Charity Claire brushed her teeth and flossed, slipped into her nightgown in the privacy of the bathroom and stroked the head of the little dragon statue on the shelf above the toilet. Then, feeling the closeness of tears (they were never very far), she walked to her bedroom mirror to brush her hair before bed.

But an elderly vampire who looked like someone’s white-haired granny glided forward and tugged at the brush. Surprised, Charity let her take it and the stranger ran the brush gently through Charity’s long brown hair.

She could only just remember Grandma Claire who made her cinnamon sugar cookies and scolded her mother, “Will you give the poor child no peace?” Grandma Claire had brushed out her hair like this before she tucked her into the bed with the frayed comforter as soft as a grandma’s love.

The vampire’s free hand on Charity’s shoulder was sadly cold but Charity sank onto the edge of the bed, closed her eyes and cried softly, accepting the tenderness from hands which in slightly different circumstances would have killed her without a thought.

***

Charity Claire was nervous, like she was about to ask her boss for a raise.

She fluttered and fussed, roasting up a huge platter of vegetables with salt, basil and garlic. As she took her first bite, she remembered that garlic was supposed to drive away vampires!

With a pang she looked up quickly, but her nighttime guests drifted about like always, phantoms with dreamy eyes. The skinny white teenager drifted forward to sniff her food and might have muttered “Hippies never eat SpaghettiOs, man.” But she was never sure if one of them had spoken.

Relieved she looked back at her plate. She cherished all of them, even the spiky-haired one who’d tried to bite her. Most especially she cherished the little boy. She looked forward now to coming home instead of dreading the long grey hours alone.

She talked to them every night about her day, her sadness, the things she had hoped to do, and the precious little things that made her smile. They never answered but it seemed they listened. In a way, they moved through the world like she did.

And now she might lose them.

Charity had no illusions about the emptiness being gone. It lined her modest apartment at every edge where walls met floor, a dark chasm, waiting.

She put leftovers in the refrigerator and cleaned up and then there were no more tasks. She quietly took elbows, touched shoulders and gathered the vampires into her small living room.

She settled on the couch, feeling uncomfortably like a queen with them all arrayed before her. Something was so certain to go wrong!

“Oh, my lambs,” she said softly, with all the love she’d never been allowed to lavish on anyone. It was what Robyn, the camp counselor she’d adored, had called the kids in Cabin Rachael so long ago. From anyone but Charity, the honeyed words would have been nauseating.

“Are you willing to take a chance?” she asked. “Can you trust me enough to take a chance that might save you?”

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She waited but they just watched her.

“I know you’re scared of sunlight,” she continued nervously, “but I know of a vampire who’s been healed by sunlight.”

She’d seen it on TV just the night before.

“Or by sunlight and love, but I love you all,” she declared. “I’ll help you through.” Her voice trembled and her heart pounded: when they were human again, they might not need her at all and she was going to let that happen. She wasn’t like her mother who would have wanted to make them fawningly grateful. “Walk into the sunlight with me come tomorrow morning. Will you do it?”

Silence, and the dreamy eyes watching. Had they understood?

That night, she brushed her teeth and flossed with extra care. She put on her nightgown, stroked the little dragon statue and walked shyly into her bedroom holding the hairbrush, not wanting to assume. But the elderly one glided forward and Charity sat on the bed crying softly as the vampire brushed her long brown hair. Thirty-two years old and never a lover who would brush her hair with tenderness.

The chasm of loneliness yawned. Tomorrow if the sun healed them this brief sweet period would be over. But she would give up the comfort of their helpless dependence in order to save them. Surely that made her a good person?

The morning was foggy. No sun. She sagged with disappointment.

How could she have expected anything else in San Francisco? Especially in the Richmond, which might be fogged over while half the city was in bright sun.

Or would the sun heal them through fog? But in the pre-dawn the vampires slipped one by one out the window to wherever they went during the day, showing no interest in staying. Charity closed her eyes.

But when she opened them, the little boy was still there.

He stood solemnly by the window in his Thomas the Tank Engine sweatshirt, dirty jeans with one knee worn through, and fancy little-boy-sized running shoes.

Charity had worked with toddlers when she was 23. She had never been good at leading games or reading stories but when a kid scraped a knee or bonked a forehead, they ran to her. This boy looked about five, though chronologically he might be as much as ten since for the last five years vampires hadn’t made other vampires but only devoured their victims to the last drop.

Charity said with a careful smile, “Can you be a very brave little boy?”

He nodded, picking his nose in a completely human way.

Charity quickly dressed in a brown turtleneck sweater and slacks. Then, moved by some impulse, she put on lipstick and a gold locket which Grandma Claire had left to her. Inside the locket was a sepia-tinted hand-colored photo of a bearded young man glaring sternly at the camera: Grandpa Claire, who had been only a mist in Grandma’s eyes by the time Charity was born.

There was no more delaying. She squeezed the locket, let it rest against her heart and said a quiet prayer, though whether to God or to Grandma she wasn’t sure. Then she held out her hand.

He put his small, cold hand in hers.

“We’re going to walk outside,” she told him, “but it’ll be okay. I’ll be with you. It’ll be awesome. Okay?”

His solemn gaze never left her.

They walked through the kitchen. Charity looked at the sunrise/sunset schedule: sunrise was a minute away. It was safe to open the door.

Blurred streaks and the clank of a sewer lid announced the departure of the last vampires. Full of dread and hope, Charity led the little boy outside.

He slumped to the ground and looked up at her with panicked eyes.

Charity pressed stricken hands to her heart as the little boy lay helpless on the red cement porch. Her world went dark. She knelt hollowly beside his small body.

But the hidden sun worked its magic even through the fog. The small face broke into wide-eyed wonder, as if a hot fudge sundae bigger than his head had just been set in front of him.

She stroked his face and sobbed with relief.

“Well, little man,” she said at last, eyes stinging, “how are we? Would you like to, maybe, go play on the swings or, or feed the ducks?” He gave a faint shadow of a nod.

She picked him up. “Come, little man, we’re going to the park,” she announced. The sadness, for the moment at least, was completely gone. She was on fire. She had never in her life called in sick unless she was really sick but she would do it today. Greatly daring, she thought, to… to hell with my dead-end job!

She put her arm around the back of the boy’s neck to stop his head lolling back. His mouth against her ear whispered, “Awesome. Toe-tawwy awesome.”