"She doesn't like me," Margaret pouted, leaning far over the wooden split-rail fence with a polished red apple in her outstretched palm. She called to Artemis again, clucking her tongue and offering endearments, but the horse whinnied and stamped her hooves in agitation. The skin of her flanks rippled with the perceived threat.

"She doesn't know you," Thomas replied. His own horse, Apollo, was munching grass at a safe distance near a grove of great oak trees, their branches dripping with Spanish moss.

"I thought, perhaps, given time . . ."

"You are no longer human, remember?" Thomas said. "You are a predator. Other creatures sense our power."

Margaret tossed the apple into the field, close enough to her horse so that she would find it, and stepped down from the fence, smoothing her dress. "We haven't ridden since˗˗"

"Since leaving England," Thomas finished for her. "I know. I miss it, too."

"My one regret," Margaret said, "aside from Caroline, of course, is her." She nodded to Artemis. "I miss the feel of her body under me as we gallop through the heather, the way her muscles tense and flex, the wind in my hair . . ." Her words trailed off.

"You miss an excuse to wear breeches," Thomas replied, jabbing her in the side with his elbow.

Margaret jabbed back. "I do not need an excuse to wear breeches," she said. "I will wear them when I choose."

"Of course, you will. You will do anything you please." He offered his arm to Margaret then, which she took. "Come. Let us walk."

The autumn morning had dawned relatively cool, but the day had quickly grown bright and warm, as was typical so far south. Margaret wasn't accustomed to so much sun, especially this late in the year. Back in England, her hands would be cramped with persistent cold and wet. But here, in the colony of Georgia, there seemed to be heat in excess. She could hardly feel it, of course. She didn't seem to feel much of anything at all anymore except hunger and desire.

Margaret and Thomas walked arm-in-arm, cutting a leisurely path into town along what had become their usual course. Though it was critical to maintain their human façade, their outings served another purpose.

"What about that one?" Thomas whispered as they wound their way slowly through the main square.

Margaret followed the direction of his gaze and made a face that her mother would call unbecoming for a lady. "Honestly, Tommy. You have the worst taste. He looks like a vagrant."

"That's precisely the point. He likely will not be missed."

"How about her?" Margaret nodded discreetly to a young woman emerging from the church, clutching a Bible close to her chest, as though it was a talisman against evil. The woman paused on the steps, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Even from a distance, Margaret could see perspiration glistening at the woman's temples. She tracked its path as it trickled from underneath her starched white cap and rolled down the exposed skin of her neck to disappear into the bosom of her dress. The scent of her blood hung heavy in the air, like a rose in summer. Margaret licked her bottom lip.

"No," Thomas said sharply, not so gently squeezing Margaret's hand.

Margaret groaned in frustration. "But smell her, Tommy. Wouldn't she taste delicious?"

"That is the minister's wife."

Margaret pursed her lips but said nothing in response. They watched the woman descend the steps and walk away, oblivious to danger.

"Meg," Thomas said.

Margaret sighed. "Oh, dear. I sense a lecture."

"Not a lecture, but a . . . . a warning."

"Is not that the same thing?"

Thomas moved to stand in front of his sister. "You have been feeding on your own, haven't you?"

She raised her chin. Even though she was older, her brother was taller. "And what if I have?"

"If you don't practice a little more discretion, we will be found out."

Margaret patted him on the cheek. "Your concern is charming, brother."

He batted her hand away. "I am not trying to be charming, sister. And I am not a child. Do not treat me as such."

Margaret smiled indulgently. She looped her arm through her brother's and continued walking, pulling him along beside her. "I apologize, Tommy. I don't mean to be dismissive."

"There has been talk, Meg, of sickness and death that cannot be explained. If you are not more careful, you will create unnecessary problems for father."

"For father?" Margaret laughed. "Don't be so naïve. It's father . . . " She let her words trail off, not finishing her thought.

"What about father?"

She patted her brother's arm. "Never you mind. I will be more careful. There is much I am still learning about this new life."

"As are we all."

"How does mother seem today?" Margaret asked, changing the subject.

"Perhaps you should talk to her and judge for yourself." When Margaret gave him a look, he relented. With a sigh, he said, "Mother is . . . mother."

"Her grief will not last forever," Margaret replied, not without sympathy.

"She has lost a child," Thomas said. "She was forced into a life she did not ask for nor want. I believe she will grieve her entire life."

They walked a while longer in contemplative silence.

"You do realize we will not be able to stay here indefinitely," Margaret finally said. "People will begin to notice and speculate about our eternal youth."

"Yes," Thomas replied. "It is both a blessing and a curse. We have all the time in the world now, but we are bereft of a home."

"I'd say it is a fair compromise," Margaret said. "Wouldn't you?"

"Perhaps, though we may never know love."

Margaret laughed. "Good! A life without love is a life worth living, so say I."

"A life without love is a sad and empty life," Thomas replied.

Margaret pulled Thomas to a stop and changed direction, returning the way they had come. "I can always tell when you are hungry," she said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. You become a rather dull and depressing vampire."

"Oh. Well, then. The vagrant?"

Margaret sighed. "Very well. The vagrant."

*****

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote, comment, and recommend A Drop of Blood to others.