Marcia stands just outside the official residence of the Night Elves. A dwarven woman stands before her. The woman’s head only comes up to her chin. Her face is childlike, round with enormous eyes. But she’s broader than Marcia, and the track suit she wears does nothing to disguise that every inch of her is muscle.

“I’m here to see Dare!” Marcia says, stamping her foot.

The dwarven lady blinks up at her. “You call him Dare?” she says, backing up, wide eyes going even wider.

Seizing the opportunity, Marcia storms past her.

“Diamonds, who is that?” she hears Dare say, his voice oddly … whiney. “Make them go away!”

“Madam,” the dwarf, presumably Diamonds says, grabbing Marcia’s wrist with such force, she spins around. “He’s not well, leave him alone.”

With a move she learned in self-defense classes she took with her children, Marcia twists her wrist away and shouts, “Dare, I need to talk to you!”

“Marcia?” says Dare.

“Madam,” Diamonds says. “I’ve been gentle with you, but—”

“Let her in,” Dare says, and she can’t tell if he sounds resigned or devious.

Without hesitating, Marcia strides in the direction of his voice, and finds herself in a living room with blinds closed to the afternoon light. He’s wearing pajamas, a bathrobe, and fat fluffy red socks that look like Elmo might have been sacrificed in order to make them. It’s about 2 PM, she has a personal day, the kids are safely at school—she’s come straight from her oncology appointment. Her doctor’s words are ringing in her head. “I don’t understand it, Marcia. I think it must have been a glitch with the last scans … or … or … a miracle.” His brow had furrowed. “There have been some odd spontaneous remissions since the realms opened—Mayor Rogers has asked to keep track of them. But those are usually blood cancers and I’m not sure this counts. How do you feel?”

She feels great, which is the problem. “Dare, why did you do it? What do you want?” she demands.

“Lovely to see you, too,” he says, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Leave me alone, I’m sleepy.”

“You made me better!” Marcia exclaims.

He sniffs and replies petulantly, “Made you better? Why, I never had any idea you were sick.” There is a sing-song quality to his voice. He’s lying. She can feel it in every inch of her body.

“Why did you do it?” Marcia demands. “Do you intend to blackmail me? Is this some sort of vampiric extortion? Do you think I might be in your debt? Because, no way, Mr. Bloodsucker.” Is he after one of her children? That always happens in fairy tales, but she won’t give any of them away. Not even Cindy, who’d called her a black widow this morning.

He sits up quickly. “If I wanted you to be in my debt, there would have been a contract signed in blood before I healed you.” He sniffs. “Don’t accuse me of incompetence.”

Marcia puts her hands on her hips, and her eyes narrow. “You did make me better.”

Flopping back down on the couch, he turns his back to her and curls up in a fetal position … as much as a tall man can on a skinny couch. “Did not.” He raises a hand and waves it with a shoo-shoo motion. “Now go away.”

“I still have questions for you!” Marcia says.

He sighs. “Oh, bright sunny summer days,” he mutters, grabbing a pillow and pressing his face into it.

She blinks.

“Well?” he says. “Are you going to ask? Get it over with. I want to go back to sleep.” The last comes out distinctly whiney.

“You have children!” she says remembering that without human blood vampires are malnourished and eventually infertile. “You’ve drunk human blood.” And without the benefit of a blood bank, so directly from the vein.

He rolls over so he’s in the fetal position, but facing her. His eyes are glinting, and she’s not sure if it’s magic or anger. “Yes, Marcia. Before the realms were closed, I lived here and I drank human blood.” His nostrils flare, and she feels cold dread settling on her. She raises her hands, suddenly not wanting him to finish, but finds herself unable to ask him to stop.

“I was even married to the human woman in question. She was burned at the stake for being a witch,” Dare continues, his eyes definitely flashing. “I went home with the closing of the realms, married a vampire in a similar situation, and we had five lovely children.”

“Oh …” says Marcia.

His jaw hardens. “But after our fifth … and then the misca—” He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. “She was one of those who became … ill. She is … gone.”

“Oh,” Marcia says. She swallows and walks over to him, as though pulled by a string. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, and throws his arm over his eyes. “It’s all … a very long time ago.” For the first time she notices that there is a light sheen on his face. His hair, tucked behind his pointed ears, looks like it needs to be washed, and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks so unwell … she feels something twist in her gut that isn’t disease.

“Why did you help me?” she whispers, putting a hand to her mouth.

He sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Unconsciously, she draws her hand down her throat. His eyes, peeking beneath his arm, follow it. She sees his tongue dart out for just an instant, and then his eyes snap to hers. She knows what he was just thinking, and she knows he knows she knows. She just doesn’t know what to do … should she apologize? Or him? Pretend she didn’t see?

Curling tight into a ball, Dare screams, “Guards, she has a stake!”

Marcia’s eyes go wide. Before she can form a coherent thought, much less a sentence, she’s being hauled up and over the heads of seven dwarves. As she’s carried away on her back, she can see Dare’s back, and his Elmo-sock clad feet, poking out from under his robe.

Next thing she knows, she’s being thrown out onto the stoop. “How dare you think of hurting Uncle Dare!” Diamonds says.

Sitting on her butt, Marcia raises her arms so they can see inside her open hoodie. “Where in the world would I hide a stake?” Beneath the hoodie, she’s wearing a form-fitting tee-shirt, and below that, she’s wearing a yoga pants and sneakers.

Behind Diamonds, one of the other dwarves says, “I don’t think she had a stake. Uncle’s just not feeling well … wonder what he used so much magic on that made him so sick.”

Marcia gulps. Oh, no.

“You’re speaking English, you dopey ‘idget,” one of the other dwarves says.

“So are you!” hisses someone else, and then they all begin arguing in what is presumably Dwarvish. “Hmpf!” says Diamonds, and slams the door.

Marcia sits, staring at the door for a long time. She knows Dare is responsible for her miracle, and that it made him ill with the same certainty she knows how to breathe. She wants to do something for him, but it’s obvious, he doesn’t want to acknowledge the gift. She rubs her forehead. Maybe it’s completely opposite of what she first assumed. Maybe he doesn’t want it acknowledged because he doesn’t want anything from her? Well, too bad, she’s giving him something.

Climbing to her feet, she looks up at the sun. She used her last personal day for her doctor’s visit, and she still has a few hours of free time.

Two hours and forty-five minutes later, she’s back at the official residence carrying her gift. It’s not an expensive gift, but she hopes that it’s appropriately personal: a shiny helium balloon that says, “Get Well Soon,” not “Thank you.” The balloon is secured to a cute little plush bat that has a picture of the night sky on the underside of its wings; she thought it was more fitting than a bear. She knocks on the door, but no one answers. Without any other choice, she leaves the gift on the stoop. Just before she walks through the official residence’s gate, she turns to look back. The little bat and balloon look pathetically small. So little in exchange for a life. She gulps. But maybe Dare wanted it that way? Magic has touched her family’s life, but she decides, in honor of his wishes, she won’t tell. She heads home. The setting sun warms her face and she smiles. The twisted fairy tale of her family’s Cinderella night had an unexpected, but happy ending.

Except the fairy tale doesn’t end there ...