hroud, the remains of one or two hapless small
creatures, the horrible blood-stained satin lining. She screamed and
dropped the lid, somehow pinching her finger. She hopped on one foot, as
one usually does to fight down sudden pain. Then she was clinging to me,
thoroughly frightened._

_"What does it mean, Tod?"_

_I quieted her with the usual platitudes. Then I was kissing that poor,
red little finger. Without warning to myself or her, I nipped it
affectionately. A warm glow spread through me; there was a taste more
delightful than fine old brandy, or vintage wine, and I knew irrevocably
that I was not cured; no, nor ever should be! And I knew, too, that I
wanted Maria--not just as a man longs for the woman he loves--but to
drink of the fountain of her life, that warm, intoxicating fountain,
greedily, joyously. She never knew what went through my mind at that
moment. If I could have killed myself then, I would have, and with no
compunction. But there is more to killing a revenant than that. The
Church knows the procedure. I hurried Maria home as fast as I could and
told her I had to go away for a week on business. She believed me and
said she would miss me. But I didn't go away. That night I fought a
losing battle with myself, and then and every night thereafter, I
returned to her, partook of her and slunk away, loathing myself. I knew
that I must soon kill the one being I loved above all others, kill, too,
her immortal soul, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it._

_She began to fade visibly. When I "returned" in a week, she was so ill
that a few steps tired her. Her appetite all but vanished. She seemed
genuinely glad to see me. She was beset by nightmares, she said. Could I
help her get some rest? I took her to a physician who sagely prescribed
a change in climate, rest and a diet rich in blood and iron, gave her a
prescription for sedatives, and called it a day._

_You know how she looked when you saw her. The day was approaching when
she would have no more blood, when life as you know it would stop and
she would become like me. Somehow I couldn't take her with me without
some warning, but I didn't know how to do it. You see, since I was an
innocent victim myself. I could speak, could warn my intended victim,
because although my soul had all but died, there was still a spark that
evil hadn't touched. I knew she would think it a joke if I told her
about myself without warning._

_Then, happily for me,