She opened the door and greeted him cheerfully. "Good morning, Kenneth. Still on this route, I see."

"Yes, ma'am, Miz Crockett." Kenneth handed her the clipboard so she could sign for the package. He indicated a large Styrofoam cooler near his feet. "It's heavy this time. Want me to carry it in for you?"

"Very thoughtful of you, dear, but I can manage. Just set it inside the door, please."

He heaved the cooler up with an audible grunt and placed it in the hallway. "There you go. You get at least two of these a month." He didn't speak the question, but it was there in his voice.

He had to get curious, sooner or later. They'd have to switch delivery services now. "Supplies for my granddaughter, " she explained. "She does research here at home. Here you are, dear." She handed him a ten.

"Aw, you shouldn't, Miz Crockett. We're not supposed to accept tips."

That's never stopped you before, she thought. "I insist. Buy yourself lunch, my treat."

"Well, what the company don't know...Thanks."

He slipped the bill into his pocket. "See you next time."

"Looking forward to it." She shut the door and reset the system, making a mental note that she needed to speak to the suppliers about finding another method of delivery. She'd better do it soon. There was no telling how long it took to set things like that up. Perhaps a private courier this time...

Nana bent and took hold of the cooler. She stood up with is smoothly, and carried it down the hall to the kitchen without any sign of strain. Yes, it was rather heavy this time.

She set the cooler on the table and unsealed the lid. "Now, where did I put the gloves?" She sometimes wished that the girls had taken her in a few years earlier. Perhaps then her memory wouldn't slip like it did. Then she told herself that was nonsense, she'd always been a tiny bit absent minded about small things.

She located a pair of work gloves that had never done much actual labor in the junk drawer. Nana took off the lid, then slipped on her gloves, surveying the contents of the cooler. Nestled in among blocks of dry ice were at least two dozen IV bags of whole blood, as dark as cranberry juice. She put about half in the refrigerator, using one of the vegetable bins. The rest she took into the pantry and stored in the chest freezer, being careful to put them beneath the few that remained, frozen into solid blocks, gruesome ice cubes.

Back in the kitchen, she opened a large can of tomato juice and decanted it into a plastic jug. Getting one of the bags from the refrigerator, she snipped a corner off with a pair of kitchen shears, and emptied it into the juice, deep red blending into bright red. Nana stirred it briskly with a whisk, then capped the jug and placed it in the refrigerator.

After washing the whisk and rinsing out the bag and the can, she used the shears to cut the bag into small scraps, turning it into plastic confetti. The confetti went in the trash, and the clean can went into the proper recycling container. Milda would scold her deaf if she just threw it away. They'd had a hard time convincing the environmentally conscious Milda that they couldn't recycle the bags, too. People did check what was collected, at least on a sporadic basis, and they couldn't risk someone starting to wonder why their donations regularly included what could only be classified as medical waste when they weren't a hospital or clinic.

The rest of the housework didn't take long. It never did. All the house mates were relatively neat, though Acacia had a tendency to drop her clothes on the floor, and the vanity table's could be a disaster if she or Naresha were in a hurry to go out. There was never much to pick up, and the vacuuming and dusting was done on a rotating basis, so that every part of the house was attended to on a regular basis. One advantage was that there were no windows to wash, since they had all been covered years ago. Speaking of windows...

Nana opened a cabinet near the sink, exposing a VCR. There was a stack of boxed tapes beside it. It was a nice day outside, so she settled on 'Spring, Fine, Country', and popped it into the machine. Closing the cabinet, she opened the curtains over the sink.

The view from there should have been of the rubble littered lot next door. Instead, looking through the panes set in the white wood frame, she saw an expanse of green lawn, with a bed of blooming rose bushes in the foreground, and a thick growth of trees in the background. As she watched, the petals of the roses stirred a bit in an unfelt breeze, and a tiny humming bird flitted into view She got a cup of coffee and sat down, watching the jewel colored creature darting among the branches, dodging thorns.

She sipped, thinking of how amazing technology was, and how sweet the girls were. Back in the seventies she had mentioned wistfully that she missed being able to gaze out her kitchen window. She had known something was up from the amount of whispering and giggling going on, but she had been totally surprised when they presented her with the gift. It was one of those Betamax things and a deluxe portable color tv for the kitchen counter. When she pushed play on the Betamax, the tv had come to life, showing a scene of gently falling snow. She had cried at the thoughtfulness.

The tv had gotten larger, the Betamax had given way to a VCR. Two years ago the portable tv had been replaced by a flat wall mounted high-resolution model, which was hung in a window frame, and covered by panes and a curtain. The illusion was now complete.

Nana spent most of the afternoon on a piece of lace Naresha had requested. She designed mostly goth clothes, and she was working on a wedding dress for one of her best clients. Tremble, the lead singer for a group called Restless Dead, was getting married on stage at a major concert in a couple of months. It was going to be broadcast live over MTV, and a video would be marketed. Naresha was already well known among goths, and now she might even become famous in the mainstream.

The man who'd called from People magazine couldn't understand why she refused to be interviewed. She'd fobbed him off with the excuse that she followed an ancient belief that the camera captured the soul. "I couldn't very well tell him, Well, you see, I'm a vampire. While that business about us not casting reflections is total bunk, part of the legend that we can't be photographed is true. We can be photographed, but it shows us dead.

"I still say you should do an interview with the World Weekly News," Acacia had advised. "No one would believe it, anyway."

Nana was turning out yards of lace in black silk thread. Some of it was in intricate floral patterns, some of it was like dark cobwebs. Naresha had sketched the patterns, and she worked them. Every Naresha Akuji piece was original. That's why they were so expensive.

Just after dusk, Naresha lounged into the kitchen, yawning. "Morning, dear heart, " Nana greeted her. "Going out tonight?"

Naresha gave her a cool, dry peck on the cheek. "Mmhmm. I haven't been to Crowley's for ages. They'll think I've joined a convent, or something." She got a glass from the cabinet, and went to the refrigerator. "I must admit the older orders have a certain sense of style in their habits. Basic black and white, sweeping skirts, wimples to frame the face and long veils down the back."

She found the jug of spiked tomato juice and poured herself a glass. "And, of course, some of the ancient convents are very goth. Bare stone halls, tiny cells, candles, crucifixes on the wall."

As she sat down, Nana was shaking her head, smiling. "When I think of how most people would react to hearing a vampire talking about crosses as an interior decorating motif..."

"If it makes them happy, and careless, let them keep on believing. And it does work for some, if they were very, very religious before they were embraced. Of course, that means they're in the minority." She sipped the juice. Nana cleared her throat. "I know, I know. But Milda won't mind me having a tiny glass, you know that. Besides, I'm famished."

Nana let the matter drop. Naresha was right, Milda had a hard time denying anyone anything. Naresha sometimes took advantage of that. She was still sweet, but it was never disputed that she was the most self-centered of the trio. Nana watched her fondly as she drank her breakfast, and read the paper.

Naresha was the middle sister. She had the same blue eyes, the same pale mouth as her sisters. But Naresha's mouth was, by turns, sulky and sensuous. Her eyes were generally half closed, as if in lazy contemplation. Her hair was glossy black, worn in a short, smooth cut with bangs straight across her forehead, and wings of hair sweeping up to brush her cheeks. Rather like the silent film actress Louise Brooks, who had been popular when Nana was very young.

"We had a visitor last night, " Nana commented. "Milda was in the kitchen, so she took care of it and I didn't bother to get up. I believe it was a client."

"It was." Naresha folded the paper and set it aside, draining the last of the thick red liquid. "Milda hunted us down and told us about it. We'll be taking her on. This one may prove rather interesting. It isn't a simple domestic or con job. It's a bit of a mystery."She gave Nana a brief rundown of the facts. "So someone has been stalking the girl, most likely the murderer himself."

"Or herself." Nana corrected.

"Or herself. ' The female sex is capable of anything the male sex is except peeing standing up without making a mess, and getting a woman pregnant' Acacia Akuji, quote." She bent over Nana, and ran a hand under the spill of lace. It felt weightless, and her hand was clearly visible through it. "That is absolutely lovely. Your best work yet. Wait till I show it to Tremble, she'll want to write a song dedicated to you. Of course, you'll either be dead and rotting in it, or come to some gruesome end."

"Tell her to make me a killer granny, dear. I can do someone in with knitting needles and poisoned cookies."

Naresha laughed heartily at that. No one looking at Nana would believe she was capable of anything more violent than pruning a rose bush. And no one ever would believe, as long as she and the girls weren't threatened, and no one dug too deep in the flower bed at her old home.

Naresha went upstairs to the top floor to prepare for her evening out. She moved with languid grace, always conscious of how she appeared. Milda, bless her, was a bit of a klutz, and Acacia always seemed about to jump out of her skin with energy. Despite the physical similarities, it was hard to think of them as a single person, so Nana had never tried.