Services Rendered 
Louise Cooper 
The cultured female voice at the other end of the phone line said, "I 
saw your advertisement in Alternatives. It's possible that I might be 
able to help." 
The sick lurch of hope had become all too familiar over the last few 
months, and Penny tried to ignore it and keep her mind neutral. "I 
see. What uh exactly would you be suggesting?" 
There was a slight pause. Then: "I'd guess from your tone that 
you've had other calls, yes? But nothing worth while came of them?" 
"You could say that." Hope turned sour as she recalled them: two 
fringe herbalists, a crystal healer, a woman trying to sell her a 
"magic luck talisman" complete with a Your Personal Love 
Rhythms chart. Oh, and the crank who had banged on about Jesus 
and the wages of sin, until she had sworn at him and slammed the 
receiver down. The magazine had advised her, when she placed the 
advert, not to include her home number. Desperate needs, though, 
called for desperate measures. 
"Look," Penny said, "if you're marketing some new miracle cure, 
then" 
"Oh, no. It's nothing like that, I assure you; what I could offer is 
entirely practical, and entirely effective. The only caveat is that the 
patient must be prepared to accept certain side effects." 
Hope began to creep back. Words such as "patient" and "side 

effects" were reassuring; they had a ring of orthodoxy. 
"May I ask you a question?" said the woman. 
Penny snapped back from the tangent her thoughts had abruptly 
taken. "Yes; yes, please do." 
"You obviously couldn't go into detail in the advertisement. It's your 
husband who's ill?" 
"Yes." 
"And the doctors say that well, that there's nothing more they can 
do?" 
"Yes." The GP; tests; the specialist; more tests; that loathsome 
hospital Penny breathed deeply and carefully to knock the tremor 
out of her voice. "It's incurable, and it's progressive. Over the last 
two years we've tried everything, but it didn't And now  now, 
he might have a couple of months, but the doctors say that" 
Something caught in her throat; she turned her head aside from the 
receiver and tried to clear it. 
"That there's no hope," the woman gently finished the sentence for 
her." I understand. I'm so sorry." 
"Thank you," Penny said tightly. 
"So, then. I think I can help you, if you want me to. But I'd prefer to 
talk about it face to face." 
Penny's cynicism had begun to come back in a reaction to the last 
few moments, and she demanded, "Why? That's the sort of thing the 
evangelists do: worm an invitation, then start on their conversion 
technique. Only last week I answered the doorbell and there were 
some bloody" 

"Please. I promise you, I am not an evangelist in any shape or form. 
Far from it. But what I need to explain really does need a 
personal meeting." 
Penny looked down the length of the hall. The thin February 
daylight made everything look bleak and depressing; the stairs were 
deeply shadowed, and David was lying up there in their bedroom, 
drugged to the eyeballs with painkillers, hardly knowing her, hardly 
knowing anything. 
"All right," she said on an outward rush of breath. "When, and 
where?" 
"It's best if I come to your house, I think. Would this evening be 
convenient?" 
"Yes." Face the thing quickly. If it's yet another disappointment, 
better to have it over with. Feeling that the situation wasn't quite 
real, Penny gave her address and agreed on 7:00 p.m. 
"I don't know your name," she added. 
"Oh, of course. It's Smith. Carmine Smith." 
Penny didn't believe that, and she didn't believe that the woman 
could be of any use at all. But what did it matter? There was nothing 
left to lose. 
Carmine Smith was probably in her early forties, elegant in 
classically understated dark clothes and expensive black silk coat. 
Her hair, too, was dark, cut in a young, gamine style that suited her 
perfectly. Her eyes were subtly made up, but she wore no lipstick. 

"Thank you," she said, taking the coffee (black, no sugar) that 
Penny handed to her. She looked around the room, assessing it, her 
expression inscrutable. Then she asked, "Is your husband at home?" 
Penny nodded. "They said there was no point his staying in hospital. 
They need the beds, and there's nothing" 
"Of course. Could I see him?" 
Penny became defensive. "He's probably asleep. He sleeps a lot, and 
even when he's awake he's vague. He couldn't tell you much." 
"All the same, if I could just look in?" Carmine's eyes were very 
intense. 
Penny hesitated, then shrugged. 
They climbed the stairs. Carmine walked noiselessly, which Penny 
found faintly unsettling. She fancied that if she were to turn her 
head she would find nobody at all behind her, and that this whole 
encounter was a delusion. 
David, as she had predicted, was asleep. Carmine moved to the bed 
and stood gazing down at him by the soft light of the bedside lamp, 
while Penny, who no longer liked to look at her husband too often, 
hovered by the window. 
At length Carmine said quietly, "He's very handsome." 
"Yes." Or was, before he couldn't eat properly any more and 
started to waste away. 
"How old is he?" 
"Forty-six." Penny moved restlessly. "Look, I don't want to wake 
him. You've seen him now; if we're going to talk, I'd prefer to do it 

downstairs." 
"Of course." Carmine led the way out with a confidence that she 
hadn't exhibited before, as if in the space of a few seconds she had 
observed, considered and come to a decision. Back in the sittingroom 
she sat in what had always been David's favourite chair, 
sipped her coffee, then set the cup down and looked directly at 
Penny. 
"I can bring him back to you," she said. 
A crawling, electrical sensation went through Penny's entire body 
and she stared, disbelieving. "How?" 
Carmine studied her own hands where they lay in her lap. "This is 
the hard part, Mrs Blythe. The part you're going to find difficult to 
accept." 
"You mentioned side effects" 
"Yes, yes; but I'm not talking about those, not yet." She inhaled 
deeply. "Perhaps it's best if I put it bluntly, rather than beating about 
the bush. I can restore your husband to you, whole and healthy, 
stronger than he has ever been before. Because I can make him 
immortal." 
There was a brief, lacerating silence: then Penny stood up. 
"Get out of my house," she said. "Now." 
"Mrs Blythe" 
"Now," Penny repeated ferociously. "People like you  you're sick. 
I suppose you find it funny, do you, playing your jokes, having your 
laughs at someone else's expense? Some kind of turn-on, is it?" She 
strode to the door, wrenched it open. "Get out!" 

Carmine was also on her feet now, but she didn't leave. "Mrs 
Blythe, I'm serious!" She sounded almost angry, and Penny turned, 
thumping a clenched fist against the edge of the door. 
"Oh, she's serious! So it's not a sick joke; she really believes it! God 
give me strength!" She swung round again. "What kind of moron do 
you take me for? And what kind of moron are you? Immortality, she 
says! You're in some cult, right? Well, I'll tell you right now, Ms 
Smith, or whatever your real name is, you have been brainwashed, 
and I'm not listening to another moment of this crap!" 
"Mrs Blythe," said Carmine, and something in her voice made 
Penny stop. 
"Mrs Blythe, I do not belong to any cult or other organization. But I 
am immortal, and I am offering your husband the chance to be the 
same, because it's the only alternative he has to dying. You see, I'm 
a vampire." 
Penny pressed her forehead against the door frame and started to 
laugh. The laughter became hysterical, then turned into gulping, 
hiccuping sobs; then she threw anything movable within her reach 
at Carmine, screaming abuse. Carmine avoided the missiles and 
waited calmly for the worst of the storm to pass. 
When it did, and Penny was slumped on her haunches against the 
wall with both hands covering her face, she asked, "Have you got a 
mirror?" 
Penny raised her head and stared, but she didn't speak. Looking past 
her through the open door, Carmine saw an oval mirror hanging in 
the hall. She fetched it, and crouched down at Penny's side. 

"Look in the glass," she said. 
Too drained to argue, Penny looked. She saw her own red-eyed, 
dishevelled reflection, decided that she resembled an unhealthy pig 
and even in extremity felt shamed. Then her brain caught up as she 
took in Carmine's image beside hers. In the mirror, Carmine had no 
face. She was nothing more than a vague, grey blur, as if an isolated 
patch of fog had floated in and settled at Penny's shoulder. The fog 
dimly suggested a humanlike shape, and there might have been a 
fading hint of features shrouded somewhere in it, but that was all. 
"The superstition that we're invisible in mirrors isn't quite accurate," 
said Carmine mildly, "but it's close enough." She stood up, saving 
the glass as Penny's numb fingers lost their grip on it, and stepped 
back a pace or two, to show that she meant no threat. "What else 
can I do to convince you?" 
Very slowly, Penny's head came up. She looked shocked, confused, 
and there was a witless, corpse-like grin on her face. "Garlic," she 
said. "Vampires can't stand garlic. And they turn to dust if sunlight 
touches them." She flung a swift glance towards the window, but 
the curtains were closed. It was dark outside. She had forgotten that. 
"Not true," Carmine told her. "Personally I adore garlic. And 
sunlight well, we find it debilitating, and our skin tends to burn 
more easily than most people's, but it doesn't do any lasting 
damage." 
Penny persisted. "Coffins, then. They sleep in coffins." 
"Again, not true. I did try it once, when I was a child, but one night 
was enough to make me see sense. Beds are far more comfortable." 

Carmine smiled wryly. "It's Chinese Whispers, isn't it? Stories 
become exaggerated and distorted as they're passed from one person 
to another, until you end up with a mixture of fact and fiction. That's 
how the folklore about us grew up over the centuries." 
"Centuries" Penny repeated dully, then uttered a peculiar little 
bark of a laugh. "How old are you?" 
"Far older than any woman wants to admit to. In my case the 
condition's hereditary. It's another myth, by the way, that vampires 
can only be made, not born  either is possible. Which brings us 
back to David" 
"No," said Penny. 
"Mrs Blythe" 
"No. Anyway, I don't believe any of this." 
"You mean, you don't want to believe it. Look at me. Please. Just so 
that I can show you something." 
Her teeth, of course. The canines were abnormally long; not 
outright Dracula fangs, but certainly very pronounced. They looked 
sharp, too. 
Penny giggled stupidly, and Carmine said, "If you still won't 
believe, then there's only one other way I can prove my bona fides." 
The giggling stopped and Penny eyed her suspiciously. "What's 
that?" 
"Begin the treatment." Carmine raised her gaze meaningfully 
upwards, in the direction of the bedroom. "And before you shout at 
me again, consider: I can't do anything to damage him, because he's 
already terminally damaged. So what have you got to lose?" 

Penny's rational self  what was left of it  said: this is completely 
insane. I'm talking to a woman who claims to be a vampire, and 
claims she can give David his life back by turning him into one, too. 
And part of me wants that ludicrous impossibility to be true, 
because anything's better than losing him, and so here I stand on 
the verge of saying, yes, go ahead, then; let's see if you really can 
do it! 
She heard herself say aloud: "Go ahead, then. Let's see if you really 
can do it." She turned away from Carmine and stared at the wall. 
"As you said, what have I got to lose? The most likely scenario is 
that you're barking mad, and you'll jump around and shout mumbojumbo, 
and nothing will happen. But okay. Why not? I wouldn't 
have put that ad in pleading for a cure if I hadn't been ready to try 
just about anything." She stopped then, and frowned. "What will 
you actually do?" 
"Bite him," said Carmine levelly. "That part of the myth is accurate. 
The first session won't do much  he'll need several  but it will 
set the ball rolling, so to speak. You might even find his health 
starts to improve straight away." 
"Sure." Penny waved a hand. Unreal. Maybe I've flipped, and it isn't 
happening at all. What the hell? "Go on, then. Yes. Go on." 
Carmine wouldn't let Penny accompany her upstairs. They argued 
about that, but in the end Penny gave way. Instead she paced the 
hall, listening but hearing nothing, until footsteps moved overhead 
to the bathroom. There was a splashing of water, then Carmine 
came back down the staircase. 

"Is that it?" Penny asked. She had half expected to see some change 
in the woman. But apart from the fact that her cheeks looked a little 
less pale than before, there was nothing discernible. 
"For the time being," Carmine told her. "I'll go now. See how he is 
over the next forty-eight hours." 
She took her coat from the hook and started to put it on. "Wait," 
Penny said. 
"Yes?" 
"Why are you doing this? I mean,  if what you claim is true, and 
you are a a" She couldn't quite bring herself to utter the word." 
There's got to be something in it for you." 
"There is," said Carmine. "Money." 
It was the last answer Penny had expected, and she blinked, thrown. 
"What?" 
Carmine shrugged. "Everyone has to earn a living. If your husband 
improves, and you decide to go on with the treatment, then I'll 
expect you to pay me a fee." 
"What sort of a fee?" 
"I usually charge ten thousand. That's assuming the treatment is 
completed; if you decide to stop at any stage, we'll work out a 
percentage." 
"Ten thousand?" 
"I don't wish to be rude," said Carmine, "but what price would you 
put on your husband's future?" 
When one thought about it, it was, of course, a perfectly reasonable 

business deal. The car had cost twice that, and the market value of 
the house was in a different league altogether. As Carmine pointed 
out, what price David's future? None the less, in her naivety Penny 
had assumed that Carmine must be motivated by some unspecified 
altruism, and to find out that she was as hard-nosed as any 
showroom salesman or estate agent was something of a shock. 
"It's" She laughed, choked, collected herself. "It's not exactly the 
NHS rate, is it?" 
"No," Carmine agreed. The outer edges of her mouth twitched 
faintly. "Strictly private, I'm afraid." 
The car could go. It must still be worth at least eight thousand. Two 
more wouldn't be impossible to find. 
"All right," Penny said. "If it works." She pressed her knuckles to 
her brow. "I don't believe I'm doing this." 
Carmine produced a silver-edged business card. "My office 
number's on it," she said. "Call me the day after tomorrow, and we'll 
take it from there." 
Penny looked at the card. " 'Carmine Smith, Consultant' That's 
what you call yourself, is it?" 
"It's a useful word. Covers a multitude of sins." The hint of a smile 
increased and became faintly wicked. "Goodnight, Penny. I may 
call you Penny now? We'll speak soon." 
She saw herself out. 
David Blythe did not wake that evening, but slept through the night, 
as peacefully as a child, without the aid of drugs. With movies in 

mind, Penny examined his neck for puncture marks. She found 
nothing, and went to bed in the adjoining room, where she had long 
periods of uneasy wakefulness with bouts of bad dreams between 
them. 
David woke shortly after seven, and told her that he was feeling 
very little pain. The smallest hint of colour alleviated the grey of 
illness in his face. He slept again through the morning. At lunchtime 
he ate half a bowl of soup, and didn't vomit it back. Then he slept 
again, ate a little more, and had a second peaceful night. 
By the following morning Penny had forgotten the forty-eight-hour 
agreement and at 10:00 a.m. she was dialling the number on 
Carmine Smith's card. 
"He's better," she said in a tiny, frightened voice. "I don't 
understand, and I almost daren't believe it, but he's so much better!" 
"Yes," said Carmine, with a certain satisfaction. "Ten thousand, 
then?" 
"Ten thousand," Penny repeated. "Oh, God, yes." 
She came to the house four more times. On each occasion the 
routine was the same: coffee first, then the walk upstairs leaving 
Penny nervously pacing, then the bathroom, then goodbye. Once 
she did accept a glass of Burgundy after her visit to the bedroom, 
but that was all. As yet she had asked for no payment, and when 
Penny tentatively raised the subject she only shook her head and 
said that she preferred to take her fee on completion. Either she was 
trusting, Penny decided, or her clients would be too frightened to try 

to renege on the agreement. 
At Carmine's insistence, David knew nothing of what was going on. 
Though his health was rapidly improving he still slept a great deal, 
so the visits were timed accordingly. Penny eased her conscience by 
telling herself that, had he been consulted, David would have gladly 
chosen anything as an alternative to death. 
Then one evening, as they sipped their ritual coffee, Carmine said 
that tonight's visit would be her last. 
Penny's hand and cup stopped midway to her mouth. "Why? What's 
wrong?" 
"Nothing's wrong." Carmine set her own cup down. "It's simply that 
the initial stage of the cure is complete. It's time for the second and 
final stage." 
She was gazing steadily at Penny, and with an inner curling 
sensation Penny realized that she had not prepared herself for this. 
Carmine had explained  or tried to  the nature and the 
consequences of what would eventually happen to David. The way 
he would live. The way he would eat. The heightened energy; the 
fact that he would not age but remain as he was for well, in 
theory for ever. Penny had pretended to listen, but in fact Carmine's 
words had flowed through her and past her without taking hold in 
her mind. She hadn't wanted to know the details; all that had 
mattered to her was that David was slowly but surely gaining his 
life back. 
Now, though, the reality of the situation hit her with a jolt that made 
her feel sick. Tonight, if Carmine had her way, David would 

become what she was. A vampire. Penny believed in vampires now. 
Carmine claimed to be such a creature, and in the light of the 
miracle that had been wrought, how could she doubt anything that 
Carmine said? 
Vampire. "I" Then, finding the pronoun utterly pointless, she fell 
silent. Carmine did not drink any more coffee; she merely waited, 
and at last Penny found a semblance of a question. 
"What will you do?" 
"What I've done before." Carmine's voice was quiet, soothing; 
irrationally, the tone of it reassured. "But to a greater degree. I'd 
rather not tell you the details; they might upset you, and there are 
some things that we find uncomfortable to expose to those who 
aren't of our kind." 
David. Vampire. "Will you hurt him?" 
"Not at all. I guarantee it." 
My husband. Then Penny faced the question she really wanted to 
ask; the only one that mattered. "Will he die ?" 
She thought Carmine might fudge that one, possibly out of delicacy 
or kindness, or for more obscure reasons. She didn't. She said, as 
casually as if referring to the workings of a car engine, 
"Technically, yes. He'll be out  that is, not breathing  for 
something like twelve hours; then he'll wake and" She spread her 
hands. "That's it." 
It. My husband, undead. A vampire 
"Oh, one warning," Carmine added. "Twelve hours is a long time to 
wait; it'll probably feel more like twelve days to you. You could 

easily panic and think that something's gone wrong, but you must 
not be tempted to act on that fear. If you call a doctor, an 
ambulance, anything like that, the consequences will be disastrous, 
and I am not exaggerating." One hand, resting on the arm of her 
chair, clenched, as though an unpleasant memory had risen. 
"Imagine it, Penny. A dead man who suddenly and inexplicably 
returns to life. Believe me, you do not want to condemn David, and 
yourself, to facing the results of that!" 
Penny nodded. She was feeling worse with every moment, and 
suddenly she found herself on the verge of changing her mind, 
ordering Carmine out of the house as she had done at their first 
encounter. 
"I'm afraid," Carmine said softly, "that it's a little late for that." 
Penny stared. "How do you" 
"Know what you're thinking? Don't worry, I'm not telepathic. It's 
simply all there in your face; cold feet, the last-minute doubts; it's 
always the same. But you can't turn back. He's already too far down 
the line, and if it stops now, he'll die sooner and more unkindly than 
he would have done if this had never begun." She stood up. "So, 
with your permission" 
Penny's face was a frozen sculpture. She nodded, once, barely 
perceptibly, and Carmine silently left the room. 
She was gone longer than usual, and when she returned Penny had 
not been pacing but still sat motionless in her chair. 
"Twelve hours," Carmine said. Her cheeks were flushed and there 
was an excited, faintly feverish look in her eyes. "For his sake and 

yours, please remember what I said and don't panic." 
Penny didn't look at her but fumbled for her handbag on the floor 
near her feet. "I'd better" She swallowed. The car was sold, the 
money was in the bank. She wanted rid of it. "Will you take a 
cheque?" 
"Of course." While Penny wrote, her hand shaking, Carmine put her 
coat on. "Thank you," she said. The cheque disappeared into a small 
black leather wallet. "Oh, and if you need me again, just phone. It's 
inclusive; no extra charge." 
"Need you?" Penny demanded sharply. "For what?" 
"Well you may already have worked out how to do it, in which 
case there's no problem," said Carmine. "But if you haven't" Her 
shoulders lifted in an eloquent but slightly self-effacing way. "You 
might want some help when you have to break the news of what 
we've done to David." 
Penny sat beside her husband's bed, her gaze fixed glassily on his 
face, her body and mind numb. David wasn't breathing, and she had 
got through nearly half a bottle of vodka, and if Carmine's 
calculation was right there were still nine more hours to endure 
before his chest would move and his eyes would open and look at 
her, and she would have to tell him the truth. She didn't know how 
she would do it, and she wished that she had the barefaced gall to 
pray for guidance. But she didn't, and so waiting the hours away 
with the help of the vodka bottle seemed the only viable option. 
At midnight she was asleep, slumped forward with her face on the 

bed, in a posture that would give her a diabolical backache by 
morning. At 7:45 a.m. a sound and a movement disturbed her, and 
she raised her head blearily. Her eyes wouldn't focus properly at 
first, but after a second or two David's face registered. 
He was awake. He was sitting up. And he was hungry. 
"Champagne." Carmine produced a bag with a refinedly understated 
logo and presented it to Penny. "To mark the occasion and celebrate 
a happy outcome." 
The champagne was expensive and already chilled to the perfect 
temperature, both of which made Penny feel faintly inadequate. She 
said thank you too gushingly, but before she could make any move 
to open the bottle David took it from her. "Let me, darling. You 
know what you're like; you'll struggle with it and then it'll go off 
bang and we'll lose half the contents before we even start." 
The remark stung but Penny didn't want to show it. She returned a 
stiff smile, fetched glasses, watched as the cork came out with 
nothing more than a soft hiss and the champagne bubbled into the 
bowls. Carmine was given the first glass (naturally enough; she was 
a guest), Penny the second. 
"Well, then." David raised the third glass. "To all of us." But he was 
looking at Carmine as he said it. 
Carmine smiled warmly. They drank, then a constrained silence 
crept in. 
Penny said, "I'll see how the food's coming along" 
All right, she told herself in the kitchen. This is still very new to him 

and she's been more than helpful; in fact I very much doubt if we 
could have coped without her. So stop resenting her, and stop being 
paranoid. Lecture over. If she repeated it often enough, the message 
would get through eventually. There was no cause to be suspicious. 
She started to prepare the food, trying to concentrate on the filleted 
sole she had prepared for herself and not dwell too much on what 
David and Carmine were to eat. Only a desire not to alienate David 
had stopped her from staggering mealtimes so that they no longer 
sat together at the dinner table. She frankly couldn't bear to watch 
him; she had always been squeamish about red meat, and in the past 
their meals had majored on fish, chicken or vegetarian dishes. All 
that had changed now, and if David's diet wasn't as grotesque as 
legend, it was still bad enough. And the way he ate; the speed, the 
relish of it Meat, and especially beef or veal, either totally raw or 
so rare that the blood still ran and congealed on his plate, and fish 
only in the form of sushi. He enjoyed jugged hare, if the local 
butcher could provide one complete with blood. (When the butcher 
did, Penny had put her foot down and told David that he must cook 
it himself.) No vegetables whatever; no fruit or cereals or grains. 
Oh, and the daily breakfast of raw eggs and black pudding, of 
course. Alcohol wasn't a problem, though he had a marked 
preference for the heavier red wines, and he did not get drunk no 
matter how much he put away. 
Tonight, with two of David's kind to cater for, Penny had forced 
herself to provide fillet steak (cooking omitted), with a creamy and 
plentiful pepper sauce that she could pour on before serving, to 
mask the look and the smell. Vegetables would also be served, but 

only she herself would touch them; ditto the tiramisu she had 
prepared for dessert. 
She was not looking forward to this evening. During the early, 
difficult stage (she smiled humourlessly at that piece of litotes) 
Carmine had been a rock to her, a mediator and ally in the painful 
process of getting David through the initial shock and enabling him 
to come to terms with what he had become. That nightmare was 
over now, though, and the idea that Carmine should come to dinner 
on a purely social basis  thus shifting the relationship between the 
three of them from the professional to the personal  dismayed 
Penny. She did not want Carmine as a friend. The woman unnerved 
her (understandably), and now that she was no longer needed, 
Penny would have vastly preferred never to set eyes on her again. 
David, though, had argued that one invitation was the very least 
they could do to thank Carmine. Anything less would be downright 
rude, he had said, and considering that without her intervention 
Penny would now be a widow, he found her attitude hard to 
understand, and more than a little disappointing. He had expected 
better of her. Feeling like a petty-minded schoolgirl, Penny had 
flushed and capitulated and spent the rest of the day torn between 
feelings of shame and guilt, and fervent hopes that Carmine would 
decline the invitation. But Carmine had not declined, so the motions 
must be gone through, and David would be pleased, and when it 
was over she could, with luck, bid Carmine a final adieu. 
The meal progressed in decorous, civilized style, only marred for 
Penny (if one overlooked the actual content of the food) by the 
amount of wine that David and Carmine drank. It wasn't that she 

really minded, Penny told herself. It wasn't as if either of them 
became drunk or obnoxious. But Carmine's contribution was only 
the one bottle of champagne; they had paid for the rest, and 
considering that ten thousand pounds of their money was now 
sitting in her bank account 
She pushed the thought away. The matter of the money was 
niggling at her too often for comfort, and she reminded herself that, 
as Carmine had said at the time, what price her husband's future? 
David had been a v had been what he was for four months now, 
and even in her meanest moments Penny had to acknowledge that 
the condition had its advantages. Take the sex, for instance. 
Through their married life he had never had a high sex drive; it had 
been a bone of contention at times, and once his illness set in, any 
question of conjugal rights had gone straight out of the window. 
Penny had never complained, naturally, but she had suffered a lot of 
frustration. Not so now. Now, David was tireless. Inventive, too, 
and so keen that in fact his demands were starting to become 
exhausting and just a little tedious. Ice cream is delectable, but too 
much makes you sick 
Penny pushed that thought away, too, and tried to shake her mind 
out of its bout of self-pity. What did the money matter, or the small 
irritations? David was alive (well but no: don't go down that 
path), strong, and guaranteed to remain that way for 
The word hit her suddenly and hard. For ever. David wasn't going to 
age. As years passed, he would remain exactly as he was tonight, 
while she 
"Penny?" Carmine's voice snapped the chain of the horror rising in 

her. "Is anything wrong?" 
Oh, no; of course nothing's wrong. Only that I'm such a cretin that 
I've only just started to consider the implications of immortality! 
"No," Penny said, in such a peculiarly strangled voice that she gave 
the complete lie to the statement. "No, I  something stuck in my 
throat, I think." 
She might have imagined it, but Penny thought Carmine and David 
exchanged a very private look. "Not a fishbone, I hope?" Carmine 
said solicitously. "They can be dangerous. Can I" 
"No!" She swallowed. "Thank you. It's gone now." She took a large 
and unladylike swig from her wineglass, and this time distinctly saw 
David raise an eyebrow. 
"More, darling?" No trace of disapproval in his voice; but he was 
good at hiding things. Always had been, now she thought about it. 
"Yes. Thanks." Defiantly she emptied the refilled glass in one, 
challenging him to make any comment. He didn't. 
"It was a lovely meal, Penny," Carmine said, possibly to ease the 
sudden sharp change in the atmosphere. 
"Absolutely," David concurred before Penny could think of a reply. 
"We must do it again, mustn't we?" 
Penny opened her mouth to snap "Must we?", but had the wit to 
close it again before anything came out. David offered Carmine 
coffee, and when Penny showed no sign of volunteering to make it, 
he headed to the kitchen to do it himself. Penny watched him go 
(tall, slim; that old tendency to put on weight had quite gone, and he 
looked extremely handsome these days) and as he disappeared, a 

question sprang into her mind. It was a spin-off from the 
immortality thing (she was feeling calmer about that, though 
doubtless it would come back and hit her again later), and suddenly 
she wanted, extremely badly, to know the answer. 
She turned to Carmine. "May I ask you something?" 
"Of course." Carmine inclined her head in a way that made Penny 
wonder if she was being patronized. Third thought to push away. 
"It's about children." 
"Ah." Carmine's expression grew wary. "I've been wondering if that 
would come up." 
Penny bristled, though not visibly. "I think it's a natural enough 
concern. Whatever David might" 
"You didn't have children before. Was that choice, or ?" 
"Choice, of course." Her hackles were rising by the moment and she 
wished she had not begun this conversation. Too late for regret, 
though, and with determination she collected herself. "It's a 
perfectly straightforward question. Can we?" 
Carmine said, "No." 
Penny's bravado and aggression collapsed. "Why not?" 
Carmine's eyes held a world of sympathy, even if Penny was 
unwilling to acknowledge it. "It's a harsh fact of his  our  
condition," she said. "A vampire can procreate  naturally, or our 
kind would have died out in the earliest days; maybe never even 
have evolved in the first place when you think about it logically. 
Chickens and eggs, you know" She saw Penny's face become 
very tight, and quickly let the metaphor drop. "I was born what I 

am, and I could make a child with any man, mortal or otherwise. 
David, though, was not born what he is, and when the condition isn't 
hereditary, the rules are different. He could only father a child on a 
woman who was vampire born. But with you, it isn't possible." 
Penny's mind spun off into space, and her lungs seemed to be 
clogging up with something murky and angry and bitter. "So," she 
said, "you could have a child with my husband, but I can't." 
What did that pause signify? Anything? Nothing? At length 
Carmine did answer. "Yes. Theoretically." 
Theoretically. Penny asked, "Have you had any children?" 
Carmine broke eye contact and looked away. It was the first time 
Penny had ever known her to do that. "Yes." 
Penny's bitterness was growing, and with it a desperate desire to 
strike out, to hurt, because she was hurting and she wanted Carmine 
to suffer along with her. "Where are they now?" she demanded. 
The second pause was longer than the first. Then: "One," Carmine 
said, apparently without emotion, "is in New York. Or was, the last 
time I heard anything of him. He's a heroin addict, and he wants to 
die of it, but he can't, because of what he is. The other"  her 
voice caught momentarily  "did die, though she was the one who 
didn't want to. Ironic, yes? But it was a long time ago, and a long 
way east of here, and people believed in us then, so when she made 
a serious tactical mistake they" She coughed. "Well, you know 
how the legend runs. The method of killing us is one of the facts 
that hasn't been distorted." 
Penny stared, fascination creeping in despite herself. "A stake 

through the heart?" she prompted softly. 
Carmine nodded. Her face had tightened, taking on the look of a 
fixed clay mask. "It doesn't actually have to be a stake," she said. 
"Anything will do, as long as it pierces far enough. In her case" 
"Your daughter?" 
Carmine swallowed. "My daughter, yes. In her case it was a  a 
kitchen knife. Just a kitchen knife." 
David came back then. "Coffee's brewing," he began cheerfully, 
then saw Carmine's tension, the expression on Penny's face. "What 
is it?" His tone became sharp. "What's happened?" 
Penny mouthed "tell you later" but he didn't see it; his attention was 
on Carmine. She, however, straightened her shoulders and smiled 
up at him. "Nothing to concern you," she said lightly. "Women's 
talk, that's all. David, when we've had coffee I really must go. It's 
been a lovely evening, but I have to be up tomorrow; I've got an 
early appointment." 
Penny wanted to say bitchily, "Another ten grand in the bank?" but 
held her tongue. This wasn't the moment for scoring points; in a few 
minutes more Carmine would be out of here. She disciplined herself 
to make polite and superficially pleasant small talk while the coffee 
was enjoyed and they all had a cognac, then David fetched 
Carmine's coat and walked her to her car. Penny watched covertly 
from the window, but it was too dark to see what sort of car she had. 
Something expensive, no doubt. She could afford it, couldn't she? 
And why was a simple farewell taking so long? What were they 
doing? 

When David did return (six minutes: Penny had counted) she was 
washing up with a pointed amount of noise and splashing. Before 
his illness, he had promised to buy her a dishwasher. Out of the 
question now, of course. They couldn't afford it. As she slammed 
another plate into the rack he came up behind her and slid his hands 
around her waist. 
"Leave that. I'll do it in the morning." His lips touched the back of 
her neck. "Come to bed." 
Oh, God, not again. "I'm tired," she said. "Let's give it a miss 
tonight, shall we?" 
He laughed. "No way. I want you. Come on, darling; I'm not taking 
no for an answer." 
You never do, do you? Penny pulled a face that he couldn't see, and 
sighed. No point in arguing; she would waste more time and energy 
that way than by giving him what he wanted, yet again. She pulled 
off her rubber gloves, dumped them on the draining board and went 
with him up the stairs. 
David always fell soundly asleep after sex, and when she was 
certain of not disturbing him Penny got up and went into the 
bathroom. Switching on the small vanity light she faced her 
reflection in the mirror above the washbasin. On first impression 
she was pretty good for forty-three, but she wasn't in a mood to be 
optimistic, and she studied herself more closely and critically. Protocrow's 
feet at the borders of her eyes. Lines developing at the 
corners of her mouth. Chin starting to sag; barely noticeable yet but 
she could see it. She wasn't a natural blonde, so couldn't tell if there 
were any traces of grey in her hair yet. Grey was distinguishing in a 

man, ageing in a woman. Carmine wasn't grey, was she? 
Carmine could have his child. I can't. 
It wasn't that she wanted children. Never had, really; she wasn't the 
maternal type. But the principle of the thing was different, and the 
thought that Carmine and David were capable of doing what she 
and David weren't made her very, very angry. It also led, quite 
naturally from the perspective of this dissatisfied moment, to the 
conclusion that if they could, they just might. That tonight, she had 
possibly witnessed the opening gambits of a sexual affair. Or even 
if she hadn't, that the potential was there. 
Potential  or inevitability? Penny leaned closer still to the mirror, 
dissecting her image now. Even if lines and grey hair weren't yet 
worth worrying about, that would change soon enough. Think 
forward three years; five; ten. In ten years she would be fifty-three. 
In fifteen, sixty would be looming on her horizon, but David would 
still be exactly as he was tonight: youthful, energetic, handsome. 
What would he want with a sixty-year-old wife? She would be a 
turn-off, an embarrassment, and that would be the end of it, 
marriage over, goodbye. 
David was no fool; he must have considered the long-term future. 
Maybe he had even discussed it with Carmine, in some private 
conversation that Penny knew nothing about? Penny's stomach 
churned at the thought of him talking to Carmine, possibly meeting 
Carmine, when she was not present to play chaperone. Or 
gooseberry. Remember how he kept looking at her tonight. Are they 
already having an affair? Are they? 

Suddenly she felt tainted, and with the feeling came an 
overwhelming urge to walk back into the bedroom, shake David 
forcibly awake and confront him with her suspicions. Or to go to the 
phone, key Carmine's number and demand the truth from her. Yes: 
that was the better option. Because if there was an affair David 
would lie about it, and she was too vulnerable to his charm not to be 
taken in. If Carmine lied, Penny would not be fooled. Yes. The 
better option. In the morning, when David had left for work, she 
would do it. 
Penny did not make the planned phone call. For by morning, she 
had thought of a new idea; so radical that at first it shocked her and 
she mentally hid from it, finding a hundred reasons why it was 
utterly out of the question. Through the first half of the day, though, 
the reasons seemed somehow to break down of their own accord, 
until by mid-afternoon they were gone, leaving in their place the 
same kind of queasy, heart-racing excitement that young children 
feel on the night before Christmas when nothing can persuade them 
to sleep. 
With an hour to go before David came home, she summoned the 
courage to ring Carmine. 
Carmine said, "No. I'm sorry, Penny, but I just won't do it." With 
her world collapsing around her Penny screamed down the phone. 
"Why not, damn you? You were eager enough to do it for David; 
what's the bloody difference all of a sudden?" She sucked in a huge, 
painful breath. "I know it's all business to you, but I can find the 

money, I'll" 
"Penny, listen to me! Have you talked to David about this?" 
"No, I haven't!" 
"Then I think you should. And I also think I know what he'll say." 
Penny saw red. "David's not my bloody owner  I make my own 
decisions! And how the hell would you know what he'd say? 
Telepathic, are you? Or are you so cosy with my husband these days 
that you know him better than I do?" 
"I'm not saying that. I'm only saying" 
"What are you saying? Tell me the truth, for once!" 
"I'm trying to. The circumstances aren't the same, Penny. David was 
terminally ill, and what I did for him was the only alternative to 
death. It isn't like that with you. You're healthy and with a long, 
normal life ahead of you. It isn't  it wouldn't be right to turn you 
into" 
"But I want it!" Then with a great effort Penny brought herself 
under control. Keep your temper. Reason with her. "Look. I've 
thought it through, I have no doubts, and I can get the money. Don't 
you want another ten thousand?" 
Carmine gave a strange little laugh. "Money doesn't come into it. 
You could offer me half a million and I'd turn it down. The plain 
fact is, I will not do this for any living soul unless there is a very, 
very good reason indeed." 
"And my reason isn't good enough." 
"No. Frankly, it isn't." 

"I see. So you're happy to give David your gift, but you won't 
consider giving it to me." 
"It isn't like that, Penny." 
"No, I'm sure it isn't." Then something dawned, and Penny 
wondered why on earth she hadn't thought of it before. "Well, I 
won't bother you again, then. I'll ask my husband to do it for me 
instead. He is my husband, after all. Which is something you seem 
to conveniently forget when it suits you." 
There was a sharp pause. "What's that supposed to mean?" 
"Work it out, Carmine. You're intelligent enough." Penny was 
completely calm now. Yes, David can do it. Fool I am: I needn't 
even have made this call. Coolly, she added, "I won't take up any 
more of your time. Oh, one last thing. You're not welcome in this 
house from now on." 
She didn't hang up immediately; she wanted to hear and savour 
Carmine's reaction. There was a short silence. 
Then Carmine said, "Message understood. But before you go, it's 
only fair to tell you that David can't help you. Even if he agreed to it 
 which I frankly doubt  he doesn't possess the ability. Only 
those who are born to the club, as you might say, can initiate new 
members. Goodbye, Penny. I think I feel rather sorry for you." 
Carmine was the one to break the connection. 
Penny did not tell David about the phone call, and she did not ask 
him to do what she wanted. Instead, she kept the memory of the 
conversation locked privately in her mind, picking over every detail 

until it festered like a sore that wouldn't heal. David can't. Was that 
true, or had Carmine lied for her own purposes? I doubt if he would 
agree. How did she know what David would or wouldn't agree to? 
Discussed it, had they? How often? How intimately? Your reason 
isn't good enough. Carmine Smith, aka God. Well, the motive was 
obvious, wasn't it? Wives get in the way of affairs, and the last thing 
Carmine and David would want was Penny joining the club, as 
Carmine had put it. Penny would cramp their style. Penny would be 
a damned nuisance. So she must be prevented from joining, mustn't 
she? Provided Penny stayed in the ranks of ordinary mortals, 
Carmine and David need only wait a few years  nothing, to them 
 until Penny began seriously to age, then faded, withered and 
finally dropped out of the picture altogether. Problem solved: until 
then they could simply carry on their liaison behind her back. 
The dark thoughts hung on Penny like a shroud all evening. David 
must have been aware of it but he made no comment, which to her 
only compounded his guilt. She refused sex that night (unusually, 
he didn't try too hard to persuade her), slept badly and, when it was 
time for him to get up, lay still and silent, pretending that the alarm 
clock hadn't woken her. It fooled David; he dressed silently, then 
went downstairs to make his own breakfast, as she had begun to 
insist he should do. 
Then the phone rang. It was unusually early for anyone to call, and 
Penny raised her head from the pillow. David answered it on the 
kitchen extension, and the kitchen was directly below their 
bedroom, so his side of the conversation carried clearly. 
"David Blythe Oh  hi. This is a surprise No, no; it's all 

right What? When? Well, I don't Ah. Well, yes, perhaps we 
should Okay; 12:45 suit you? Right. I'll meet you there." Click. 
End of call. 
When he had eaten and came back upstairs, Penny yawned and 
stretched and put on a sleepy voice. "Who was that on the phone?" 
David had his back to her and was putting on his tie. He didn't use a 
mirror; there was no point. "I told you about that new client, didn't 
I?" 
"No." 
"Oh. Well, it was his secretary; just changing the time of a meeting. 
Bloody nuisance; I've got a lot of other things scheduled today." He 
turned and glanced at her. "You all right?" 
"Fine." Go on, go away. I've got something to find out, and I don't 
want you around while I do it. 
He left a few minutes later. Penny listened to the sounds of the 
troublesome car eventually starting (an old banger: we all know 
what happened to the decent one, don't we?) and as soon as he 
drove away she picked up the phone and keyed "recall", to see who 
had really phoned. 
The number given was local, but not familiar. Could be the 
supposed client's secretary. However Penny entered the code that 
would stop her own call being traced, then punched the number in. 
A ringing tone began. 
Click. "Carmine Smith." 
Penny hung up. Carmine. Not at her office but, obviously, at home. 
Well, now she had all her answers. New client. Oh, sure. 

"You bastard. You two-faced, lying, cheating, cold-blooded 
bastardl" 
And that, although she didn't realize it until quite some time 
afterwards, was the moment when everything was set in train. 
She watched. Oh, she watched, and she listened, and at every 
opportunity she searched through David's clothes, David's wallet, 
anything that David was unsuspecting enough to leave lying around 
for her. For six days she found nothing. Then on the seventh 
evening, while he was in the bath, the incriminating evidence finally 
appeared. 
Penny did not know whether to feel triumphant or sick as she read 
the scribbled note at the back of David's diary. It said simply: 
Carmine, The Scream  Friday 12:30. Not last Friday, because 
she'd looked in the diary more recently than that. Today was 
Thursday. Tomorrow, then. The Scream was a new minimalist cafe; 
Penny had suggested to David that they go there, but he had poopoohed 
the idea, dismissing it as an overpriced trap for fashion 
victims. Now she knew why. Not exactly sensible to take one's wife 
to the same place where one met one's mistress 
Noises from the bathroom announced David emerging, and hastily 
Penny replaced the diary in the inner pocket of his jacket. Twelve 
thirty tomorrow. Good. It would be the final proof. 
The rain gave her the advantage of anonymity. It was easy to loiter 
next door to the cafe, hiding under a plain black umbrella and 

pretending to window-shop. Sheer good fortune staged the meeting 
as if it had been scripted: David arrived on foot, and as he reached 
the doorway a taxi drew up and Carmine got out. 
Heart thudding painfully, Penny watched sidelong as they moved 
towards each other, and saw Carmine reach up to kiss her husband. 
It was not a sisterly kiss, and Penny waited no longer but turned 
and, quietly and unnoticed, walked away. 
She therefore didn't see David's reaction to the kiss; didn't see him 
lay his hands on Carmine's upper arms and push her gently away. 
Carmine hesitated, searching his face, and what she saw there 
changed her expression. A small smile, a regretful and halfapologetic 
shrug. Then they went into the cafe together. 
"I'm sorry." Carmine stirred her coffee but showed no inclination to 
drink it. "Yes, I confess I did hope that maybe something might 
develop between us. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to finding you very 
attractive, and as we're both Well, it seemed logical somehow." 
David thought the morality of that was dubious but didn't comment. 
"Apology accepted," he said. "And maybe under different 
circumstances" 
"Thank you for being so tactful about it. But I overstepped the 
mark. I simply didn't realize how strongly you feel about Penny." 
"I love her," he said. "And I don't want to lose her. When you called 
the first time, and told me what she'd asked you to do, it shocked 
me. I hadn't faced it before; hadn't thought through the implications 
of what I've become and what it'll mean to us in the future. Now, 

though" 
"You want me to do it." She looked down at the table. 
"Yes. So that Penny and I can stay together." His fingers moved 
restlessly. "I know it's a great deal to ask, Carmine; especially when 
you well, when I've disappointed you." He shook his head 
quickly. "Christ, that sounds so arrogant; I didn't mean" 
"Forget it. I haven't lived as long as I have without developing a 
very thick skin. Yes, it is a great deal to ask. But you're asking it out 
of love, and I'd have a hard time coping with my conscience if I 
used love as an excuse for refusing." 
David's eyes lit. "Then" 
"I'll do it. Not for money; I won't accept payment this time." She 
raised her head, seemed to force herself to meet his gaze, and 
smiled. "Call it my love token to you." 
There was a brief silence, then David let out a long breath and 
relaxed in his chair. "Thank you. I don't know how to tell you what 
this means to me." 
"Then don't try." One of her hands, under the table, clenched until 
the fingernails dug painfully into her flesh. "I could begin this 
evening," she added after a few moments. "Sooner the better, yes? 
Then I'll be out of your hair for good." 
"I don't know what to say, Carmine." 
"You're making a habit of these 'don't know's." She manufactured a 
laugh to show that that was a joke. "I'll come to your house at eight 
o'clock, then?" 
"Eight o'clock. Yes. Thank you." 

Carmine stood up to leave, her coffee still untouched. "It might be 
better if you don't tell Penny before I arrive. She isn't very well 
disposed towards me at the moment." 
"That'll change." 
"Ah. My consolation, and reward for services rendered." Her mouth 
twitched with a sad drollery. "I'll see you this evening. Oh, and a 
glass or two of a decent Bordeaux or Burgundy would be welcome 
afterwards. Goodbye, David." 
He hadn't intended to say a word to Penny about it, but when he 
walked into the house and saw her tight face and tense posture, he 
wanted to cheer her into a happier mood. So he kissed her (she 
responded stiffly) and said, "I've got a surprise for you." 
"Oh?" Penny eyed him uncertainly, wishing she could hate him for 
what he was doing to her. 
"Mmm. You'll find out what it is at eight o'clock. When Carmine 
arrives." 
"Carmine?" She stared at him, her eyes glaring disbelief and 
outrage, but David was already on his way upstairs and didn't see 
the change. "That's right. No need to worry about food: she won't be 
eating with us. But I've bought some wine; if you open it now, it can 
breathe for an hour or two. Just going to have a quick shower and 
get changed." 
His voice diminished up the stairs and Penny stood motionless in 
the living room doorway. She hadn't taken in his exact words; hadn't 
listened to them. One word, one name, was all that had registered. 

All afternoon she had been preparing herself for the great 
confrontation, when she would hurl down what she had seen today 
like a gauntlet and challenge him to deny it. Now all her plans were 
thrown into chaos; he had preempted her and snatched the 
advantage. Carmine was coming here. He had invited her, as if there 
was nothing between them, nothing to hide, nothing going on. What 
"surprise" had they cooked up between them to mollify her, put her 
off the scent? They must think she was a fool, a moron, to be taken 
in by their games! 
Upstairs in the bedroom David was singing as he stripped off. He 
had a good baritone voice, but now it grated hatefully on Penny's 
ears. Fool. Dupe. Taken for granted, used, mocked  A huge and 
uncontrollable rage was rising inside her like a storm-tide, and 
though a small part of her brain warned her it was a kind of 
madness, another part welcomed it because it was better, so much 
better, than the pain of enduring betrayal and making no effort to 
counter it. 
Counter it. Penny moved at last. Down the hall, into the kitchen. 
Footfalls overhead; David was in the bathroom now. Faint sound of 
the shower running. He's stopped singing. I don't ever want to hear 
him sing again. 
She opened one of the kitchen drawers at random, looked inside, 
closed it. Her mind wasn't functioning properly: it was the rage that 
was doing it, blocking logic, blocking efficient reasoning and 
leaving her only with a robotic level of half-conscious reflex to 
drive her. Second drawer. No, not in there. Third. 
Ah 

It doesn't actually have to be a stake. Anything will do, as long as it 
pierces far enough. Carmine's own words. Her daughter had died 
that way, caught out by  how had Carmine phrased it? "A tactical 
mistake", that was it. Found out, unmasked for what she was, and 
summarily executed without a judge, jury or lawyer in sight. It must 
have happened a long time ago, of course. A century, two centuries: 
Carmine was coy about her age, so she hadn't put a date on the 
event. Attitudes were different then. This was the modern world, a 
rational age. People didn't do such things. Did they. 
As long as it pierces far enough. 
Penny took the cook's knife with the eight-inch blade out of its 
plastic sheath in the drawer, and started to weigh and balance it 
gently in her palm. 
Carmine was fifteen minutes late, but that didn't matter. Penny 
heard a car approach and slow down, and settled herself more 
comfortably in her cross-legged position on the hall floor. It would 
take Carmine a minute or so to park; spaces were always tight in the 
evenings as more and more people arrived home and squeezed into 
diminishing slots. Yes; there she goes. Rev, rev. Sounds as if she 
doesn't know the length of her own car. I don't think I'll go outside 
and help her. I don't think that would be a good idea. 
The stain on the carpet was spreading. Her hands and arms still 
dripped, probably from when she had punched her clenched fists 
into his chest afterwards, to make absolutely sure. Funny; she was 
so squeamish about red meat, but tonight she hadn't felt sick. Still 

didn't, despite the fact that the whole thing had been much more 
spectacular than she had anticipated. Penny giggled. Movie-makers 
didn't know the half of it. The marks might come out of the stairs 
and hall carpet, but there wasn't a chance of eradicating the mess 
upstairs. Bathroom, bedroom  she hadn't quite struck cleanly 
{Ha! Joke!) the first time, so David had managed to get to the 
bedroom before shock and pain keeled him over and she had been 
able to finish it all properly. The heart really is an efficient pump, 
isn't it? I hadn't realized it would go on for so long. 
The revving outside stopped at last. Footsteps now, click of elegant 
heels approaching the front gate. Penny giggled again, and this time 
had a degree of trouble making it stop. Silly woman. Control 
yourself. It's no laughing matter. 
At that thought she covered her mouth with a stained hand and 
snorted like a horse. Her face was smeared when she finally sobered 
and took the hand away, but she wasn't aware of it and wouldn't 
have minded in the least anyway. Come on, footsteps. I can hear 
you. Up the path. Hello, Carmine. Come in. I've been expecting you 
and I'm all ready. 
A shape loomed dimly through the frosted glass panel in the door, 
and the bell rang, just once, demurely. 
Bitch. Two-timer, Cheat. Betrayer. Made my husband immortal, did 
you? Well, he isn't immortal any more. Maybe I'll let you see him. 
But I think it's better if I don't. Safer. I don't want to lose the 
element of surprise, after all. 
Penny stood up and started to smile. The hall mirror, as she passed 
it, reflected a demonic vision of gory red and deathly white, with 

eyes that burned and laughed and burned. Her hands felt as if they 
were burning, too, but it didn't matter, any more than Carmine's 
lateness mattered. The smile on her face was fixed now, as if 
nothing could ever erase it, and her right hand closed more firmly 
on the hilt of the scarlet knife behind her back, as with her left she 
reached out to open the front door. 

