Irene panted heavily, her chest aching. No matter how much she breathed, she could not get enough air. But she was home.

"Irene, there you are! Are you okay?" Mr. Locklyn walked out of the kitchen. Irene shook her head and held up a finger, signaling for some time. Her father helped her out of her coat while he waited for her to speak.

"I'm... fine... " After every few words, a new panic on her chest demanded more oxygen and less talking, but she stubbornly continued. "Just decided... to run... a bit..."

Her father hung her coat up, frowning with a mixture of disapproval and concern. "Don't push yourself. You're young, not invincible."

Irene looked up at her father, nostrils flared. I know! I'm weak and fragile.... you don't need to remind me! She looked down; she did not want her father to see how helpless she felt. Lips pressed together, she nodded with a grunt.

"I was really worried when you weren't here when I got home. We were supposed to go to the police today, remember?"

Irene stared at her father, as the memory stirred. Irene's mouth jawed a little but no words came. She then looked down, shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I was at the library."

Her father gave a good humoured half smile, which turned his moustache crooked. "I'll let it slide. You've been through a lot."

Irene looked up at her father with a deadpan gaze. You have no idea, Dad.

"We can go another day. Anyway, dinner's on the stove."

Relieved, and suddenly aware of how hungry she was, Irene followed him into the kitchen.

"That uh... Cyrus fellow..."

Irene looked up when she heard her father mention that name, and then down at her bowl of macaroni surprise. "Yeah?"

"I just realized, I never see him eat. He works night shifts and he probably eats out but..."

"Yeah. Probably. Um... Dad..." Anxiety swirled in her gut like the noodles swirled in the excess of cheesy goop in her bowl. She preferred less milk in her macaroni, but her father always made it runny. "What do you really think of him?"

Mr. Locklyn shrugged as he finished a mouthful. "Hmm. I can't make up my mind about him." Irene stared at the bit of orange sauce that collected on the tips of his moustache before dripping down. She swiftly held a napkin out to him, but looked down at the table, lips pressed firmly together. "Ah, thanks." She continued to stare at her own bowl, listening to the soft rustle of the napkin being used. "I believe he means well in his own way, but I don't think he's playing with a full deck."

"That doesn't worry you?" Irene looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"Eh. He seems like just any harmless loser who got in with the wrong crowd. I remember what you told me, but I think all of us have gotten off on the wrong foot." Mr. Locklyn grabbed the salt, adding more to his bowl. "It's worth trying to get a fresh perspective on him. Trouble is, I'm in bed so early I don't see much of him."

"Maybe that's just as well," Irene murmured as she tried in vain to stab some peas with her fork. Mostly, they rolled around her bowl and hid under noodles, frustrating her attempts.

"So how about we all do dinner?" Mr. Locklyn concluded.

Irene's mouth hung open, fork hovering in front of her mouth. There was a clatter as she set it down, staring at him. "No! I mean, I don't think that's a good idea. Neither of us are really good cooks." How would a dinner with Cyrus even work? It'd be worse than dinner with the Fishers. Irene shuddered, but hid this with a quick drink of water.

"We can order something in. Food is just the lure to pin him down and give him a thorough interrogation by your old man." This statement was punctuated with a good natured chuckle, but there was also a slight growl in her father's voice.

"Mm. No thank you. It's not like we're dating, so you don't need to do that," Irene responded, trying to find any way to squirm out of this new plan of her father's.

"Hey, if he's staying here, he'll have to answer some questions," Mr. Locklyn waved his cheese encrusted fork in the air, jabbing it in the direction of the basement. "He's a mystery, that one. And you know how I feel about mysteries."

Irene sighed, anxiety dispersing like a flock of birds. "That the answer to a mystery is often anticlimactic?"

"Well, that and I don't like them in the house." Her father put down his fork and waved his hand. "I know, I know. I agreed to let him stay. But this gang or cartel or whatever can't be ignored. If we're lucky, he was exaggerating the danger for some harmless mischief." The bowl clinked and squealed as he scraped the edges with his fork. Irene found herself grinding her teeth with each sharp sound. Noises like that didn't used to bother her, and the fact that they now did irritated her even more than the noise itself.

"I hope so too." Irene knew better. She hurried to finish up the last of her meal so she could leave the table. Her father looked up at the abruptness with which she stood.

"Everything okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, just got some homework to catch up on." Irene took his empty bowl and stacked it with hers. Her father eyed her for a moment, but said nothing.

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Irene sat back in the office chair, rubbing her eyes. She stretched and looked at the clock. Her time at the computer lab would be over soon. Taunting her was an image of mistletoe on the screen and the words 'currently unavailable'. Due to the invasive nature of mistletoe, getting it fresh locally wasn't easy. That was the last of the websites for local retailers she was going to try. Ordering online was out of the question; she had no credit card.

Irene had one last avenue to try, but she lamented resorting to it. Not only was it a long shot, but relying on gossip was distasteful for her. After school the search for a particular student began.

"Um... It's Joseph, right?"

Irene stood before another student, who was tall and slightly plump. He looked at her a bit perplexed by her approach, but smiled pleasantly, the glint of his braces catching her eye. He brushed his dark hair out of his brown eyes, fingernails painted black.

"That's me. What is it?" he asked in a disarming voice. She was a little surprised, having expected a more surly response.

Irene decided on a direct approach. "Do you practice witchcraft?"

Joseph laughed airily at this question, to Irene's astonishment. He made an extravagant flair with his hands. "I pay homage to the Goddess, if that's what you mean. Why do you ask?"

"I have a problem I am hoping you can help me with."

He brought a hand up to tap at his chin as he regarded her thoughtfully. "If you are asking about curses, I don't do 'black magic'." Joseph implemented finger quotes. "Now, if you want some advice through a tarot reading, then I'd be happy to help," He spread out his hands in a welcoming gesture.

"I'm not sure I want to know what the cards would say," Irene admitted. She believed tarot reading to be a hoax, but with vampires in the picture, now she wasn't so sure. Just as she couldn't be sure if this young man knew any actual magic. "Actually, I need help getting some plants required for a protection charm."

"Oh!" His hand went to his mouth as he looked her over with a bit more scrutiny. He then proceeded to play with a dark beaded bracelet on his wrist. "There does seem to be a dark shadow looming about you."

Irene glanced down. Yeah right, he's just saying that because I already told him I wanted a protection charm. But if there was even a slim chance he could help her, she had to try. She lifted her eyes.

"I need mistletoe. Would you know where to get some?"

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Mistletoe?" he parroted while raising his fair eyebrows, which exposed his natural hair colour. "That is an unusual request. Most people only think of it as a kissing plant." Joseph paused, seeming to think something over. "What's your name?"

"Irene."

"It's nice to meet you, Irene. Walk with me," he invited. Irene sighed, feeling she might be in for a longer conversation than she'd hoped. But she fell into step with the large-bodied school mate. "You said you need mistletoe for a protection charm. I've never used it myself. I know that druids used it for fertility festivals." He gave Irene a side glance.

"Before you ask, no, I don't need it for that."

"To better help you, I need to know what it is you want protection from."

Irene sighed. She looked him over for a while, then focused straight ahead, to avoid collisions with other students. What do I say? Well. Maybe, in this instance, honesty might be necessary. "Don't laugh. But... vampires."

"Vampires?" Despite her preface, he let out a soft laugh. "Sorry! I'm not laughing at you. I'm just thrilled that someone else believes in them."

"What?" was Irene's immediate, unguarded response.

"They're a sneaky lot." Joseph squinted. Irene's attention was wrapt as he spoke. "Psychic vampires, feeding off of negative energy. They make people miserable just so they have a feast, leaving us exhausted and off balance."

Irene kept her face carefully neutral to shield against the disappointment she was feeling. She would not get his help if she alienated him with derision, as tempted as she was to scoff at him.

"Ah. Um. Right. I guess there are some people in my life. There's one person who makes me very angry, and I am always left tired after being in his presence..." Irene said, appalled as she realized she was getting very good at bending the truth on the fly.

Joseph clapped his hands, his rings clinking. "Yes, exactly! That's just what psychic vampires can do. And the threat is real. If your positive energies are out of balance, it can bring on sickness and misfortune."

"I have had worse health since he came into my life," Irene confirmed.

"Aw, you poor thing." Irene grit her teeth at the patronizing response. Joseph continued walking, gesticulating often with his hands as he spoke. "I'm surprised you are asking for mistletoe instead of verbena or hawthorn. Those are more classic vampire wards. Well, and of course there's garlic, but most people can get that at a supermarket. It doesn't work, though." Irene already knew that from experience. "It's delicious of course."

"Verbena and hawthorn," Irene repeated, familiarizing herself with their names. "Would you know how to get those as well? Though I still want the mistletoe." She recalled some of what she'd read about mistletoe, trying to speak the young man's language. "Its place, hanging between heavens and the underworld, is very important to me."

Joseph put his hand on his cheek, again looking pleasantly surprised. "That's right! It can be a symbol of immortality. You're taking a daring new approach here, and I love it!"

"So, would you be able to get me mistletoe, or tell me where I can get some? And those other plants?"

"Hmm, well I'm not sure about the mistletoe, but I can ask around in my circle. I have some hawthorn branches at home. And I know someone who absolutely swears by verbena, so she can probably tell me where she gets her reagents." Joseph rubbed his fingers together, evidently delighted.

This conversation had gone better than Irene thought it would. "I admit, I wasn't expecting you to be so..."

"Resourceful?"

"I was going to say obliging," Irene filled in.

"And I love that you'd say words like 'obliging'. It's like you poofed out of some old novel. It's a shame we hadn't talked before now," Joseph responded, looking down at her.

"We probably wouldn't have had anything to talk about before. I'm usually a skeptic, but recently, I've been rethinking things." Irene wasn't entirely sure what it was about Joseph that made her feel like she could open up to him. Realizing this, she suddenly became somewhat discomforted, and she crossed her arms.

"Well it's been nice anyway. Do you have an e-mail addy?"

It took Irene a moment to remember what her e-mail address was. She rarely used it; Merle was adamant that she set one up. But as like with Merle, she usually got interested in new ideas then dropped them.

"Let me write it down. I don't have a computer at home, so I might be slow to reply," Irene shared as she dug around in her bag for a notebook and pen. She tore out a page then ripped it in half. "If you could write yours, as well, so I know it's you, I'd appreciate that."

"Of course!" Joseph took the offered pen and notebook, scribbling down his information. Irene wrote hers and handed it over. He took it in a dainty fashion, despite his larger stature. "I'll keep in touch! And I'll say a prayer to the Goddess for you."

Irene didn't really have much faith in prayers. But for those who did, she understood it was kindly meant. Giving a tired half smile, she managed to say a "Thank you," that wasn't entirely insincere. All that remained was to wait, and stay on guard.

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Irene got home just as her father was pulling in. The sound of tires on gravel reminded her that she'd agreed to go to the police. She wasn't even sure what she would tell them. She wanted justice for Tina. But she was also afraid of kicking the hornet's nest. Cyrus had repeatedly mentioned that when the police snoop around, they will exterminate anyone who may even be remotely connected and leave. This made Irene wonder why there weren't more articles of mass murders in other cities. Or maybe there were, but it simply didn't reach her notice.

When Mr. Locklyn stepped in, Irene was standing by the front door, ready to greet him. "Welcome home, Dad."

"Kiddo! How was your day at school?" he asked as he slipped off his shoes.

"Fine." Irene placed her hands behind her back.

Mr. Locklyn shrugged off his coat, looking his daughter up and down. "Okay, Irene, you only stand like that when you want something. What is it?"

Caught. Irene smiled faintly before sobering again. "I've changed my mind about the police."

Mr. Locklyn studied Irene for a long while, then turned away to hang up his coat. "That's not like you."

"I know," Irene responded as she walked towards the living room, expecting her father to follow. She sat down on the loveseat and waited.

Mr. Locklyn came in and sunk into his armchair. He tapped the armrest a few times then looked over at her. He took in a breath to speak, paused, then aborted with a long exhale.

"What am I really going to say to them?" Irene crossed one leg over the other. "That you are getting money under the table from an illegal alien who might be connected to some nameless cartel?"

Her father's eyes bulged. "Now just a minute, Irene. What is this?" His voice was a bit higher than normal, and there were measured doses of vexation and exasperation. "You said you are in danger, so we need to make sure we're protected."

"But what do I say? They can't protect me from some vague threat. When Cyrus is ready to talk, then I'll back him up. But until then, I think going to them is premature. Originally, the point was to have them take Cyrus away..."

The tapping resumed and Mr. Locklyn turned and looked away. Deep grooves formed in his forehead, and he scratched at his neck, beneath the collar of his shirt. "That is... I..."

Irene leaned forward, willing Cyrus's influence to melt away. She just needed to turn up the heat a little more. "But now he lives with us."

"Well, it's not like he's part of the family. He lives below us. And we barely see him... sometimes I forget he's there." Mr. Locklyn looked away, now scratching his forearm.

"He's the one who needs to talk about the people who attacked him," Irene persisted.

"You're right. He does," her father said, lifting his chin. He gripped his armrests, bracing to rise to his feet. He made it halfway, but then sighed and plopped back down into the chair with a distinctive squeak.

No! Come on, Dad, you were so close! Irene balled her hands.

"I'm sure he'll talk when he's good and ready. He's an odd fellow, but I can't help but trust the... well he's not really a lad, is he? I dare say he's probably closer to me in age than you." Mr. Locklyn looked towards the doorway that led into the kitchen.

Irene leaned back. Of course he still trusts him. But there must be something I can do to break this. She stared at the ceiling. "No, Dad, he's not a lad. He's a strange man that we know nothing about living in our basement."

"Before I got married I lived with plenty of people I barely knew." Mr Locklyn shrugged. "Does having him here bother you, Irene?"

"Yes!" She shot forward, holding her hands out, fingers splayed.

This got her father leaning forward as well, staring at Irene as if she had sprouted extra appendages. "Why didn't you say something sooner? What has he done to upset you?"

Irene stared at her father for a good long while. "Uh... I thought I did say something when the idea first came up. You told me I'd understand when I was an adult."

Her father scratched the top of his head, then ran a hand through his short but neatly kept sandy brown hair. "Oh yes, you didn't seem fond of him then. But some of that was the paranoia from your sickness. Has he done something recently to offend you?"

Irene wanted to tell her father everything. She wanted to see his indignation, his mortification, his righteous fury at how she had been treated. She just wanted someone else to feel it besides her. But the same reason she hadn't told him was the very reason she continued to keep her own counsel. An altercation between her father and Cyrus was too risky. "He's just... creepy in general."

"He does wear an awful lot of black. And any man who wears earrings is a fruitcake as far as I'm concerned." Her father shrugged and grabbed the nearby newspaper. "I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up with painted nails. So I get you, he's not quite right. But he seems harmless."

Fruitcake? Irene shook her head. What her father was describing was much more like Joseph, who she also didn't think deserved to be called names. Irene almost wanted to defend men who wore black and makeup, but this wasn't about her father's old fashioned views on manliness. "Harmless my foot. Don't forget he was mixed up with criminals."

Mr. Locklyn had begun to scan the sports section. When Irene carried on the conversation, he lowered the paper and stared at her blankly. After a moment of thought, he shrugged his shoulders. "That's true. Well, I'll keep a closer eye on him. If anything goes missing, tell me straight away."

Irene rubbed her temples, frustration mounting. There was no more progress to be made with her father. "I certainly will." She stood up, shoulders hunched and eyebrows furrowed. I just want my father back to normal. I want everything back to normal. "I'm going to go do some homework."

"Okay, sweetie. I'll call you when it's time for dinner."