They both started for the door, but I couldn't help running to the window first and looking down.

The pavement below was empty.

Five nights later I was on the streets by myself. I wanted to be out alone, away from Philip and Wade.

I'd thought recovering from our shared horror of fighting Julian would be difficult… but so far, we'd barely even talked about it.

Wade had snapped Philip's shoulder back into its socket, and that was the last time any of us mentioned what happened that night.

Without even examining our options, the three of us moved into Maggie's. Simple, mechanical, civilized, unspeakably calm, we set about putting our immediate environment into neat order. I quickly pulled all of my money from Portland and put it into a private account.

Philip took over Maggie's room, but he didn't alter the feminine decor even though he didn't like it.

Wade settled into the stark upstairs second bedroom-sleeping on blankets on the floor. But he'd only bought two new changes of clothes.

I slept in the cellar because it felt safe.

Philip did not arrange for new bank accounts in America, nor would he mention moving back to Paris. Wade avoided the topic or his job or Dominick's death or any future plans beyond the next five minutes. They both seemed to be waiting for me. But what did I want?

Neither of them had asked me what I did to Julian… but I had a feeling Philip figured out I'd attacked him telepathically.

Of course none of us knew what happened to him after he fell.

Philip kept looking over his shoulder, as if waiting to see a sword arcing out of the darkness. But I didn't. I believed I'd ended this conflict forever. I could hit Julian with the one thing he truly feared, yet I would leave him alone if he left me alone.

He'd stay away.

But… where did that leave me?

Every aspect of my undead existence revolved around William or Julian in one form or another. Now, sweet William was gone. I accepted that reality with mixed emotions.

I was free.

But free to do what?

To go on killing and feeding and plying my gift in one long, endless stretch of time? Is that all there was? Perhaps Edward had been the only sane one after all.

Certain doubts-concepts-had been plaguing me for several nights. I couldn't stop thinking about the memories Philip had shown me.

Nearly thirty vampires in Europe alone.

Did that mean there were other vampires in places like Asia, Australia, or South America? If so, had Julian hunted them down, too? Philip didn't know, and the topic upset him. He'd spent most of that time of terror in hiding.

But even if all the vampires had lived in Europe, how did they manage to hide and feed without depopulating entire areas? The best-case scenario meant fifteen hundred and sixty deaths a year if each vampire made only one kill a week. That's nearly sixteen thousand deaths over a ten-year period and didn't take hunters like Philip into account. How could this be?

An idea, a possibility, began forming in my mind over the past few nights. I don't how it occurred to me, or when it began, but I needed to be alone to try it. So I hit the streets without Philip and headed down to Pike Place Market.

Even after closing, the market teemed with life. Hookers, bums, guys playing guitars on street corners, their cases left open for donations, and teenage kids looking for something to do all milled around in a kaleidoscope of colors and scents.

Wearing a white cotton dress, my hair in a French braid, I looked clean and bright, like a girl from a Bloomingdale's hatbox. Maggie had taught me more than she'd realized, but I could never rely on a gift like hers. My own was too deeply ingrained.

Falling into character, I left the busy area and stood outside an alley, arms crossed, back to the wall. Ten minutes later, a tall man in his mid-thirties walked by. Obviously in a hurry, he still stopped when I made eye contact.

"You all right?" he asked.

People in Seattle rarely speak to strangers on the street, at least not without a good reason.

"I got on the wrong bus," I answered. "It took me here."

"Where are you supposed to be?"

"Greenwood."

My voice pitched high but soft, as if I didn't want to talk to him but didn't know what else to do. Casting out tentatively, I felt no malice or violence, only haste. He sighed in frustration, wishing he'd taken a different route and left my pretty, frightened plight for somebody else to handle.

"I've got to be in Lake Forest Park in an hour," he said, "but I can take a detour and drop you. Who lives in Greenwood?"

"My sister."

"Come on, then."

Not moving, I stared out in indecision. Jumping in right away with him would have looked unusual. But his frustration mounted.

"Look, there won't be another bus this time of night. You either stay here or come on."

Obviously the prospect of staying in an alley wouldn't appeal to any young mortal girl. I stepped out and followed him, half jogging to keep up. Three blocks away, he unlocked the passenger door of a newer Ford pickup and reached out for my hand.

"Watch your dress getting in."

His manner affected me somehow. On a normal hunt I'd never have chosen a victim like this. Though slightly condescending, he had no motives besides taking me somewhere safe. Even in a rush, he'd stopped to help one person in this crowded city.

He hopped in and slammed the driver's door. The street was fairly dark and quiet. Reaching out, I stopped his hand from sliding a key into the ignition, and I focused my thoughts, touching the edge of his own.

"Wait, not yet."

He turned at my words, seeing me through a downy white mist. I pressed a suggestion into his mind.

You're so tired. You need sleep.

"What are you…?" he mumbled.

Sleep.

His eyelids grew heavy, and his head lolled back against the seat. His body went limp except for his chest, which continued to rise and fall.

I scooted across the seat and moved up for his throat.

He looked so peaceful, so helpless, that I stopped.

Changing my mind, I lifted his wrist instead. No tearing or ripping this time. Using my eyeteeth, I punctured the large blue vein above the callused curve of his palm. Carefully, keeping the holes as small as possible, I drew down on his wrist, drinking blood and absorbing life force while his heart beat quickly. My mind filled with visions of a farm in Nebraska and a hard-faced mother who never laughed, a soft-eyed sister who dreamed of being a dancer, and a stocky chestnut horse named Buck… his memories, his past treasures.

Once I had taken enough, I pulled out and used my fingernail to connect the little holes on his wrist, making the wound into a jagged cut-messy, but he was not bleeding badly.

My focus turned to his thoughts again, taking him back to the moment he'd rounded the corner and seen me up against the wall. I erased the memory.

No frightened girl had waited for him, only an empty street. But in his haste he'd stumbled and cut his wrist on a broken bottle. The pain didn't bother him at first, but then it grew worse. He got in the truck and felt dizzy. He must have passed out.

Opening the passenger door and pressing the lock button down, I let go of his altered memories and hopped down into the street, leaving him to sleep peacefully a little longer.

Numb shock faded as I ran through the night. Then euphoria began to rise inside of me. This was it. Their secret.

I didn't mourn for all the lives needlessly lost in my ignorant past, but instead, I rejoiced for those saved in my future. I didn't have to kill. I never had to kill.