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Noticing Trevor look to her, Izzy tilted her head to once more put him in her view.
“What? Why?” She blinked at him at his request.
She doubted she could do much if he was living in an abusive household, but her parents were police officers. They would be capable of doing something about it. But if he did not want anyone else involved, it would be her word against theirs, and the last thing she wanted was to lose him. Besides, that he was trusting her with this was a good sign, wasn’t it? And even if it was another thing to add to her growing list of secrets, at least someone would know.
She sighed and shook her head at the ground at her feet in a dismissal of her questions. “Never mind. That doesn't matter.” She looked back to him. “I promise this will all stay between us.”

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Izzy’s gaze darkened. His father, then.
“They’ve never hurt you before today? What... what happened?” she asked slowly, her voice soft. She looked at him with furrowed brows, unsure whether his nonchalance was some sort method for dealing with the situation, or simply how and in stride he took everything, even something like that. “How can you say that so easily? That’s not normal, you know. Him doing that.” She bit her bottom lip and looked to the gauze, concern and worry for Trevor glistening in her eyes.

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Izzy frowned at the reason he gave, as if being nosy with his father’s work justified their actions. She sighed heavily when he tried to make his point clear to her.
“That’s just it.” She gripped his arm to stop him, and turned to fully face him. “That’s not fine, Trevor. Blood related or not, they’re still your legal guardians. They don’t have a right to treat you like that. Even once. No matter what. You need a bandage for it, for crying out loud!" She removed her hand from him and instead placed it with the other on her walking staff. "Did he get you with a ring or something?”

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Izzy took a deep breath, her gaze never straying from Trevor, though he looked away. Recognizing it would be pointless to press the matter further, and hoping her lecture had not made him regret telling her, she sighed. Her lips pursed to the side in contemplation at his reason for the bandage.
“Maybe I can help with that.” She glanced around the street, making sure no one else was within hearing range, then looked back to Trevor, her voice low as she continued. “I might not be capable of saving a life, but I might still be capable of at least healing a bruise. If you’ll let me.”

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“Well, for one thing,” she glanced around again, this time in emphasis, “get out of the open.” She offered him a small smile, then cleared her throat awkwardly; she had neither explained nor had he asked how she had saved his life. “A vampire’s blood has healing properties. Which makes sense if you think about it.” She turned to continue down the street, trying to think of a suitable, out-of-the-way spot. “So I don’t suppose you have a pocket knife or something on you, do you?”

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Izzy followed him down the deserted side street, pausing only a moment to give a quick glance at the very few people out and about that glorious summer morning before stepping into the shade cast by the nearest buildings.
“It's no worse than brother-sweat," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "But there’s only one way to find out if it’ll work, right? You know, I’m not entirely sure how I should feel about you knowing more about vampires than me.” She gave Trevor a small, teasing smile. "I should seriously start reading up more on their lore.”
Her expression sobered. “Here’s probably as good a place as any.” Her pace slowed.

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Izzy nodded in agreement. “I’ll have to bring it up the next time I see him.”
She watched Trevor remove the gauze, her face twisting in empathy at the bruise beneath the bandage. The sight of it only kindled her anger, the emotion flashing over her green eyes. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and unwrapped the decorative scarf from around her neck.
“Remind me to add this to my list of ‘Moderately Strange Things I’ve Done,’” she said, her voice stiff despite her attempt at humor. Noticing his mild anticipation, she looked at him reassuringly. “It’s not like I’m going to just hawk a loogy at you.”
She gathered as much saliva as she could in her mouth, then spat it out on the end of her scarf until it soaked the fabric to her satisfaction.
“This work for you?” she asked, reaching up to dab the wet part of the fabric gently against his bruised cheek.

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She smiled faintly when the bruise began to basically erase from Trevor’s face. Once it had faded completely, she pulled the scarf away.
Handsome, as always, she thought to his question. “Er, like the Trevor I know,” she said aloud, trying to not blush again. She cleared her throat, leaned her staff on her shoulder, and busied herself with wrapping the scarf back where it belonged. “Guess we can add healing spit to the capabilities of a ‘vampiric mockery of a human.’” She paused, wondering why, if that was the case for both of them, Cerasus’ bite marks remained between his saliva and her healing capabilities.
“So,” she gripped her staff lightly, “where were you headed before I interrupted?”

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Izzy watched him place the wadded gauze in his pocket, and leaned on her staff. She frowned at Trevor’s statement, but said nothing to it. Her brows furrowed when his answer to her question cut off, and she spun around to follow his gaze, wondering what had caught his attention.
Her eyes fell to the dead dog, its once white fur soiled now with dirt and blood.
“Aww, poor dog,” Izzy said sadly. Ran over by a car was never a good fate. “Should we call animal control or something?” she suggested when he mentioned not leaving it there.
She blinked at him at his request. “I... yeah, of course. I didn’t know you cared so much about animals. I think we’ve got a couple shovels in the garage I could borrow.”


Though she was as close to a human as she could get, capable of going out during the sun’s reign, there was still something about being out during the night that felt right. Natural. Having taken to keeping her bike in the backyard to avoid the noise of pulling it from the garage, Izzy walked it around to the front of the house, an old school pack she had found shoved in her closet slung over her shoulder.
Toying with the idea that she really should clean out her closet, she mounted her bike and took off down the street, not needing to think too hard on the turns she would need to take to make it to the abandoned school. When she at last reached the road where even the streetlights had been shut off or broken, she turned on the flashlight she had strapped to the bike’s handlebars.
She stopped just outside the decaying building, unwrapped her flashlight from the bike, and wheeled it to a spot where it would not be noticed on the off chance someone passed by.
The school doors hung open just enough for her to slip through, the chain that had once kept them shut long since broken and rusting on the ground.
Inside the entrance hall, she paused, listening, the beam of her light slowly swiveling around the room.
The moan of the gentle wind echoed with an eerie volume inside, finding any cracks it could to drift through. When it paused to take a breath, an almost deafening silence fell, broken only by the occasional scuttle of rodents or the ghostly sound of the building creaking and groaning.
Slowly, she made her way upstairs, careful to watch her step and sure Riley would be out by now. The echo of her footsteps sounded loud in the darkness cowering away from the beam of her flashlight. She cast the light into each classroom as she passed, sweeping it over rusting desks and chairs, and peeling, molding wallpaper until at last it shone on a familiar face.
If she had not known any better, she would have thought that the child never moved from his corner, ever huddled, ever glaring, nothing but a ghost of what Izzy had seen him as in a similar form.
She took a deep breath, swallowed, and entered, careful to not shine the light directly on him to avoid blinding him. She glanced around the room, subconsciously hoping Riley would pop out of the woodwork as he always seemed to do, but only the shadows shifting with the sudden light provided any movement.
For the first time in months, it was only her and what remained of the once grand Cerasus Orion Damocles. The room felt a little colder and darker for it, as if the walls themselves had absorbed his ire.
Doing her best to ignore the feeling, she shrugged the pack from her shoulders and placed it on one of the desks she suspected had been cleaned from Riley using it in combination with others as a makeshift bed. She balanced the end of her flashlight beside the pack, the beam facing up so it reflected off the crumbling ceiling and cast just enough light to see by.
Finally, she turned to face the child’s all too familiar glare. She stepped toward him, then knelt down beside him, facing him.
“Hey.” Her soft voice shattered the silence. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but...” Though she knew he would not answer her, whether because he could or would not, she still had to try. She sighed. “If you’d ever actually like to tell me, I’m all ears.”
She bent her head and undid the scarf she had yet to take off for the day. Wadding it up, she turned and tossed it onto the desk, the light fabric flaring open and draping half on and half off the desk. She bit her lip lightly as she turned back to the child.
“It’d be nice to know if you even can talk,” she muttered more to herself than to him as she scooted closer and reached an arm out to draw him to her.

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When the boy moved to her, giving her less trouble than usual, she moved so she sat cross-legged on the broken tiles, glad she had decided to come during the night instead. She blinked in surprise when the child at first seemed to be hugging her, the fleeting through that maybe, just maybe, he was coming around and showing gratitude flashing through her mind and easing the guilt that always greeted her at seeing what he had become.
But alas, the thought was broken with the wet sound the child made, and she realized what he was after before he all but climbed over her to get at her backpack. A look of confusion crossed her face, before she realized he had to be after the donuts inside.
“Okay, okay!” she muttered irritably, trying to pry the child from her. “Hold on. I’ll grab you one.” She released him and stood. Straightening the bottom of her shirt, she cast the boy a glance that told him to stay put, then zipped the pack open. “I didn’t take you as someone who gave human food a second thought.” Reaching inside, she pulled out the box of donuts, one missing from when she had had one on the way back from Tim Horton’s, and opened it.
Grabbing one, she turned to hand it to the child.