Alex continued to drive in the opposite direction of the house and I stuck with my resolution, trying my sad best to map the island out in my mind. I did at least feel confident I could get back to the house now without Alex's help. After a few more minutes of driving, I could see a bright expanse of blue, and Alex pulled over the car. Without prompting, I jumped out.

My first view of the ocean from the sandy beach inspired in me a sense of wonder. At the same time it made me feel extremely tiny and insignificant.

My father had not been big on anything as soft and fuzzy as family vacations, so I had not been to many places as a child. I had been strapped for cash after I ran away, so I had not been many places on my own, either.

I had never seen the ocean in person before my flight across it with Michael. The reality was incredibly stunning compared to the images I had seen, the expanse of blue stretching out forever before me. It was almost like gazing on infinity.

I turned to Alex, wondering if he was seeing what I was seeing. "Do we have anything else we need to do today?"

"Not unless you can think of something you want to do," he responded.

"Then let's stay here for a while. I want to look around." I felt excited. For the first time I considered the possibility that perhaps this change Michael forced on me might be good, at least in some small ways.

"Sure. Mister Thompson did not say we had to do anything in particular, besides see the island. I think we've hit all the important stuff," Alex agreed.

"That's great," I said, quite meaning it. How could I feel resentful at Michael at this moment? I started off down the beach. Alex followed me.

"You don't have to follow me if you don't want," I told him. He looked unconvinced.

"I can hardly get lost with the water to follow back," I added sarcastically thinking of Michael's not entirely inaccurate opinion of my navigational abilities. Oops, so much for not feeling resentful, I thought.

"I can wait at the car if you want," he suggested. I wondered what he wanted.

"Okay, how about you do whatever you would prefer if you weren't on Michael's payroll?"

He grinned and it made me feel oddly happy. Alex was likeable and I was glad Michael had picked him to escort me. "Guess I'll come then," he said, sounding sheepish. He followed me down the beach.

As we walked, little stones kept sneaking their way between my feet and flip flops. Finally I pulled my feet out and picked them up to carry them. "I'm not going to step on a jellyfish, or something dangerous, am I?" I asked Alex.

"Not that I know of," Alex told me a non-committal voice.

"I wonder if I'm immune to that sort of thing now," I said musingly.

Alex shrugged. "That's probably something you should ask Mister Thompson about. I doubt it's wise to experiment."

"Why do you all call him Mister Thompson?" I wondered.

Alex shrugged again. "He's my boss. And Missus Eggleston calls him that."

Well, I could well imagine why no one would want to cross that woman. "But Tara was calling him Michael."

"Well, she's a different case. Mister Thompson probably doesn't care what we call him."

"That's true." I was certainly not going to start calling His Almighty Highness anything more formal than his name, regardless of what he might want.

We walked in silence for a while, but it was not uncomfortable. Then I spied a shell half buried in the sand. I walked over and picked it up. It was small, but perfectly formed and unbroken by whatever forces had brought it there. "You don't think Michael will care if I collect some of these, do you?" I asked.

"I can't see why he would," Alex said. He paused and then added, "I doubt Mister Thompson would allow you to take it with you when you leave, though. The location of the island is quite a secret, and taking souvenirs might not be allowed. They might be hints as to the location. You should ask him."

The comment reminded me that my future on this island was uncertain. I had no idea how long I might remain. Michael mentioning Paul seemed to indicate I might be sent back to my old world at some point. Unless he was preparing me because he thought I would want to leave.

What was I thinking? Of course I wanted to leave. I absolutely did not want to stay as Michael's permanent guest forever on his creepy island fiefdom. I had my own life; I would not just be a satellite orbiting him for the rest of it.

As much to get my mind off my disturbing thoughts as for actual curiosity, I changed the subject away from me and all my issues surrounding His Majesty King Michael the Vexing. "So, Alex," I began, "How did you come to be here on the island?"

Alex's expression seemed to indicate he was open to this sort of conversation. "Well, I was a grad student and I'd exhausted my resources. I was massively in debt and was having trouble with basic stuff."

I could definitely sympathize with that situation.

He continued, "I was desperate, so I decided to make some money donating blood."

"I can see why Michael liked you," I commented dryly.

Alex laughed. "Yeah, I was coming out of the blood clinic and I was stopped by a middle aged man. He, shall we say, recruited me. After a barrage of various tests, I finally met Mister Thompson. He explained about a resort and the peculiar job I would have. It's a really good deal, for me though. A year here means I'll be out of debt and have enough to finish my degree. For the rest of my life, as long as I keep my mouth shut and don't ask any questions, I'll receive a yearly bonus." This thought seemed to make Alex particularly happy.

"What happens if you don't keep your mouth shut?" I asked darkly.

"I have no plans to find out," Alex said, still cheerful. "Why would I want to betray such a generous man?"

"Is Michael really that generous?"

"He has been to me," Alex said in an annoyingly worshipful tone. I wondered sarcastically if we were talking about the same person.

"I wonder where he gets his money from," I said. He was probably doing something criminal. I already knew he accosted strangers and stole cars.

"Not my business," Alex told me with a shrug. "Investments or something, I imagine."

I thought about Michael for a while and we walked along until I spotted a large piece of driftwood. I was feeling rather warm, so I sat down on it. It was rather like a natural bench.

Alex sat down in the sand an arm's length from me. "Sorry, but I'm beat."

We had actually walked quite a long way together. Perhaps I was fitter than I had thought. Or was it because of what I now was? "I'm sorry," I said, thinking about how I should have noticed he could use a break.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Alex said. "It'll take you some time to get used to the way you are now."

"What am I?" I asked him. Why was it everyone seemed to know more about what I was than I did?

He seemed surprised. "You don't know?"

"Well, I do, but I don't," I struggled to explain. "Michael's so..." How could I possibly describe him? "Puzzling. Cryptic. Even when he tells me something, I'm never certain if he's serious. He likes to play with me. What he says never seems to be entirely the whole truth." How could I put my frustration, fears, and confusion into words?

"Perhaps he's protecting you," Alex suggested mildly. No doubt he would put the best construction on whatever his heroic and wonderful employer did. He was not looking at me, rather sifting through the sand in an aimless fashion.

"Maybe, but I don't want to be protected. I want to know the facts and make my own choices."

He finally seemed to understand. "I think it's better if I don't ask questions. I don't know much about what you are, really. I just know that you need blood to survive, and that's what I'm here for." His voice sounded apologetic.

"I know that," I agreed. Our purposes were very different. He was here as Michael's employee, and I was here as...? I sure as heck did not know.

"Would you like to try drinking now?" he asked me.

"I probably should," I said reluctantly. It still felt strange. As Alex had said, whatever it was that I had become, it was something that needed blood to survive. It was necessary.

"Okay," he said, but did not move.

Well, it seemed we were agreed, but I did not know how to proceed. I did not want to hurt him. "I've never done this," I confessed, although he already knew that. I hoped for some sort of direction. Was I the one who was supposed to be in control? Probably, but what was I supposed to do?

"Me neither. I arrived on the island only a few weeks before you arrived," he said sounding slightly uncertain. "But it was explained to me and it's not difficult. Here, I've got this," he said, pulling out a small sharp tool, rather like a scalpel. It shone in the bright sunlight. "This is supposed to impart minimum pain on the recipient."

As he handed it to me, his voice had become more assured and business like and I felt sure he had recalled his role as a well paid service provider. I could respect that, even if it made me feel a bit forlorn at the same time.

"Where do... Where do I drink from?" I asked. It felt so unbearably awkward.

"Wherever you feel more comfortable, I guess. I'm not bothered by a little blood," he said. "It would be better if you tapped into an artery." I had the strongest sense of surrealism, sitting on a beach by the ocean, discussing where I would stab and drink from on someone. We sounded so reasonable and not at all like two young people in an insane situation. It was so removed from anything I had ever known.

He seemed to sense I was having a bit of difficulty, so he took the tool back from me and cut himself by his neck. I watched him do it, wondering how he could be so composed. Blood welled up in the tiny cut he had made. It would be so easy to drink it and live. I leaned closer to him, until I was only a few inches away from what would keep me alive. At least until the next time I had to do this.

I froze, so close to what I needed, too close to what I did not want. How could I drink right from his veins like that? It was too strange, too different. It felt wrong.

I pushed backwards, as if waking from a dream. "I'm sorry. I can't, Alex," I said. I was unable to look at him.

"I understand," he said, although I doubted he did.

It was my turn to study the sand. I shifted it around, focusing on the little rocks and bits of shell. I tried to explain, "It's not you; I just don't know how I can do this. I don't know."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him pulling out some bandages. I force myself to look at him. "I'll do that, you can't see." He handed them over to me and I patched him up. "I'm sorry," I said again, feeling absurd and foolish.

"It's okay," he told me, although I doubted if it was true. I made a sadly lacking vampire.

"It's not, but I don't think I can help it. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing," Alex said lightly. "It's my job, it's nothing personal. I can just donate blood like at a clinic and you can drink it from a glass."

I felt oddly like crying. "Didn't Michael forbid that?" I turned my face away and rubbed my eyes, willing away any unwanted moisture.

"This morning Mister Thompson told me to just do what you wanted."

"Let's do it that way then. For now..." My guilty conscience added the latter, although I would have been happy to leave it with the former forever. The idea of drinking blood still felt unnatural and wrong, yet I was too afraid of dying to reject it outright.

The walk back to the jeep was quiet and awkward. I was relieved when we returned to the house and I was able to retreat into my room.

After a few hours of lying on my bed agonizing, my disquiet lessened. As it disappeared, my boredom grew until I was forced to leave my solitude. I wandered over to the kitchen, to see if the mussed chef was around. I knocked on the frame of the open door, while poking my head in. He was there, standing at the stove, with his back towards the door.

"Hello," I called out. He turned to look at me, then turned away again, with a grunt as his only response. I sighed and then walked inside. Did people actually need to be specifically paid to be nice to me?

"Are there any leftovers or anything that I can have for lunch?" I asked.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Anything," I said carelessly.

"Just a minute," he said. So I sat down at the little table in the corner and waited.

I realized it was well worth the wait when he brought over a plate piled with chicken, rice and vegetables. I dug in and it was as good as it looked and smelled. Soon enough it was empty and I rinsed my plate.

"Thanks," I told him and he nodded in reply. I left and made my way towards the library Alex had shown me, trying not to remember the awkwardness with Alex by the beach.

When I opened the door, it was easy not to think about anything that bothered me. I rushed towards the shelves and grabbed the first couple of volumes that caught my eye. I tried not to be too greedy. With Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde and Lord of the Flies wrapped in my arms like old friends, I shut the door behind me.

I had originally planned to go back to my room, but instead I walked outside. I looking for a good place to sit down and read. Finally I found a tree which appeared free of any creeping nature. I was still just barely in sight of the house, so I elected to sit on the far side of the tree, so I would not be spotted easily. They could search the island if they were trying to find me.

I opened up the first book and began to read. Time flew by.

A few wonderful, isolated hours passed while I read, until finally broken by a voice. "What are you reading, little girl?" Michael asked as he came around my tree.

I was in a pretty good mood by that point, so even his demeaning nickname for me did not annoy me as much as normal. "Lord of the Flies," I said, and then tried unsuccessfully to turn my attention back to the book as if he were not standing there in front of me looking way too handsome to completely ignore.

"A good book. Quite the opposite of my island."

"I suppose," I agreed reluctantly.

"I was starting to think that you were lost again."

I ignored his comment and pretended my attention was still on the book. I forced my eyes to move along the lines as if my intention was entirely on the book.

"I've brought you a present," he said, sitting down beside me. I could not resist looking over at him.

He grinned. "So, you were listening?" He held out a paper cup with a lid and a straw. "Here you go. Alex could not find you. Were you hiding from him?"

Yes, I was hiding from Alex and everyone else, too. "No. I was reading." It was also the truth. I took the cup he was still holding out patiently.

Although I knew what I would find inside, I peeked under the lid and regretted it. The dark, viscous liquid smelled awful and metallic and was perhaps the last thing I wanted to drink. The ice cubes floating near the top did nothing to make it look more appetizing.

But I did want to live, so I took a sip and tried not to grimace.

"Very good," Michael said and I felt like throwing the cup at him. Seeing him and his stupid perfect blond hair soaked with the contents of the cup would have been satisfying.

Or maybe not. On second thought, the image of Michael dripping with blood sounded more like fodder for my nightmares.

Instead of answering I looked down at the book again.

He refused to take the hint and leave. Instead he crouched down in front of where I was sitting. "Alex said you tried very hard."

I felt mortified. I took another sip of the awful beverage. Michael was the last person on the island I felt like discussing this with. Or rather, he would be in a tie for last place with Alex himself, Missus Eggleston, Tara and Alicia. Mussed hair would not be too bad, because he would only look surly not say anything but even then I really did not want to talk about it with anyone.

"So the chef? You said his name was Pierre?" I asked Michael, mostly to change the subject.

"Yes, Pierre," Michael said.

This was a nice safe subject so I pursued it. "Why doesn't he talk more?"

"He doesn't like to." Thanks for stating the obvious, Michael.

"So, is it safe to swim in the ocean?" I floundered for something else to talk about since the Pierre conversation seemed to have hit a dead end.

"Well, there's nothing in there that will hurt you permanently. However, you might be in danger of getting lost on the way there or back."

"My sense of direction is not that bad," I snapped at him.

Michael continued in the tone he used when he was trying to anger me. "And are you coordinated enough not to drown? You do still need to breath, remember?"

I scowled. "I know how to swim."

"Relax, little girl," he said in a voice that was clearly not intended to make me relax, but rather annoy me more. "I'm just kidding."

I did not dignify his words with a response. I stared at the page I was on, though I could not even remember what had happened in the book.

"On a more important note, I've found a trainer worthy of your case. I doubt we can fix your clumsiness, but at least we can get you in shape worthy of being my offspring."

"Oh, how nice," I responded in simpering sarcasm. I added in my normal voice, "I thought I was here to recuperate, not be tortured."

"Exercise is a part of your recuperation," Michael said dismissively. "More importantly, he's an American named Robert so maybe you'll have something in common. He specializes in your sort of hopeless case. He's willing to come here and train you."

My scowl deepened and I made no effort to hide it. "Why do I need to be trained?"

"Need I remind you of Paul? If you meet him again and you probably will, you need to be in better shape and have some sort of defense to survive. He's a persistent one, so you likely will see him again. We're immortal, not invulnerable. Unless you don't care if you can defend yourself? I'm hardly going to force you."

I did not want Paul to kill me even more than I did not want to agree with Michael. "Fine, I'll train with this Robert," I agreed unhappily. I would rather read. I had no desire to exercise, except perhaps swimming. I was reminded of the beach again. Maybe I would go swimming the next day if nothing came up.

I decided to ask. "Can I borrow a vehicle tomorrow?"

"Heck no, little girl. There's no reason that you can't walk."

"Why not? You let Alex borrow one when he took me!" I whined.

"He's still a human. You're perfectly capable of getting there. If you ran, it wouldn't take you more than a half of an hour."

"I don't want to run. Or walk."

"It'll be good for you. If we're lucky, exercise should help you get slightly more coordinated," Michael said. "I'm sure Robert will be easier to take if you start before he arrives next week." I felt the first stirrings of dread towards the arrival of Robert.

"Fine. I'm going to walk to the ocean tomorrow."

"Maybe I should come too," Michael commented.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. Did he think me so incapable that I would drown?

He grinned and watched my reaction. "I feel it would be amusing to watch you try to find try to find your way."

"I'll make my way there just fine." Stupid Michael.

He shrugged, and said, "If you stop at the shop in the village you can grab a swimsuit. You can just tell Tara to put it on my tab. And anything else that you need."

"Thank you," I said begrudgingly.

"Well, I must be off," Michael said, pushing himself to his feet. "Finish your drink and enjoy my book."

"Bye," I muttered, turning back to the book. It took me a while to get back into the story again after he left.