Mr. Tall and his assistants left. Mr. Crepsley sat down beside me.

"How are you?" he asked.

I shook my head. There was no simple answer to that.

"Do you feel stronger?"

"Yes," I said softly. Even though it hadn't been long since I'd drank Sam's blood, already I noticed a difference. My eyesight had improved and so had my hearing, and my battered body didn't hurt nearly as much as it should.

"You will not have to drink again for a long time," he said.

"I don't care. I didn't do it for me. I did it for Sam."

"Are you angry with me?" he asked.

"No," I said slowly.

"Darren," he said, "I hope —"

"I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped. "I'm cold, sore, miserable, and lonely. I want to think about Sam, not waste words on you."

"As you wish," he said, and began digging in the soil with his fingers. I dug beside him in silence for a few minutes, then paused and looked over.

"I'm a real vampire's assistant now, aren't I?" I asked.

He nodded sadly. "Yes. You are."

"Does that make you glad?"

"No," he said. "It makes me feel ashamed."

As I stared at him, confused, a figure appeared above us. It was the Little Person with the limp. "If you think you're taking Sam…" I warned him, raising a dirt-encrusted hand. Before I got any further, he jumped into the shallow hole, stuck his wide, gray-skinned fingers into the soil, and clawed up large clumps.

"He's helping us?" I asked, puzzled.

"It seems like it," Mr. Crepsley said, and laid a hand on my back. "Rest," he advised. "We can dig faster by ourselves. I will call you when it is time to bury your friend."

I nodded, crawled out, and lay down on the bank beside the quickly forming grave. After a while I shuffled out of the way and sat, waiting, in the shadows of the old railroad station. Just me and my thoughts. And Sam's dark, red blood on my lips and between my teeth.

We buried Sam without much talk — I couldn't think of anything to say — and filled in the grave. We didn't hide it, so he'd be discovered by the police and given a real burial soon. I wanted his parents to be able to give him a ceremony, but this would keep him safe from scavenging animals (and Little People) in the meantime.

We broke camp before dawn. Mr. Tall told everybody there was a long trek ahead. Sam's disappearance would create a fuss, so we had to get as far away as possible.

I wondered, as we left, what had become of R.V. Did he bleed to death in the forest? Did he make it to a doctor in time? Or was he still running and screaming, "My hands! My hands!"?

I didn't care. Although he'd been trying to do the right thing, this was R.V.'s fault. If he hadn't gone messing with the locks on the wolf-man's cage, Sam would be alive. I didn't hope R.V. was dead, but I didn't say a prayer for him, either. I'd leave him to fate and whatever it had in store.

Evra sat beside me at the rear of the van as the Cirque pulled out. He started to say something. Stopped. Cleared his throat. Then he put a bag on my lap. "I found that," he muttered. "Thought you might want it."

Through stinging eyes I read the name — "Sam Grest" — then burst into tears and cried bitterly over it. Evra put his arms around me and held me tight and cried along with me.

"Mr. Crepsley told me what happened," Evra mumbled eventually, recovering slightly and wiping his face clean. "He said you drank Sam's blood to keep his spirit alive."

"Apparently," I replied weakly, unconvinced.

"Look," Evra said, "I know how much you didn't want to drink human blood, but you did this for Sam. It was an act of goodness, not evil. You shouldn't feel bad for drinking from him."

"I guess," I said, then moaned at the memory and cried some more.

The day went by and the Cirque Du Freak rolled on, but thoughts of Sam couldn't be left behind. As night came, we pulled over to the side of the road for a short break. Evra went to look for food and drinks.

"Do you want anything?" he asked.

"No," I said, my face pressed against the window-pane. "I'm not hungry."

He started to leave.

I called him back. "Wait a sec."

There was a strange taste in my mouth. Sam's blood was still hot on my lips, salty and terrible, but that wasn't what had started the buds at the back of my tongue tingling. There was something I wanted that I'd never wanted before. For a few confusing seconds I didn't know what it was. Then I identified the strange craving and managed to crack the thinnest of smiles. I searched Sam's bag, but the jar must have been left behind when we left.

Looking up at Evra, I wiped tears from my eyes, licked my lips, and asked in a voice that sounded a lot like that smart-ass kid I once knew, "Do we have any pickled onions?"