"Thank you," I sobbed. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank —"

I stopped, remembering my fallen friend.

"Sam!" I screamed. I let go of Mr. Crepsley and rushed to where he was lying.

The wolf-man had torn Sam's stomach open and eaten a lot of his insides. Amazingly, Sam was still alive when I got to him. His eyelids were fluttering, and he was breathing lightly.

"Sam, are you okay?" I whispered. It was a stupid question, but the only one my trembling lips could form. "Sam?" I brushed his forehead with my fingers, but he showed no signs of hearing or feeling me. He just lay there, with his eyes staring up at me.

Mr. Crepsley knelt down beside me and checked Sam's body.

"Can you save him?" I cried. He shook his head slowly. "You have to!" I shouted. "You can close the wounds. We can call a doctor. You can give him a potion. There must be some way to —"

"Darren," he said softly, "there is nothing we can do. He is dying. The damage is too great. Another couple of minutes and…" He sighed. "At least he is beyond feeling. There will be no pain."

"No!" I screamed, and threw myself onto Sam. I was crying bitterly, sobbing so hard it hurt.

"Sam! You can't die! Sam! Stay alive! You can join the Cirque and travel with us all over the world. You can… you…"

I could say no more, only lower my head, cling to Sam, and let the tears pour down my face.

In the deserted old railroad yard, the wolf-man lay unconscious behind me. Mr. Crepsley sat silently by my side. Underneath me, Sam Grest — who'd been my friend and saved my life — lay perfectly still and slipped further and further into the final sleep of an unfair and horrible death.

After a while, I felt somebody tugging at the sleeve of my left arm. I looked around. Mr. Crepsley was standing over me, looking miserable.

"Darren," he said, "it will not seem like the right time, but there is something you must do. For Sam's sake. And your own."

"What are you talking about?" I wiped some of the tears from my face and stared up at him. "Can we save him? Tell me if we can. I'll do anything."

"There is nothing we can do to save his body ," Mr. Crepsley told me. "He is dying and nothing can change that. But there is something we can do for his spirit.

"Darren," he said, " you must drink Sam's blood."

I went on staring at him, but now it was a stare of disbelief, not hope.

"How could you?" I whispered with disgust. "One of my best friends is dying, and all you can think about… You're sick! You're a sick, twisted monster. You should be dying, not Sam. I hate you. Get out of here."

"You do not understand," he said.

"Yes I do!" I screamed. "Sam's dying, but all you're worried about is blooding me. Do you know what you are? You're a no-good —"

"Do you remember our discussion about vampires being able to absorb part of a person's spirit?" he asked.

I was just about to call him something awful, but his question confused me.

"What's that got to do with this?" I asked.

"Darren, this is important. Do you remember?"

"Yes," I said softly. "What about it?"

"Sam is dying," Mr. Crepsley said. "A few more minutes and he will be gone. Forever. But you can keep part of him alive within you if you drink from him now and take this life before the wounds of the wolf-man can."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"You want me to kill Sam?" I screamed.

"No," he sighed. "Sam has already been killed. But if you finish him off before he dies from the bites of the wolf-man, you will save some of his memories and feelings. In you he can live on."

I shook my head. "I can't drink his blood," I whispered. "Not Sam's." I glanced down at the small, savaged body. "I can't."

Mr. Crepsley sighed. "I will not force you to," he said. "But think carefully about it. What happened tonight is a tragedy that will haunt you for a very long time, but if you drink from Sam and absorb part of his essence, dealing with his death will be easier. Losing a loved one is hard. This way, you need not lose all of him."

"I can't drink from him," I sobbed. "He was my friend."

"It is because he was your friend that you must," Mr. Crepsley said, then turned away and left me to decide.

I stared down at Sam. He looked so lifeless, like he'd already lost everything that made him human, alive, unique. I thought of his jokes and long words and hopes and dreams, and how awful it would be if all of that just disappeared with his death.

Kneeling, I placed the fingers of my left hand on Sam's red neck. "I'm sorry, Sam," I moaned, then dug my sharp nails into his soft flesh, leaned forward, and stuck my mouth over the holes they'd made.

Blood gushed in and made me gag. I nearly fell away, but with an effort I held my place and gulped it down. His blood was hot and salty and ran down my throat like thick, creamy butter.

Sam's pulse slowed as I drank, then stopped. But I went on drinking, swallowing every last drop, absorbing.

When I'd finally sucked him dry, I turned away and howled at the sky like the wolf-man had. For a long time that's all I could do, howl and scream and cry like the wild animal of the night that I'd become.

Mr. tall and a bunch of others from the Cirque Du Freak — including four Little People — arrived a little later. I was sitting by Sam's side, too tired to howl anymore, staring blankly into space, feeling his blood settle in my stomach.

"What's the story?" Mr. Tall asked Mr. Crepsley. "How did the wolf-man get free?"

"I do not know, Hibernius," Mr. Crepsley replied. "I have not asked and do not intend to, not for a night or two at least. Darren is in no shape for an interrogation."

"Is the wolf-man dead?" Mr. Tall asked.

"No," Mr. Crepsley said. "I merely knocked him out."

"Thank heaven for small mercies." Mr. Tall sighed. He clicked his fingers and the Little People chained up the unconscious wolf-man. A van from the show pulled up and they bundled him into the back.

I thought about demanding the wolf-man's death, but what good would it have been? He wasn't evil, just naturally mad. Killing him would have been pointless and cruel.

When they'd finished with the wolf-man, the Little People's attention turned to Sam's shredded remains.

"Hold on," I said, as they bent to pick him up and cart him away. "What are they going to do with Sam?"

Mr. Tall coughed uncomfortably. "I, ah, imagine they intend to dispose of him," he said.

It took me a moment to realize what that meant. "They're going to eat him?" I shrieked.

"We can't just leave him here," Mr. Tall reasoned, "and we don't have time to bury him. This is the easiest —"

"No," I said firmly.

"Darren," Mr. Crepsley said, "we should not interfere with —"

"No!" I shouted, striding over to shove the Little People backward. "If they want to eat Sam, they'll have to eat me first!"

The Little People stared at me wordlessly, with hungry green eyes.

"I think they'd be quite happy to accommodate you," Mr. Tall said drily.

"I mean it," I growled. "I won't let them eat Sam. He deserves a proper burial."

"So that worms can devour him?" Mr. Tall asked, then sighed when I glared at him, and shook his head irritably.

"Let the boy have his way, Hibernius," Mr. Crepsley said quietly. "You may return to the Cirque with the others. I will stay and help dig the grave."

"Very well." Mr. Tall shrugged. He whistled and pointed a finger at the Little People. They hesitated, then backed away and crowded around the owner of the Cirque Du Freak, leaving me alone with the dead Sam Grest.