In Which I Am Subjected to an Interrogation

On Thursday, I lit the fire before remembering there was no need to do so. The teacup I set beside the hearth was an equally inexplicable oversight.

For several seconds, I merely stared towards the hall before going to open the door.

At six, someone knocked.

Clara stood beneath an umbrella; a paper parcel tucked beneath one arm.

“I have questions,” she announced.

“I had rather supposed you might.”

“And buns.” She lifted the parcel. “Those are for me, unless vampires eat buns, in which case I have brought enough to be diplomatic.”

I found myself unable to step aside.

Clara leaned slightly to peer around me into the hall. “Am I to conduct the interrogation from the doorstep, or may I come in?”

“You are not afraid?”

“I have had a week to consider it.” Her fingers tightened upon the handle of her umbrella. “I was frightened.”

The words settled heavily in my stomach. Of course she had been, I had known it already, but hearing it from her made the knowledge newly painful.

I lowered my eyes.

“I know.”

“But not only of you.” She hesitated. “You were frightened too.”

I stepped aside and allowed her to enter.

Clara took the chair nearest the fire. I chose one at the opposite end of the room and remained there while she conducted what became, by degrees, a rather thorough interrogation.

Sunlight, hunger, sleep, the butcher, whether the stories concerning garlic had any merit whatsoever and the covered mirrors.

“Vanity,” I confessed to the last.

Her brows rose.

“A mirror reflects the entire room and omits only me. I find the implication rather insulting.”

She regarded me with an earnestness the remark scarcely deserved, then she asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

The fire crackled softly between us.

“Yes.”

“Long ago?”

“Yes. That does not make it better.”

She looked at her bandaged thumb. I let her think. Whatever judgement she was making of me, I had no right to hasten it.

“If anything like that happens again, you are to tell me plainly what I ought to do.”

“I can do that.”

“I should rather not be expected to improvise my way through vampire emergencies.”

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

“I shall endeavour to be clearer.”

“And you are to eat before I come.”

“Yes.”

“Good. I should rather not discover that I am the evening meal by accident.”

“Clara-”

“I am joking.”

She looked up at the ceiling.

“Mostly.”

At last, she opened the bag.

“Your tea was actually getting quite tolerable. It would have been a shame to let one unfortunate evening put an end to the improvement.”