Olivia said, “Yes, very much.” And that was that. The nurse took a half step back because she couldn’t help herself, and she said, “Don’t upset the patient, sir.” Then she wheeled around and marched down the hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking as she hurried.

“It feels weird to have someone looking out for me,” Olivia said, a bit to Lemuel’s surprise.

“I feel the same,” he admitted. “It’s strange. But strange-good, as Fiji says.”

“Fiji!” As if the word triggered a flood of memories, Olivia gasped and tried to sit up. In an instant, Lemuel was on his feet and pushing her down with a hand that was like a weight of iron on her chest. Olivia lay back. Her eyes were wide and she was panting with remembered panic. “Lem, he was going to shoot me again and she saved me! What happened to her?”

“She’s fine,” he said. “Now, hush, Olivia. Hush. Calm.”

“Tell me!”

“It was Fiji killed McGuire.”

Tears began oozing from Olivia’s eyes. They trickled down to her hair. Lemuel took a corner of the sheet and patted her face.

“Poor Fiji,” Olivia said. “She had to kill someone because of me.”

“She was willing,” Lemuel said cautiously.

“I always hoped that Fiji could stay . . . herself.”

This didn’t make a lot of sense to Lemuel. Fiji was still herself, she’d just added another experience to her repertoire. But he could tell it was an important thought to his Olivia, so he simply waited for her to elaborate.

“She won’t be the same,” Olivia said.

When it seemed clear that she wasn’t going to say anything else, Lemuel said, “She’s always been stronger than anyone seemed to think.”

“I know, you’re thinking, ‘Olivia never liked Fiji that much, anyway, so why is she so upset?’” Olivia said.

Lemuel hadn’t been thinking any such thing, but he felt it was wiser to nod.

“The thing is . . .” Olivia stopped, and turned her head a little. Lemuel realized that was his cue to wipe her face again, and he did so with tenderness. “The thing is, I do like her. I was just envious. Everyone likes Fiji. She’s sunny and cheerful. She bakes bread. I wanted her to stay that way . . . while I kind of hated her for having all that.”

“So now that she’s killed someone, and she has to complete a ritual in front of an audience, you are distressed.” Lemuel understood. “Sooner or later she was bound to do something that would serve to keep herself safe, and sooner or later she was bound to have sex, Olivia.”

“That is not the point,” Olivia said. “And you know it.”

Lemuel felt completely at sea. “I’m sorry,” he said, because that seemed a safe thing to say.

“Me, too,” Olivia said, in a voice so low he had to bend forward to understand her, even with his sharp hearing.

“I have to be there for her,” Olivia said, in a stronger voice. “I have to get out of the hospital in time to be there.”

“If they won’t let you go, I’ll give you some blood,” Lemuel promised. “Would you like some now?”

Olivia said, “We’ve only done that during sex before.”

“It’s wonderful to exchange blood when we are being man and woman. But you would heal faster now if you had some of my blood.”

“I would love to heal faster. Bring it.”

Lemuel had wondered, at first, if Olivia was seeking a relationship with him because his blood would heal wounds much faster. In her line of business, quick healing was an undeniable plus and might mean the difference between life and death. Lemuel hadn’t volunteered blood-giving or -taking when their connection had become sexual; he had been waiting for Olivia’s cue. If she had brought up blood first, he would have been even more cautious in letting their relationship develop. But Lemuel had become assured that whatever Olivia wanted from him, quick healing was not on her agenda.

Without hesitation, Lemuel opened his own wrist and offered it to her. He was amused to see that she made a little face. A little bite in the heat of passion was very different from this exchange.

But his Olivia was nothing if not determined. She managed several good gulps before she fell back on the pillow. “Thanks,” she said, in a somewhat stronger voice. “Not fun, but functional, huh?”

“When you come home, dearest dear, we will spend good times together,” Lemuel promised.

“Sounds like a plan,” Olivia said. “Sounds great.” She smiled at him and fell asleep.

Lemuel stayed by her bedside until nearly dawn. Olivia slept while the nurses came in and out, checking her vital signs. They mostly pretended he wasn’t there, or gave a little nod in his direction without meeting his eyes. He was used to this, and it didn’t bother him. The price he paid for being able to take energy rather than blood from people was that he stood out sharply from the herd, was unmistakably not human. Even when he did take blood, he did not look lifelike.

Now Lemuel wondered if he, along with the other citizens of Midnight, would live to see many more days.

It all hinged on Fiji.

To Lemuel, who had never been modest about his body, Fiji’s sacrifice seemed—maybe not trivial, since to Lemuel sex was a very private thing—but a low priority in the grand scheme of things. A woman Fiji’s age should not balk at such a sacrifice. Lemuel himself would not.

If she had been a dewy teenager, he might have held another opinion. And Lemuel understood the procedure would not be pleasant, but then, having a demon loose on the town would not be pleasant, either, and that would affect many more people.

Though Lemuel had told Fiji that he must be off her list of potential partners as a married man, during the long hours of night he wondered if some chance occurrence would force him to take the role. In that remote case, Lemuel hoped that Olivia would forgive him. Olivia’s forgiveness was not an easy process. Lemuel sighed, the air stirring in his dead lungs. He watched her sleeping profile. He would do anything for her. You’re caught, good and proper, he admitted to himself.

When the vampire could feel the very first tinge of dawn approaching, he slipped out of the hospital and got in his car. He siphoned energy along the way: from a sleeping orderly slumped on a chair, a visitor in the waiting room who was dead to the world, a middle-aged woman recovering from minor surgery. A sip of life force here, a sip there.