The journey home was a nightmare. They had sailed for almost a month to reach the tropical latitudes, and Serapha couldn’t swim as steadily as the ship sailed. She needed rest and food, and both were hard to find on the open sea. She tried, but she couldn’t trust her instincts enough to sleep as a dolphin. She felt she would drown, even though she knew it was impossible. She didn’t even need to breathe! But logic and reality were too different things, and she simply couldn’t rest in the water. So she sought out the hundreds of islands that dotted these waters. She would find what sustenance she could and then curl up and cry herself to sleep most days. And then she began to leave the tropical waters and the ocean turned freezing cold. It was still winter here, and though she had thought herself immune to the cold, she discovered otherwise. With the freezing ocean constantly around her the cold soaked into her bones. She felt stiff and chilled, and when she ventured out on land in her own form she shivered uncontrollably. The further north she went, the fewer islands she found. She swam on for days between stops. Everything was a blur of cold, hunger, and exhaustion. When at last the coast of the north continent rose before her she almost didn’t realize she’d arrived.

She changed back to her own shape, standing shivering in the freezing surf that crashed on a snow-covered, rocky shore. Not too far off she could make out the lights of Snowcap Village. It gradually penetrated her exhausted mind that she was almost home. She had been making her way here without any thought, but now that she had arrived she realized that she didn’t want to confront her parents. She had left without their permission, she’d been gone for months, and… how could she tell them what had happened? How could she face their disappointment?

She walked slowly toward the village, her wings folded around her in a futile attempt to keep the chill wind off. Her feet were bare in the snow. She hadn’t been wearing shoes when she’d left the south isles. She hadn’t needed them. She wandered the streets of the sleeping town, trying to find some direction, some solution, somewhere to go. She stopped for a moment and looked at the little inn. Michael would be there. It would be warm inside, but she couldn’t face him either. So she turned away and headed for the edge of town. There was nothing for her here. She was passing by a tiny church on the outskirts of the village when someone touched her shoulder. The touch was painful, seeming almost to burn, and she spun around with a snarl.

“Don’t touch me!”

A white-haired cleric stood there, his eyes wide with surprise. “I’m sorry, child,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Go away. Just leave me alone,” said Serapha.

“But child, you’ll freeze to death.”

“I wish I could,” was her despairing reply. “But I can’t.”

“But you must be miserable. Please, come inside.”

“What inside your church? I can’t. Don’t you know what I am?”

“You’re most likely Aidan’s daughter, and yes, I know you’re a vampire. I was inviting you inside my home, not my church. Come, surely you can humor an old man and come in out of the cold?”

Serapha looked up at him. He smiled encouragingly at her and suddenly the thought of really being warm again was too much to resist. “All right.”

The cleric led the way back half a block to a modest house with warm yellow light pouring out of the front windows. Inside it was cheerful and cozy. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, and Serapha went right to it like steel to a magnet, sitting down directly in front of the fire and holding out her hands. Water began to drip off of her as the snow and ice frozen into her tattered clothes and unkempt hair began to melt. She half spread her wings to absorb more of the warmth, the freezing chill gradually fading as the heat of the fire soaked into her.

The cleric sat down in a chair and watched with an indulgent smile. After a while Serapha turned around, letting the fire warm her back, and said, “Thank you.”

“It’s my job to do what I can to help out those in need,” he said with a smile. “I’m Father Benton, by the way.”

“My name’s Serapha,” she said. “But how did you know I was Aidan’s daughter?”

“There aren’t very many aerians around here,” he said with a smile, “and you’re the very image of your father.”

“You know my father then?”

“Not exactly. Many years ago, before you were born, I’m sure, I was present at the trial of a cleric. I was a much younger man then, and the proceedings made quite an impression on me. This cleric had attempted to murder your father, claiming that it wasn’t a crime because he was undead and therefore evil. I admit at first I agreed with the man, but as the trial progressed, I came gradually to realize that your father was a good man. It changed the way I looked at people. I learned the folly of judging by appearances. Things aren’t always what they seem at first.”

Serapha gave a bitter little laugh. “That’s the truth,” she said.

“Do you want to tell me what sent you out wandering the streets in such a state?” asked Father Benton gently.

Serapha shook her head. On one level she did want to talk, and this kindly man would surely listen without judgment, but on another level she didn’t even want to think about it yet.

“If you ever do want to talk, I am always willing to listen. That’s another part of my job, being a listening ear for people’s troubles. But in the meantime, perhaps you might like to have a warm bath? My late wife was an immigrant from Earth, and she was quite fond of such little comforts. I actually have Earth-style plumbing, though the water heater will take a while to get going on such a cold night.”

“That would be heavenly,” said Serapha. Real plumbing! Why even her own family did what most Mysterians did and heated water in the kitchen, one pot at a time. A real hot bath was such an effort that she almost never had one.