I plan to make new friends, and I expect this won't make things easy, but it is my sincere intention to remain pleasant. Thank you for your courtesy, attention and cooperation." He was smiling a little, and she was so startled she had to swallow hard. The smile vanished and she noticed an unusual shadow behind his brown eyes. "My father wants you to call him," he said, turning around to head back inside. "Sure, whatever you say." As if she really would call. "Excuse me, that man behind you in the doorway..." Hearing no objection from behind, she turned to see a thin, white-haired man sitting in a wheelchair. "Is that your father?" He nodded curtly, his gaze fixed on her. He had the look of someone who's never been truly happy in life. But it was too late for her to know him; the last thing she wanted was for him to know her. She forced a bright smile. "How do you do, Mr. Niles? I'm Emma Chase. I was recently hired to work here, though I haven't met all the staff yet." He gave a slight nod. "Mr. Niles," he said, inclining his head ever so slightly. The way he said it sounded like "My name is 'Mr. Niles,' you'd better get used to it." "I'm here to help with your needs, Mr. Niles." "You may call me Edward, my dear. After all, we're going to be together for some time." A chill ran through her, but he didn't linger. He nodded again, and disappeared inside. "You won't be getting off that easy," he whispered, his breath hot on the back of her neck. Her skin crawled. A sharp pain shot through her as he gripped her arm with surprising strength. Panic surged, followed by a powerful sense of dread. As if being touched like that by someone she'd known all her life wasn't awful enough, her throat tightened. She was unable to breathe. She gasped a strangled breath as his grip slowly loosened. His gaze glittered malevolently. His eyes and fangs glinted like ice. He slowly backed away and left. *** Taken aback by his reaction, Emma returned inside to look for the old man. She found him in the dining room, staring at her with what seemed like hate. "I'm Emma," she said, "and I believe that you called me here?" The old man did not reply, and she watched his shoulders heave in a way that had nothing to do with speech. He stared, and she was suddenly aware of how big a man he was; she wondered if he ever had to contend with anyone with a violent disposition. She did her best to ignore her growing unease. It wasn't a good sign when she wanted to run. She looked over at him again. "I'm sure you must be hungry, Mr. Niles." She had expected a response, but none came. She walked over to a seat at the table, picked up a basket of bread rolls, a large knife and a carafe of water. Then she took the water to him, held it up for him to take, but he didn't reach for it. "I brought you some bread and cheese, Mr. Niles," she said, setting the basket in front of him. He didn't respond. "Mr. Niles," she said again, reaching for the water glass on the table. He lifted his hand as if to stop her. A strange look passed over his face; she was beginning to get uncomfortable when he lifted his face from the glass and let out a single cry of pain. She jumped back with her hand over her heart. The knife fell with a clatter, and the carafe dropped, making a loud noise as it broke on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said, staring at the water glass. His hands were gripping it tightly. What happened? I'm losing it. The old man must be some kind of demon, she thought, suddenly convinced. "Let me get you a fresh glass of water, Mr. Niles," she said, taking a few steps backwards. The old man's face twisted. "Bring the water to me," he said, his voice thick with the bloodthirsty sound of hunger. "I can't, Mr. Niles." He stared at her with hateful eyes. He held her gaze until his chin quivered; he was fighting with all his strength to remain in control. "You'll bring me water or...or...I'll tell your father." A wave of fear ran through her. What was she doing here? She should never have done this, should never have left his room. Emma took a step backwards. "I'll get it," she managed to croak. She picked up the basket of bread, sliced off a piece and handed it to him. He ate without a word. This time, she sat in silence. After a while, he pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a frown. "Tell the cook that she should leave me more often." "I can do that," Emma said, biting her lower lip to stop herself from crying. Why was he so mean? She tried to control her thoughts and remain calm. "What's the latest weather report, my dear?" Mr. Niles asked, staring at her with bloodshot eyes. "Cloudy, some rain." "The weather changes quickly these days, doesn't it?" She nodded, looking at him, wondering why he was waiting for her to say something. "I can smell your blood, Emma." He tilted his head and licked his lips. "Your blood...You don't like what I'm saying?" he asked, his face twisted into a cruel smile. Her mouth went dry. He sounded so normal. "It's not that I don't like your words," she whispered. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears. The blood rushed to her face. "I'm just afraid of you." He was quick to respond, and her heart jumped. "No, Emma," he whispered, his voice cold, but not cold as ice. "It's because you're afraid of me." His eyes narrowed. His face was filled with hatred and anger. He took a step towards her, and he didn't seem too well. He licked his lips and his eyes were red and puffy. "I don't believe in your words, Mr. Niles," she said, standing, her arms wrapped around her waist as if to protect herself from his touch. "But I'm sure you're aware of that, aren't you?" His hands flew to his face, and she realized that he had actually made a fist. His mouth opened and he roared with laughter. "You're very quick, aren't you?" he said, holding his fist. Emma's mouth went dry. She backed away, holding her head. "You should stay away from me," he said, "when I have an injured wing." She hesitated. "I'm sorry," she said, feeling the need to say the words. "Stay away, that's all." He turned away. Emma sat down. She thought about the old man, thinking that it would have been better for him to have eaten the bread and cheese rather than her. The house remained quiet, except for the clock's ticking, and it felt as if there were no one else there. She thought again about the old man, and the strange feeling that she'd been in the presence of evil for a long time. Emma wondered how she could have failed to sense the presence of a demon, but then it was easy to imagine him as just an old man with health problems. What if he was a demon who had taken human form? That would explain his sudden appetite for power and fear of the dark, though it was not a good idea to think like that. Emma was well aware of how little she knew about demons. She felt an odd sense of pride that she'd sensed him and his hatred. As soon as she thought this, the idea seemed ridiculous, but it had been a way to get rid of the old man. Emma looked at her hands, hoping for her hands to tell her what to do next, but the feeling of danger was still there. The whole time she tried to feel her way around the situation, her mind focused on Edward and his odd manner. Emma had no idea what to do; she needed to get rid of him. She didn't want him to tell her father that she'd failed. Something was wrong. *** When Emma arrived home, she found her father playing cards with his friends. One glance and she knew that they had been drinking. He must have known she was there. She couldn't just march up to the table and confront him. If she approached him with any kind of hesitation, they might suspect something, and then he'd never stop looking for an opportunity to prove to her that he was still stronger than she was. "I have nothing to say to you," she heard her father say. "Is that right?" asked