is gathering steam. "Some kind of weekend bohemian, I gather. Bloody boring if you ask me, but that's her problem."

"But he's not just - "

"-Listen, Lydia and I, we've never been exclusive. The world is full of experiences we don't want to miss. There's enough love to go round, so we don't need to ration it. She understands that. If she's cheating, what of it? So am I."

Of course he is. I'm relieved to discover that I don't care. "This one... how can I explain? He's bad news, Roger. Really bad. As in, 'Don't ever let him in your house' bad. As in 'Don't sleep with the same girl as him' bad. He's mixed up in some incredibly shady dealings." I replace the tidied stack of attendance sheets and hang the clipboard on its hook beside the office door.

"Are you saying he's a mobster?" I need to stifle an inappropriate laugh-he's only one letter off. "Again, I wonder how you'd know that. It's not my business who she's seeing. Or yours."

He lays a hand on my shoulder. I thought he'd managed to stop biting his nails but he's been at it again. "Honestly Josie, you need to move on. I'll never stop caring for you, so don't worry. Whatever happens, we're clear on that, right? Things don't end, they just change shape."

"Yes, Roger, they do."

"I hate when you roll your eyes at me like that." He frowns and rubs his forehead. "But now that you mention it, something's a bit off with her. I can't put my finger on it. We see other people all the time, and never keep secrets. But now, she won't say where she's going or when she'll be back."

"See, she doesn't want to tell you. One of these days she won't come back. Letting her go would be safest. The sooner the better."

"What? Don't be silly."

He shakes his head and gives me the smile where the corners of his mouth go down instead of up. Of course he doesn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me.

"Josie, love, is there something you're not saying? Something you want? Are you trying to break us up so I'll give you her job? It won't work. You had your chance and you blew it."

"Jesus, Roger. How can I make this any clearer? I'm really and truly over you. I don't want the job back, and for all I care, you and Lydia can go sleep with an entire troupe of circus performers. Each. But I don't want you dead. As long as she's involved with those criminals and killers, you're not safe."

I've got my coat on. Roger follows me out. He waits while I lock up.

"Oh, I get it. Is Lydia cramping your style? Are they friends with that bloke you're seeing? You know, he gave me a bad feeling, with those creepy eyebrows and that phony smile." Roger leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, squinting at the sky as if he's trying to do sums in his head. "And if his mates are so tremendously, incredibly, unbelievably scary, why are you still dating? Hmm? Really, Josie. The drama. Is it necessary?"

My head is pounding. Nobody is better than Roger at sending me into a frothing rage. They can both get stuffed. I feel filthy and immoral but he's forced me into a corner. "I guess you're right. There's nothing to worry about. Not a thing. What was I thinking? I should have left her there with Nick the grey-faced lawyer."

He succeeds in missing the sarcasm. "You really hurt her. Promise me you'll apologize."

"Fine. Sure. Okay."

They're gorgeous, Mitchell, " James says, "you should do more. You've quite an eye."

They are black and white photos of things that have been used and abandoned. A plaster in a dustbin with a blotchy stain on the gauze. An empty liquor bottle on a storm drain. A paintbrush soaking in a jar of cloudy white spirit. Clothes pegs on a line, with bras and stockings and girdles lying on the ground below. Footprints in mud. Drip and smear of blood on pavement, looking like an abstract painting, black on grey.

"Thanks. It was fun, but I've got the hang of the darkroom now. I don't need to leave more marks behind. Bin them, for all I care."

Albert smiles, tucks the contact sheets in a drawer, and hands me the staple gun. My fingers are battered and sore from holding a thousand tiny nails and hammering them into canvas and wood. These days I clean ochre and cadmium from under my nails, not blood.

I think of her mouth warm against my skin, the way she she sometimes takes my lip between her teeth, bites, and lets go. But her greatest gift to me is the unimaginable luxury of the ordinary. We laugh and argue, drink and smoke, go out and stay in. There are people who like me. It's normal and agonizing and lovely. It's what I wanted.

What if I'm only grasping at shadows? Perhaps this is phantom happiness, phantom love, the true versions long gone, amputated and cauterized fifty years ago. I can't tell.

Why did I say I would make this call?

I gulp down half of a very stiff G & T and pick up the phone. It takes forever for the dial to spin back after each number. I'm holding the glass against my forehead like a cool compress.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

"Hello?"

Deep breath. "Lydia? Hi, you're home. It's Josie. I had a visit from Roger last night. Apparently he heard about our...discussion and was rather unhappy with me. Erm... I didn't mean those things I said."

"Had a fit of chivalry, did he? He put you up to this, then."

She's sharper than I thought.

"Yeah he did. Still, I really am sorry. But we ought to talk. In person. It's kind of important. Can you meet me somewhere?"

We're in a pub near the station, full of anonymous travelers who come in for a fortifying pint before heading off to their actual destinations. We've taken a table at the back where it's so dark I can barely make out which end of my cigarette to light.

Lydia nurses a half pint of lager. I'm having coffee. The barman had given me a dirty look as he put a battered tin kettle over the flame, reached for a dusty jar of Nescafe and dumped two heaping spoonfuls into the cup. Although I don't usually, I had to ask him for milk before I could attempt to choke the stuff down.

"Nick and his friends aren't what they seem."

"What do you mean?"

"They would kill you as soon as look at you. Believe me. I've seen... things."

"What sort of things?"

As much of the truth as I can offer. "Didn't you hear what happened awhile back? The girls who died? They had something to do with it."

"That's absurd. I don't know where you got that idea." She tilts her head like an inquisitive raven. "Because I heard your boyfriend killed them."

My hands go icy. An eternity ticks by as I try desperately to work out what to say. The foul coffee isn't sitting well.

Rather pleased with her little bombshell, Lydia sips her drink and sets it down. She rummages through her handbag to find her packet of cigarettes, and wordlessly offers me one. I shake my head no and look for another one of my own, but I'm out. Her clove smoke hits the back of my throat and fills my head with its numbing perfume. In the dim light her smile glints like the Cheshire cat's.

"One reason I so love Nicky: He doesn't believe in keeping secrets."

I can only blink like an idiot. "Nicky? You call him Nicky?"

"What? It's his name. You don't really know him, do you? He's clever and funny and thoughtful. We have the best time together. We're just … on the same wavelength. He's nothing like Roger." She laughs at some private joke and taps her slender brown cigarette into the foil ashtray. "Listen to me, I sound like a schoolgirl!"

I don't understand how this happened. Nick Cutler has no redeeming qualities. He's nothing but an preening overeducated thug. She'd be better off dating Idi Amin.

"And Josie, I know what he is. So no hard feelings." She reaches to take my hand. "You were trying to protect me, weren't you? You needn't worry. I haven't yet, but I'm going to join him soon. I can't wait!"

The blood drains from my face. "You want him to kill you? Are you fucking insane?"

"Our boys are alive and kicking, aren't they?"

"Kicking doesn't matter. The problem is the murdering and lying. And the hiding of corpses. I'd not wish that sort of life on anyone."

"You know what would be worse? A life where I constantly have to pretend that Nicky is human." She takes a long drag on her cigarette. "If you really cared for Mitchell, you wouldn't force him to be something he's not. Don't you want to be like him? Stop living a lie? Then you could really be together."

"Christ, no! I could never... He would never..."

She leans across the table toward me, her eyes wide and serious. "Do you love him? Does he love you?"

Could any question hurt more? Before I knew him, I was nobody. Before he knew me, he was a monster. Help me, he said. And I did. Nicky, I mean, Cutler would say: quid pro quo. Can we call it love?

Lydia taps her fingers impatiently. "Well?"

"It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be."

More and more vampires. I wish I'd ordered something stronger than coffee.

"Don't do it, Lydia. It'll be complete agony. You could die instantly, or you could spend decades wallowing in mud and entrails. You'd never get your nails clean."

For a second her gaze drifts to her manicure. Her nails are a lovely shade of the palest pink. "Hah. Not me. It's going to be fun. We've got plans. I'll help Nicky with his work. We can be patrons of the arts. Nicky's sorted it so we don't have to kill if we don't want. It'll be taken care of."

Right. Cutler's refreshments come from somewhere. How thoroughly vile.

"People will still die. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does. Everyone has to go sometime. And me, I want more. I don't want to wrinkle up. I don't want to grow feeble and ugly and clumsy and forgetful. I don't want to be someone's girl-of-the-month."

"You're sure you're not?" Her eyes flick downward again. "Did Roger call you something like that? I could slap him! Lydia, don't let that tactless git make you do something irredeemably stupid. You don't understand what you'd lose."

She covers my hand with hers and squeezes. "I understand completely, baby. I'm going into this with eyes open. Nicky and I want to be together. We won't grow old, we won't die, and I'll always be able to dance."

"But no one will see you."

She's quiet for a moment. "Nicky will see me. You will see me. Roger will see me. Unless he dies." She stubs out her cigarette and regards the crushed and lipstick-stained end. "I'll smoke as many of these as I like."

Her resolve is heartbreaking.

"I'm so sorry you got mixed up in this."

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

It's Sunday morning, half five. Who in blazes could it be?

Ring-ring.

Too sleepy to be properly annoyed, I pry my eyes open and clamber over Mitchell to answer the phone. He barely stirs.

"Hi Josie? Lydia."

This can't be good.

"Er, morning. Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. It's done. I wanted to tell you myself. No secrets, baby."

An ache starts beneath my ribs, acrid and burning, and expands to fill my throat.

"Oh god. That's horrible."

"Not to me. I couldn't be better."

"Listen, I know you don't care what I think, but you've made a ghastly mistake. You'll see." My eyes fill with tears. I never thought I'd cry for Lydia.

The peals of laughter emerging from the phone are so loud they wake Mitchell. He rubs one eye and grimaces in the yellowish half - light filtering from behind the curtains. "Who's that? This time of morning nothing's that funny. "

"Lydia. Apparently becoming a vampire gives her the giggles."

"That's just fucking marvelous, isn't it? I'm going back to sleep. We'll deal with this later."

Lydia has stopped chortling. "You're right. I don't care. But since we're keeping no secrets, I wanted to tell you...I'm planning to kill Roger. He's been getting on my last nerve. 'Girl-of-the-month' was only his most recent gem. I've had quite enough."

"I was afraid you might go after him. Please let him be. He may be a waste of air, but he doesn't deserve to die."

"But darling, none of us do. Deserving doesn't figure into it. If it's his time, he dies. I've done it, and it wasn't so bad. Not that part, anyway. It's natural."

"No it isn't. It's wrong. Why don't you do something useful? Go to Asia and relieve the suffering prisoners. Thin the herd in Biafra. Have mercy on the flood victims in Bangladesh. There's been enough of this... you... vampires mucking things up. If you had any decency at all, you'd just go away."

"What sort of fun would that be? All the idiots here to have at, the critics and the arseholes, the lovely retribution. Killing foreigners wouldn't be nearly as satisfying. I hope you'll understand someday."

Albert and James's newest show is in a new "gallery" that's really a nightclub. The long narrow room has a stage at one end with a few tables arranged nearby, and a bar at the other. I'm alone at a table waiting for Mitchell to finish the endless rounds of chitchat with potential art buyers, admirers, and interested passers-by.

I think Nick Cutler might be following us. I've no idea how he managed to get this gig, but that's definitely his band onstage. He's sporting the elaborately mussed ducktail quiff he wears when performing, so unlike his usual nondescript look. I'm quite unthrilled to see him. The band, which he's introduced tonight as "The Lost Men," is playing old rock'n'roll and country and western songs: "Johnny B. Goode" and "Be-bop-a-lula" and "Stand By Your Man" and "King of the Road."

Grant raises his ginger eyebrows when he sees me and gives as non-bloodthirsty a grin as a hundred-year-old cowboy vampire can give. Robbie slouches over his bass with his eyes closed. He stands sideways to the audience as if he's a sheet of paper and leading with his narrower edge will make him disappear. And inevitably, Lydia is standing at the edge of the stage gazing at Nick as if he were Paul McCartney or something.

At the end of the set, he grins like a weasel and hops down to give Lydia an ostentatious kiss. She plops herself down at my table without asking if I mind. Nick drapes his jacket over a chair beside her and goes off to fetch us drinks. Robbie and Grant have evaporated.

Lydia beams and waves hello, like a very young girl would, raising her hand next to her face and waggling her fingers playfully.

"Josie, baby, it's so wonderful to see you!"

I have to admit, she looks good. Her cheeks are paler than I remember, accentuating her freckles, and she is calmer and more generous with her smile than before. Happier.

Cutler returns, seats himself between me and Lydia and sets down two glasses of white wine for us. He has a shorter, browner drink for himself. She puts her head on his shoulder. Their fingers interlace like they mean it. Her hand slides over his, the other tracing a path across the inside of his wrist and up his forearm to the rolled cuff of his shirt.

He looks distracted and wonderstruck. This bloodthirsty animal, this scheming creep, is exactly like a young man newly steady with a pretty girl. His eyes wander over her body and down, and he leans protectively against her chair. She glances up at him and without warning kisses his cheek. The corners of his mouth tilt up, and he doesn't seem weaselly at all, just a bit barmy and smitten. Their knees touch under the table.

A very awkward fifteen minutes later, Mitchell appears, practically glowing with happy energy. He loves going to these things. His ear to ear smile fades as he recognizes my tablemates.

I can't wait to get out of here.

After two G&Ts and three cigarettes I still want to hit something. I'd smash every plate and cup in the sink, but can't afford to break any more. I chuck my shoes at the wall instead. The thump isn't loud enough. Very unsatisfying. I should be getting ready for bed but I'm not.

Mitchell picks up the shoes and sets them beside several other pairs lined up in the corner.

"Why are you so cross?"

"I don't know." Obviously, I'm lying.

"I think you do. But Jesus, you are tightly wound. Let me unwind you a little. "

Good idea. He sits on the sofa, and I sit on the floor in front of him while he runs his thumbs over the knotted muscles at the nape of my neck, my head resting back against the palms of his hands. Such a relief. I'd been scowling so hard it made my face hurt. My anger and frustration drain away, replaced by calm like diving into cool water.

"Better?"

"Oh yes." I feel like leaning against his knee and drifting off to sleep. He moves a stray lock of hair out of my eyes.

"Good. So do you want to tell me what's on your mind?"

It's a lot of work to climb onto the couch and sit beside him, but I manage it.

"It doesn't seem so important anymore, but since you asked, here's the thing: I've got used to having vampires around. I want you to be here. And I don't mind Robbie and Grant, though Grant still scares me a bit. But when vampires infiltrate my social circle, recruit my coworkers, and threaten my ex, I don't like that at all."

"That's not unreasonable. Nobody likes that." He stands and offers to help me up. "Let's call it a night."

We take turns at the bathroom sink. While he's brushing his teeth, something occurs to me.

"You know, the worst part is forever feeling like an idiot. I went on and on to Lydia about what a bad idea it was for her to let Nick...erm..."

"Recruit her?" he asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Yeah. But she's doing great. On cloud nine, even. And I have to warn Roger about her again, and he's not going to believe me, again. I can't win. I'm just wrong all the time."

He rinses, spits, and runs the water to wash it down the drain.

"Do you really care what they think?"

"No. It's what I think. Perhaps she did the sensible thing. I mean, you saw them. True vampire love, just like that."

We're undressing in the bedroom. I have my back to him but I know he's watching while I take off my bra and put on one of the big paint-stained t-shirts he's given me. It smells like him, soap and match heads and burnt sugar.

Behind me there is the tinny clank of his belt buckle being undone, and the sound of trousers dropping on the floor. He says, "Being like them would make everything simpler wouldn't it?"

"Sometimes I think it would. Why didn't you ever find someone and just ... you know..."

"I wanted to. It didn't work out for me."

"What happened? Didn't feel right? Too evil?"

I undo my little cross pendant, take out my earrings, and put them in the jewelry box.

Mitchell, in y-fronts and socks, sits on the edge of the bed, frowning.

"That's not really the point. You and me together, we're no more right than they are."

"We are so. At least I thought we were. I mean, we're not killing people."

"Haven't we been over this? Do you think I'm helping humanity? That I'm one of the good guys?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Come on. You know perfectly well that before we met, I was anything but a good guy. And you haven't kicked me out."

Sometimes I forget just how old he is, how much he's done, the choices he's made, and why. He came to me for refuge, not redemption. I've made my own choices: when I let him in, I wasn't compelled by selflessness or moral obligation. I wanted him.

It's different now. He's not a mythical beast, not a mysterious stranger; he's a friend, a lover, a flatmate. On this bed, where so many strange things happened, he's peeling off his socks and absently scratching his ankle.

I sit down beside him. "So what is the point? Does this matter?"

"To me it does. Before we met, my life was just noise and electrical impulses and twitching muscles. Hunger and violence. If I had to leave you and everything you've given me- home, friends, job, the world, really - I would always know that, for a short while, I belonged here. I had this. I'll never be like I was."

I did that for him. To him. I wanted to.

Nick and Lydia are everywhere. We try to avoid them but we can't. They are relentlessly nice to us. They are in the back row at the cinema, and when the show is over they are waiting on the pavement to ask us how we liked the picture. We bump into them at the chemist, buying toothpaste and razor blades and, oddly, rubber tubing. It's become a routine: They smile and invite us for drinks, and we decline. They refuse to get the message.

Here they are at the pub, where they slide into the booth with us and order a round. You can't shut Nick up after a couple of pints. He's got his arm around Lydia and is telling, not for the first time, the story of how they met.

"When I first saw her, she was talking to you, so I reckoned killing her would send a message. You know: I got one of yours. She was close to you, but not too close. But once we'd talked, I was of two minds. One of them said I should kill her, but the other said I needn't be so predictable. If I keep her around, who'd object?"

Mitchell lights a cigarette. "Is there any point to this? Because I think you like the sound of your voice more than I do."

Cutler continues as if he hasn't heard. "Oh, on balance, she was still going to be eaten, and I told her so, because the way I see it, it's only fair for the girl to know why you're killing her.

"But she's clever. She said, Do you really want rid of me? Aren't we having a nice time together? And I said, Tell me why I shouldn't kill you. And she said, Piss off, you're the lawyer here, not me. Keep sleeping with me or kill me, but don't be a knob. And I thought, I rather like this girl. Minds weren't the only things blown that night, if you get my meaning."

Mitchell stands up to go either to the bar or the toilet, I'm not sure which.

"Nice story. Anyone need another drink?" Without waiting for an answer, he heads for the bar. He doesn't look back when Cutler calls after him.

"And Mitchell, I took your advice to heart. I stopped going to bed alone." Lydia lays her hand on his thigh. His eyes close halfway. I might as well be invisible.

Mitchell takes two trips to carry the four glasses to the table. He's in no hurry to sit down.

Nick sips his drink, gently removes Lydia's hand from his leg, and continues as if he'd never stopped talking.

"My friend, you're missing the bigger picture. Your girl is a liability. So fragile. So impractical. My colleagues and I have a system. It's tried and true, tidy and efficient. Civilized. None of this rending of flesh and carrying on like wild animals. I can't stand that sort of mess and disorder. And I don't have to. We harvest our supplies off premise, decant, dispose, and enjoy, trouble-free. Everyone plays a part. Grant does the dispatching, Robbie does the cleanup, and I do the distribution.

"Now what are we missing in this little supply chain? Why, procurement, of course. That's where my girl will come in. They'll be on her like moths to a flame. She gets them so far, we take them the rest of the way, and hey presto, we're set! Here's to you, my sweet young thing!"

He raises his glass, drains it, and picks up the full one beside it.

"And with that, it's time for a little announcement. Now that I've completed my team, I plan to build on our success. Middle management is not my style at all. I prefer to run my own show. Recently, I've had word that I'm needed to whip a flagging organization back into shape. I'd say we're off to greener pastures, but we're headed for the seaside. More sand than grass."

They're leaving! I suppose I should be happy for them.

But the vampires have taken Lydia and it's my fault. Seth and his friends came here and killed people and it's my fault. Roger is in danger and it's my fault. I opened this door. I let in the monsters.