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as fast as I am I couldn’t catch him. Now I can’t find him and I don’t know where he went to stay out of the sun during the day. You have to help me find him, James. He’s just a boy and he’s scared.’”
    “What a kind man Howard is,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know.”
    James nodded. “The sight of the frightened vampire boy touched him and he had to do something.”
    “So you came back to Salem?”
    “Yes. When I arrived I saw a very human-looking Howard, his shirt rumpled, his beard untrimmed, his hair messy, his eyes red-rimmed. He couldn’t rest until he found the boy, so that night we went into the woods to search for him. At first there was nothing, no sounds, not even the scamper of animals or the rustling wind. Then I caught his scent and the sound of feet crunching fallen leaves. I moved as soundlessly as I could since I didn’t want to frighten him away. Finally, I saw him huddled against a tree, his knees pulled to his chest, his face and blue shirt stained with large pools of blood, some from his tears, and some from some previous feeding or injuries, I couldn’t tell. The sight tore at Howard’s heart, and it touched mine too. At least it touched where my heart used to be.”
    Sarah shook her head. “You’re like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz , James, wishing for a heart you already have.”
    “Perhaps,” James said. “The sight of Timothy touched my memories of how frightened and alone I felt when I was new to this life, and I understood what Howard felt because I had to help the boy too. I walked to him, and when he saw me he jumped as if he would run away.
    “‘It’s all right,’ I said. I moved toward him as if I were approaching a strange dog with my hands out to let it smell me. I knelt next to him and spoke softly. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ I told him. ‘I’m just like you.’
    “Timothy pulled into himself, his knees closer to his chest, his arms so tight around his legs they nearly wrapped around his back, an immortal ball of fear.
    “‘It’s all right,’ I said again. ‘My name is James. What’s your name?’
    “Timothy’s black-night eyes looked like pinholes against his dead-pale skin, watching me as I inched closer to him. He must have sensed I meant him no harm because he released his grip some and he found his voice.
    “‘Timothy,’ he said. He looked at himself, his bloody clothes, the fresh blood from his tears on his hands. He looked confused, as though he hardly remembered his name himself. ‘I’m Timothy Bryston.’
    “‘How old are you, Timothy?’
    “‘I’m fourteen.’
    “‘Where’s your family?’
    “He heaved with such sadness he couldn’t speak, and he shuddered so hard I was afraid he’d damage himself even with his preternatural bones. I rubbed his back until he settled. He looked even younger than fourteen then. ‘They’re dead,’ he said through waves of sobs. ‘All of them. My mom and dad. My brother and sister.’ He held his blood-streaked hands out to me, pleading. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
    “‘You’re all right, Timothy,’ I said. ‘Tell me what happened to your family.’
    He paced the rocky forest ground, tripping over heavy tree roots he didn’t see through his blurred, swollen eyes, then stopped suddenly, his head in his hands. “‘We were driving home and another car zoomed around us. My dad lost control swerving away and our car smashed into a tree.’ Timothy dropped to his knees under the weight of his anguish. ‘They’re all dead! And I should be too! I was dying, everything was slowing down, everything was growing darker, but this man pulled me from the car and said he could help me. I asked him if he could help my mom and dad, and he said I’d thank him later. I woke up here in the woods.’”
    “That does sound like Geoffrey,” Sarah said.
    James grimaced. “Yes.”
    “Did Timothy recognize him at our wedding?”
    “I don’t think so. He hasn’t said anything.”
    Sarah shook her