Mr. Crepsley hadn't moved. His mouth was a tight line across the lower half of his face, but his eyes were filled with warmth, sadness and… love.

"Thank you, Evanna," he whispered.

"No need," she smiled softly, then looked around at the rest of us. "I think we should leave him alone a while. Come into the cave."

Wordlessly we followed her in. Even the normally raucous Vancha March was quiet, pausing only to clasp Mr. Crepsley's left shoulder and squeeze comfortingly. The frogs hopped along after us, except the nine with Arra's features plastered across their backs. They stayed, held their shape and kept Mr. Crepsley company as he gazed sorrowfully at the face of his one-time mate and dwelt at length upon the painful past.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVANNA HAD prepared a feast for us, but it was all vegetables and fruit — she was a vegetarian and wouldn't allow anyone to eat meat in her cave. Vancha teased her about it — "Still on the cow-food, Lady?" — but ate his share along with Harkat and me, though he only chose food which hadn't been cooked.

"How can you eat that?" I asked, revolted, as he tucked into a raw turnip.

"All in the conditioning," he winked, biting deeply into it. "Yum — a worm!"

Mr. Crepsley joined us as we were finishing. He was in a sombre mood for the rest of the night, saying little, staring off into space.

The cave was far more luxurious than the caverns of Vampire Mountain. Evanna had made a real home of it, with soft feather beds, wonderful paintings on the walls and huge candle-lit lamps which cast a rosy glow over everything. There were couches to lie on, fans to cool us, exotic fruit and wine. After so many years of rough living, it seemed like a palace.

As we relaxed and digested the meal, Vancha cleared his throat and broached our reason for being here. "Evanna, we've come to discuss—"

She silenced him with a quick wave of a hand. "We'll have none of that tonight," she insisted. "Official business can wait until tomorrow. This is a time for friendship and rest."

"Very well, Lady. This is your domain and I bow to your wishes." Lying back, Vancha burped loudly, then looked for somewhere to spit. Evanna tossed a small silver pot at him. "Ah!" he beamed. "A spittoon." He leant over and spat forcefully into it. There was a slight 'ping' and Vancha grunted happily.

"I was cleaning up for days the last time he visited," Evanna remarked to Harkat and me, "Pools of spit everywhere. Hopefully the spittoon will keep him in order. Now if only there was something for him to flick his nose-pickings into…"

"Are you complaining about me?" Vancha asked.

"Of course not, Sire," she replied sarcastically. "What woman could object to a man invading her home and covering the floor with mucus?"

"I don't think of you as a woman, Evanna," he laughed.

"Oh?" There was ice in her tone. "What do you think of me as?"

"A witch," he said innocently, then leapt from the couch and raced out of the cave before she cast a spell on him.

Later, when Evanna had regained her sense of humour, Vancha snuck back in to his couch, fluffed up a cushion, stretched out and chewed at a wart on his left palm.

"I thought you only slept on the floor," I remarked.

"Ordinarily," he agreed, "but it'd be impolite to refuse another's hospitality, especially when your host is the Lady of the Wilds."

I sat up curiously. "Why do you call her a Lady? Is she a princess?"

Vancha's laughter echoed through the cave. "Do you hear that, Lady? The boy thinks you're a princess!"

"What's so strange about that?" she asked, stroking her moustache. "Don't all princesses look like this?"

"Beneath Paradise, perhaps," Vancha chuckled. Vampires believe that the souls of good vampires go beyond the stars to Paradise when they die. There isn't such a thing as hell in vampire mythology — most believe the souls of bad vampires stay trapped on Earth — but occasionally one would refer to a 'beneath Paradise'.

"No," Vancha said seriously. "Evanna's far more important and regal than any mere princess."

"Why, Vancha," she cooed, "that was almost flattering."

"I can flatter when I want," he said, then broke wind loudly. "And flutter too!"

"Disgusting," Evanna sneered, but she had a hard time hiding a smile.

"Darren was asking about you on the way here," Vancha said to Evanna. "We told him nothing of your past. Would you care to fill him in?"

Evanna shook her head. "You tell it, Vancha. I'm not in the mood for story-telling. But keep it short," she added, as he opened his mouth to begin.

"I will," he promised.

"And don't be rude."

"Lady Evanna!" he gasped. "Am I ever?" Grinning, he ran a hand through his green hair, thought a while, then began in a soft voice which I hadn't heard him use before. "Heed, children," he said, then cocked an eyebrow and said in his own voice, "That's the way to begin a story. Humans start with 'Once upon a time', but what do humans know about—"

"Vancha," Evanna interrupted. "I said keep it short."

Vancha grimaced, then started over, again in his soft voice. "Heed, children — we creatures of the night were not made to beget heirs. Our women can't give birth and our men can't sire children. This is the way it's been since the first vampire walked by the light of the moon, and the way we thought it would always be.

"But seventeen hundred years ago, there lived a vampire by the name of Corza Jarn. He was ordinary in all respects, making his way in the world, until he fell in love and mated with a vampiress called Sarfa Grail. They were happy, hunting and fighting side by side, and when the first term of their mating agreement elapsed, they agreed to mate again."

That's how vampire 'marriages' work. Vampires don't agree to stay with one another for life, only for ten, fifteen or twenty years. Once that time is up, they can agree to another decade or two together, or go their separate ways.

"Midway through their second term," Vancha continued, "Corza grew restless. He wished to have a baby with Sarfa and raise a child of his own. He refused to accept then-natural limitations and went looking for the cure to vampire sterility. For decades he searched in vain, the loyal Sarfa by his side. A hundred years came and went. Two hundred. Sarfa died during the quest but this didn't put Corza off — if anything, it made him search even harder for a solution. Finally, fourteen hundred years ago, his search led him to that meddler with the watch — Desmond Tiny.

"Now," Vancha said gruffly, "it's not known exactly how much power Mr. Tiny wields over vampires. Some say he created us, others that he once was one of us, others still that he's simply an interested observer. Corza Jarn knew no more about Tiny's true self than the rest, but he believed the magician could help, and followed him around the world, begging him to put an end to the barren curse of the vampire clan.

"For two centuries Mr. Tiny laughed at Corza Jarn and waved his pleas away. He told the vampire — now old and feeble, close to death — to stop worrying. He said children weren't meant for vampires. Corza wouldn't accept this. He pestered Tiny and begged him to give the vampires hope. He offered his soul in exchange for a solution, but Mr. Tiny sneered and said if he wanted Corza's soul, he would simply take it."

"I haven't heard that part of the story before," Evanna cut in.

Vancha shrugged. "Legends are flexible. I think it's good to remind people of Tiny's cruel nature, so I do, every chance I get.

"Eventually," he returned to the story, "for reasons of his own, Tiny relented. He said he'd create a woman capable of bearing a vampire's child, but added a catch — the woman and her children would either make the clan more powerful than ever… or destroy us completely!