Aidan looked up and a slow smile spread over his features. Thomas hadn’t reacted with fear, or loathing, or any of the negative reactions his nature usually provoked. “Actually, it has its good points,” he said. “I’d probably be dead by now for one thing. The part that bothers me the most is how everyone automatically assumes I’m some kind of monster.”

“And you were worried I would too, weren’t you lad?” Thomas shook his head. “I’ve never met a vampire up close before, but you’re still the same good person I used to know, I can tell. I know I have nothing to fear from you.”

“The same good person you used to know? I was a no-good scrawny thief back then, and I wouldn’t have classified myself as a good person.”

“There’s a difference between a good person and a person who does good things, my friend,” said Thomas. “You may have been a thief and a ruffian, but even then you were a good person underneath it all. I always knew it was only a matter of time until it started to show through. Time and a little bit of help.”

“And you helped a lot, my friend.”

“I would like to think so,” said Thomas, “but when I last saw you, you hadn’t exactly changed your ways.” Aidan smiled and shrugged his shoulders in response. Thomas had indeed begun to turn his life around, but curing him of his kleptomaniac tendencies had been more than the old aerian could do. It had taken his wife years to gradually wean him away from thieving, and even now he still loved it when the chance came to legitimately employ his talents. “I remember getting that letter,” said Thomas. You said, ‘Got myself into trouble again, but don’t worry, somebody bailed me out. Can’t make it back to Aerievale, but I thought you might want to know I was still alive.’ I read that thing so many times I think I wore it to bits. I always hoped you’d turn up again someday, but when you didn’t, I thought maybe you had died after all.”

“No, I didn’t die,” said Aidan with a grin. “Or at least I didn’t die just then. But a lot of interesting things started happening.”

“So what was it that turned you around? I’ll venture a guess,” said Thomas with a sudden smile. “I would bet it was this wife of yours.”

“You’d have won that wager,” replied Aidan. “She turned my life around and then some. Let me tell you…”

They talked for a long time, sharing stories, reminiscing about the past, and in general just enjoying one another’s company. At last however Thomas said, “You may be a young thing, and a real night owl to boot, but I’m not as young as I used to be, and I need all the beauty sleep I can get. We’re going to have to finish this in the morning. Or,” he added suddenly remembering, “I suppose it will have to wait until after dark, won’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” said Aidan. “Being a member of the Clan has a few fringe benefits, and one of them is that if you’re a vampire you can get sun protection. I’ve actually been on a daylight schedule the last month or two, and it won’t hurt me any to keep it up while I’m here. I’ll go find an inn that’s open at this hour and get a room. I can be around again bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Stay here,” offered Thomas. “I’ve got that spare room you used to sleep in. It needs a bit of tidying, I’m afraid, but you’re more than welcome to sleep here. And,” he added, “I’d enjoy the company. This old place is awfully quiet some nights.”

Aidan smiled. “Well, I don’t snore anymore, so I don’t know if I’ll help with the quiet problem, but I would love to stay here. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. You know where the bed is.”

As Aidan lay on the little cot he thought about how far he’d come. He could remember when this tiny bed had felt like luxury. Yet compared to his home with Flame Song this little cottage was a hovel. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help Thomas. He knew his friend was very independent, but now that Aidan was well off financially he wanted to do something for him. Now there’s a reversal, he thought. Me helping him out! He drifted off to sleep surrounded by memories of other nights spent in that room.

The boy creeps cautiously down the street. He knows the lookout had already spotted him, and the rest of the gang will know he is coming. He is nervous. His hands are sweaty as they clutch a little bag close to his chest. This is the biggest haul he’s had in a long time, but he fears it will not be enough. He finds the hole in the wall, partially hidden by trash and rubble, that leads downward to the gang’s hideaway. He slips through easily, his slight form sliding among shadows.

Below a guttering torch lights a dim chamber. They are waiting there for him. The leader, a tough young human, his face already scarred from countless fights, stands in the middle of the room, flanked by two of his cronies, a half-troll and another aerian. All three are larger and stronger than the boy though they are all about the same age. The leader speaks first. “What ‘ave ye brought in t’night, little mouse, little pretty boy?”

Wordlessly the boy offers the bag to the leader. The larger boy snatches it away and he and his cronies exclaim over its contents. “A good haul, pretty boy,” says the leader.

The boy gathers his courage and says, “It’s the last one.”

All three pairs of eyes fasten onto him. “What d’ ye mean, the last one?” says the leader, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“I’m leaving,” says the boy. “I’m not going to steal for you anymore.”

“And where’s a mouse like ye goin’ ta’ hole up?” says the leader. “We be the only ones as would want ye, mouse. Ye’d not survive a day out there by yerself.”

The boy remains silent. He has not mentioned the old man to any of these. They don’t know where he has been spending his days, and he isn’t going to enlighten them.

The leader scowls at the boy’s silence. “Yer not goin’ anywhere, mouse. Yer ta’ keep bringin’ in the good stuff fer yer mates.”

The boy shakes his head and says, “I’m going.” He turns to leave, hoping that if he shows no fear the other boys will let him go, but luck isn’t with him this night. A heavy blow hits him from behind, sending him sprawling. He gets his hands under him and twists around to see the leader standing over him. “Yer not goin’ anywhere,” repeats the larger boy, and kicks him in the stomach. The boy curls up, trying to protect himself as best he can while the three larger boys kick and hit him.

Eventually the leader and his cronies tire of beating the smaller boy. They leave, taking the torch with them. The boy lays still in the darkness for a long time before he carefully begins to move. This is the worst beating he’s had, and if he hadn’t already decided to leave, this would have made up his mind to go. He tries to get to his feet, but the pain is too great. So he crawls across the floor. One of his wings refuses to fold up against his side. It hurts with burning agony every time he moves and he fears it is broken. His side throbs as well with a sharp stabbing pain and he is sure he has at least one broken rib. The short distance across the room is eventually covered, and he crawls slowly up the sloping passageway to the street. When he at last reaches the top he stops for a long time. He is panting and every breath sends agony through his side. Now comes the hardest part. He cannot crawl down the street, the distance is too far, and he would look like easy prey to those hunters who wander the streets by night. He must get to his feet and walk.

He rests for a long time, getting his breath and hoping the pain will fade at least a little. It doesn’t, but at last he decides he is ready. He has to use the wall to get up, but he makes it to his feet. He begins to walk forward. He puts one foot in front of the other carefully, knowing that if he falls he will not be able to rise again. His left wing trails on the ground, and though he tries he cannot raise it. It hangs limply and now he is sure it is broken.

The trip is not a short one, and at the slow pace he must take the night is nearly gone when at last he reaches the little cottage. He knocks on the green-painted door and waits, leaning on the doorframe. When the door finally opens, the old man looks at him in shocked surprise. “Oh lad, what have they done to you?” The boy does not reply. He is at the end of his strength, and now that he has reached the only safety he knows, he stops struggling against the darkness and falls forward, unconscious.

The boy wakes up with sunlight pouring in through a tiny window. He is lying on a little cot in the old man’s house, and his friend is sitting on a stool next to him, cleaning blood off of his face with a damp cloth. The boy still aches all over, but he feels safe now. He is free of the gang, and his friend will take care of him.

“You’re awake lad! Good. I’ve sent for a healer, but he hasn’t come yet. I’ve done what I can, but your wing is broken, and I think you’ve a few broken ribs as well, and there’s naught I can do about that. What did you do to get in such a shape?”

“I left the gang,” said the boy, “and I’m not going back.”

The old man smiles. “Well lad, I’m sorry you had to pay such a price to leave, but I’m glad you’re free of that lot. You’re better off without them. You can stay with me as long as you like.”

“Thank you,” says the boy simply, and his expression conveys the depth of his gratitude.