IF EITHER OF US GOT ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT, I'M UNAWARE of it. I could hear Frey pacing in his room the same way I'm sure he heard me pacing in mine. I didn't attempt to reach out to him. Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.

And I had my own battle raging. Deep inside. Sani said if I chose mortality, I would have only twenty mortal years. If I were lucky enough to marry, have children, I would certainly not live to see my grandchildren.

And would any of us survive a vampire uprising? Would I want to?

It's John-John's sleepy voice and soft footfalls padding into the kitchen around dawn that draws us out. Frey and I open our doors at the same time, step into the hall. We're both wearing the same clothes we had on yesterday. His still hold that strange aroma. It's not unpleasant-like a combination of sage and sandalwood. He bobs his head at me, and I precede him into the kitchen.

John-John has climbed up into his chair at the kitchen table. He looks at us with sad, serious eyes. He holds out his arms to his father and Frey lifts him from the chair, hugging him to his chest.

"Can I fix you something to eat, John-John?" I ask.

He buries his face in his father's shoulder in response. Frey looks toward the refrigerator. "That would be nice, Anna. I think there's a dish in the refrigerator. Sarah's parents brought it for the communal meal last night."

It's the first time he's made reference to her parents or what went on after the burial. This doesn't seem the time to ask for details, though. Instead, I open the refrigerator and withdraw a covered dish. When I peel back the foil, the smell of beans and meat wafts up.

"Can I fix you some, too, Frey?"

He starts to shake his head but I shoot him a warning look. "I'm sure John-John will eat more if you eat with him."

He concedes with a shrug of understanding. "Sure. Fix me a plate."

I spoon two portions onto plates, slip them into the microwave. It's an older model, big and clunky, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out the controls. At last I have the food cooking away.

I join the two at the table. "What would you men like to drink?"

John-John blinks up at me. "You called me a man."

"Well, you are, aren't you?"

He gives a shy smile. "Ama used to call me a man."

Frey looks at me over John-John's head. "His mother."

"Well, she was right."

The microwave chimes and I bring the plates to the table. Frey puts John-John in his own chair and they both pick up forks.

"Don't you want to eat?" John-John asks me, all wide-eyed innocence.

Was I ever that young?

I sit down opposite him. "I've already eaten," I tell him. No wide-eyed innocence here.

John-John waits for Frey to take a first bite, then starts in slowly himself. Frey soon is doing nothing more than moving food around his plate, but John-John does manage to eat a fair amount of his. When John-John is finished, I take both plates away before he can notice his father barely touched his food.

Frey leans closer to his son. "I have to run an errand this morning. Anna will stay with you. I won't be gone too long. Will you be all right?"

John-John lets no emotion show. "Can I go with you?"

Frey touches his son's shoulder. "Not this time, Shiye. I have business to attend to."

"Maybe I could help."

Frey sighs. "Not this time," he says again. He looks over at me. "Anna will play games with you, if you'd like."I don't miss a beat. "You can show me how to do finger weaving."

A spark of interest. "I could show you how to make a butterfly."

"Deal."

Frey lifts John-John out of his chair. "Okay, then. Go brush your teeth and get dressed. I need to talk to Anna a minute."

John-John heads off for the bedroom. Frey motions me outside and we step onto the porch. Before he starts to speak, he taps the side of his head with a finger. A warning to keep my thoughts cloaked.

"There are two hotels nearby. I'll check them out. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Are you sure you want to do this on your own? I'm scared for you, Frey."

"I have to do this on my own. You, of all people, should understand. My family has been attacked."

I do understand. It's why I'm afraid. "Check in with me. Every hour. Promise?"

John-John joins us and Frey bends down to say his good-bye. John-John has changed into jeans and a T-shirt and scuffed boots. His hair is slicked back.

He's is not projecting his thoughts, nor probing for ours that I can tell. Maybe he's already forgotten that he can. He and his father exchange their good-byes in Navajo and he watches Frey head for the Jeep. I step closer and reach for his hand.

He looks up at me and places his own small palm in my own.

"Before we start the lesson," I say, "we should feed the horses, shouldn't we?"

The Jeep rumbles out of sight. John-John sighs but tugs at my hand, leading me down the steps. I cast a last backward glance.

Come back safely, Frey.

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