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Hastings, and I used to live there with my dad. There usually wasn’t that much talk about the Portland area because its population was not big enough to hide unusual activity. So when I read that four teenage girls, aged seventeen and eighteen, had disappeared in the last two weeks, a chill went through me. All the girls were reported as suspected runaways, though they had taken nothing with them and none of their friends believed they would run away. None of the girls knew each other and the police had no leads. The poster said it looked like a vampire was at work in the area.
    Bile rose in my throat. Vampires take great pleasure in torturing their victims before they drain them. And what they leave behind… A shudder passed through me as an image came unbidden to my mind. I closed my eyes but the scene had been seared into my brain.
    I gritted my teeth and waited for the old fear and pain to pass. At times like this I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and hide under my covers. But I didn’t. If there were vampires in Maine, I had to know.
    The rest of the thread did not offer any more information other than the girls had all disappeared at night. The user who had started the thread was a regular on the site, and we talked often. He really knew his stuff so I pinged him and asked for a private chat. Within minutes he popped up in a separate window.
     
    Wulfman: Sup PG. Been a while.
    PixieGirl: Yeah been busy. Reading your post. Vamps in Portland?
    Wulfman: According to my sources. Weird though. Not their usual scene.
    PixieGirl: Wonder what brings them back to Portland.
    Wulfman: Back? What do you know?
    Pause.
    PixieGirl: Knew someone killed by vamps ten years ago.
    Wulfman: Wow. I never knew. Sorry.
    PixieGirl: You remember any activity back then?
    Wulfman: I wasn’t on the scene then. I can check my sources and get back to you.
    PixieGirl: Thanks.
    Wulfman: It would help if I had the name of your friend who died.
    Long pause.
    Wulfman: Still there?
    PixieGirl: Yeah… his name was Daniel Grey.

Chapter 3
     
    The sparrow twitched restlessly in my hands so I opened them and watched him take flight, his newly healed wing moving like it had never been broken. I giggled as he circled my head happily a few times then flew up to perch on a branch above me.
    “I hope you’re more careful next you see that old tom cat,” I told him as I stood and brushed dirt off my jeans. I pulled on my mittens and set off across the small park at the end of our street. The sky was heavy with gray clouds and I could smell snow in the air. If we got enough snow this time, Daddy promised to take me sledding. My pace picked up and I hurried home.
    I could hear our neighbor’s basset hound, Charlie, baying from halfway down the street and I wondered what had upset him. Charlie was old and he didn’t even bark at squirrels or cats anymore. When I reached our neighbor’s house I walked around to their backyard to see what Charlie was making so much noise about. It surprised me to find him straining at his wire run, barking and howling at my backyard. Something about the way his hackles were raised made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
    I ran back out to the street and up the walkway to our front door. “Daddy, I think there’s something wrong with Charlie,” I called, opening the door. I tossed my mittens and cap on the bench in the hallway. “Daddy?” I called again.
    No answer.
    Where is he? The house was filled with the aroma of pot roast so he had to be here. He would never leave with the stove on.
    Something did not feel right. Then I felt the cold draft coming down the hallway. He must have gone out back to see why Charlie was barking and left the door open. I shook my head. He was always scolding me for doing that.
    I smelled it just before I reached the kitchen, a warm coppery scent that made my stomach lurch and my pulse quicken. A cry burst from me when I stepped inside and saw the spray of red across the