Hannah wanted to laugh but felt it would be rude. Her fright was slowly abating.

“Why are you here?”

“We live here,” he said simply.

“No one’s lived here in years,” Hannah said. “John Carter—the caretaker, he said it’s been empty forever.”

“Huh,” the boy shrugged. He took the corner seat, across from her bed.

Hannah glanced at him warily, wondering if she should let him get that close. If he was a vampire, he didn’t look cold and clammy. He looked tired. Exhausted. There were dark circles underneath his eyes. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer. But what did she know? Could she trust him? But he had visited her twice already, after all. If he’d wanted her dead then, he could have killed her at any time. There was something about him—he was almost too cute to be scared of.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, when she found her voice.

“Oh, you mean the thing with the lights?”

She nodded.

“Dunno. For a long time, I couldn’t do anything. I was sleeping in your closet, but you didn’t see me. Then I realized I could turn the lights on and off, on and off. But it was only when you started noticing that I began to feel more like myself.”

“Why are you here?”

The boy closed his eyes. “I’m hiding from someone.”

“Who?”

He closed his eyes harder, so that his face was a painful grimace. “Somebody bad. Somebody who wants me dead—no, worse than dead.” He shuddered.

“If you’re a vampire aren’t you already dead?” she asked in a practical tone. She felt herself relaxing. Why should she be scared of him when it was so obvious it was he who was frightened?

“No, not really. It’s more like I’ve lived a long time. A long time,” he murmured. “This is our house. I remember the fireplace downstairs. I put the plaque up myself.” He must be talking about that dusty old plaque next to the fireplace, Hannah thought, but it was so old and dirty she had never thought to notice it before.