Clyde woke up the next evening to find that Joel had come into his room and emptied all the bags they'd brought back from the store. The young man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, their purchases surrounding him. When he saw that Clyde was awake, he said quickly, "I'm just looking. I didn't open any of them."

"I know that, silly boy." Clyde climbed out of bed, wearing only a low-slung pair of boxer shorts, and came to squat beside him. "Before I went to sleep you told me that you understood why you shouldn't."

Joel nodded. "Because that's part of the fun, and the girl should get to do it. Besides..." He reached over and picked up a doll lying beside him, cuddling it close to his chest. "I have my own! Thank you so much for getting it for me when it wasn't Christmas, or my birthday."

Clyde smiled indulgently. "I had to. How could I possibly deny you one once we found the ballerina outfit?"

Joel still hugged the doll, but said wistfully, "I wish they'd have had a costume for Ken."

Clyde rubbed his hair. "Joel, I'm afraid that America is not ready for Ballet Dancer Ken. It won't be for a long, long time." He leaned forward and whispered in the boy's ear. "Their loss." Joel dropped the doll and leaned over, wrapping his arms around Clyde's waist and pressing his face to the vampire's pale belly. After a moment, Clyde chuckled. "Stop biting me. We had our fun before bed--now I need to get to work." He stood up. "You get those things back in the bags while I get dressed."

"All right." Joel began to put the toys back into their sacks while Clyde began pulling clothes out of his closet. "Boy, she's going to be happy with these."

"I think so. I just wish I knew a little more about the other girls who are in there with her. I'd have brought them something, too. That might have lured them out, and got them started talking."

"Maybe I could..."

Clyde paused in shrugging on his jacket, and gave Joel a stern look--one that made the boy immediately drop his gaze. "Stop pestering me, Joel. I've told you before--when the time is right. Kitten wouldn't hurt you, I'm sure, but I have to learn more about what's penned up inside her."

Joel cocked his head. "You like doing that, don't you?"

Clyde's smile was sharp, "The only thing I love as much as a good joke is a good puzzle."

The nurse watched curiously as Clyde carried the two bulging shopping bags past her desk. "Christmas coming early this year for someone?"

"Ho, ho, ho. Just call me Santa Clyde," said Clyde cheerfully.

The nurse eyed the brightly colored cardboard of one box that was peeking over the top. "We don't have any kids in residence." She made it a question.

"None that are readily apparent." He hurried away, chuckling at her confused look.

On Katherine's corridor he paused outside her door, setting the bags down. He took a quick look at her chart, then glanced through the observation window. Kathleen Bahste was in her accustomed position on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. He quickly wrote 'No change' on her chart, then unlocked the door, picked up the bags, went inside, and relocked it.

He made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge, putting the bags on the floor. For a moment he studied the girl closely, just looking at the outer body. Then he concentrated for a moment, looking for the aura. He smiled. The vibrant pink glow was on the surface, meaning that Kitten hadn't slipped very far back into the recesses of Kathleen's mind. "Kitten," he said softly, "I brought you some things. Remember how we talked about getting a Barbie?"

He pulled a box out of one bag and held it up in front of the girl's blank eyes. "Look!" Clyde turned the box and looked at the doll for a moment, before showing it to the girl again. "They sell them in bathing suits. I guess it's so they will sell more doll clothes." There was no response. *I'm going to have to work a little harder.* "Don't worry about that, though, because I've also brought a basic wardrobe, with a few frills." He peered into the sack. "I have a formal in pink satin--that comes complete with gloves, shoes, and pearl earrings. I also got a 'little black dress', some slacks--and those were hard to find. When will the fashion industry admit that more women are losing patience with fussy dresses? I got a little fuzzy sweater to go with the slacks. Oh, and you'll like this one--a mini dress, with go-go boots."

"Casey would like that."

Clyde smiled. "Hello, Kitten." The girl slowly shook her head, smiling. Clyde realized that the voice had been different from the last time--much more mature. "Not Kitten?" Again the head shake, and the girl's eyes were amused. "Not Kitten, not Kathleen, and not Casey. That would make you Nareesha?"

The girl propped herself up on her elbows. "You don't have all the factors of the equation, but you're right this time. And you're Doctor Clyde. Kitten likes you."

"And I like Kitten. She couldn't come out today? Not that I'm unhappy to meet you," he wiggled the box, "but I did bring a few things for her. Where is she?"

"She's nearby."

Nareesha's eyes didn't move from Clyde's face, but he had the sense that she was very aware of something just off to one side. He looked over and said, "Is she there?"

"You don't see her?"

"No. I'd be crazy if I did, wouldn't I?"

There was a second of silence, and then they both laughed. Nareesha said, "Oh, but we're... I'm the crazy one, right? After all, I'm locked up, and you have the key to the door."

"Ever heard the one about the lunatics running the asylum? Well, that isn't too far off the beam here at good ol' St. Lucy's. What made you decide to come out?"

"I wanted a better look at the sort of man my little sister is consorting with--and I need your help."

"That's why we're both here."

Nareesha waved impatiently. "Oh, that's not what I mean! I'm only crazy by the standards of society. I do what I please and hurt no one who doesn't hurt me or mine--isn't that saner than the way a lot of 'normal' people live? No, I need your help with Casey and Milda."

*Milda? I wonder if she's the red, or the yellow.* "What's the problem?"

"Well, it's perfectly normal for them to be upset after what happened. Especially Milda, poor thing. With all that coming almost on the heels of her losing Colin... I thought we were going to lose her for awhile after he died." Nareesha sighed. "Then she had to come back just long enough to get hooked by The Bastard."

"That would be Bernard?"

Nareesha's smile was more a baring of teeth. "Yes. Believe me, the title was deserved."

"From what I've gathered from the records, I believe you."

"If I'd thought anyone else would have believed me when I was younger, this shit might not have happened."

"Milda wasn't ready for him?"

Nareesha gave him a jaundice look. "She isn't ready for the world, much less some of the assholes who inhabit it. I guess after Kitten, Casey, and I, there wasn't too much survival instinct left to go to her."

*Then Casey is the red aura, and Milda is the yellow, because the red is a damn sight more aggressive.*

"Anyway, I'm not too surprised about how Milda has reacted to all this--she's never been big on confrontation--but Acacia..."

"More forceful?"

Nareesha laughed. "Such a mild word. Acacia is forceful like a tornado, but unlike a natural disaster, she's motivated. But now... Now she's withdrawn. It isn't as bad as Kathleen or Milda, but for Acacia--darling, it's simply unnatural. Do you think you could coax her out?"

"I could try. I won't promise anything."

"Well, you got me out. Kitten says that you like boys better than girls."

"Only in bed. Otherwise, I like girls fine."

Nareesha laughed. "You know, I think that will be a point in your favor if you ever meet Acacia. Kitten asked all sorts of interesting questions after she talked to you." Nareesha smiled again. "Speaking of the little devil..."

"Pestering you, is she?"

"Yammering my ear off is more like it. She doesn't have too many Christmases or birthdays to remember, so thank you for this." Nareesha hesitated, then said, "You know, I didn't expect anyone else to accept us so easily--not even a psychiatrist." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I don't get the least sense that you're doing the 'humor the crazy lady' bit."

"I'm not your average psychiatrist. I'll be happy to discuss it with you later, if you'll come out and talk to me again."

Nareesha snorted delicately. "Not too subtle, Doctor. What makes you think I'll be interested enough to talk to you again?"

"Because I think that one of your family traits, besides a sense of survival, is curiosity."

"You're right about that." Nareesha shot a glance to one side. "All right, Kitty!" Nareesha rolled her eyes, saying with sarcastic affection, "The patience of the very young." She twiddled her fingers at Clyde. "Soon."

He twiddled his fingers in return, watching closely as her eyes momentarily lost focus, then sharpened again. "Hello again, Kitten."

"H'lo." Her voice was again childlike. Her eyes were riveted to the boxed doll. "You bringed a Barbie."

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but big people don't always do what they promise." She hesitated, and her voice was almost shy. "Can I play wif it?"

"Of course." Clyde handed it over. "I got it for you." He hauled the bags up on the bed while she opened the box. "And these clothes are for her, too. I don't think they'll fit you."

Kitten, turning the Barbie this way and that, giggled. "You're silly."

"So I've been told."

Now Kitten was pawing through the clothes. "No nightie?"

"You know, you might not believe this, but I couldn't find a single nightie."

"I guess her sleeps raw."

The observation was so casual that Clyde had to bite back a snicker. "Perhaps. I know I haven't seen any bras around, though I think she has a pair of panties or two, perhaps some bloomers, in some outfits." Clyde dug in the bags. "I also bought you an art pad, and a box of crayons--the big 64 size."

"Wow!" Kitten sounded enthusiastic. "I loves coloring, 'cept The Bitch always said stay in the lines." She bit her lip, looking to the side, and Clyde wondered which sister she was looking at. "Well, that's what you call her."

"Yes, staying in the lines isn't much fun," said Clyde blandly. "That's why I got you a blank pad. You can draw anything you'd like."

"Anything? Even... even..." Her face was bright with mischief. "Even people's bottoms?"

"Oh sure, a lot of our guests here draw those. If you draw, I'll get some tape, and we can hang the pictures on your wall."

"I onc't drawed a picture, and my Daddy put it on the 'frigerator wif a mousie-magnet." She looked suddenly sad. Her tone was confiding as she said, "My Daddy's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Kitten." *She's not talking about Bernard.* "What happened?"

"A doggie-man bit him real, real bad."

*Lycanthrope attack, and she saw the end of it. Nasty.*

She tucked her doll under her arm, and held out her pajama top for inspection. Her voice trembled as she said. "See? He got blood on me. Lots and lots."

The pajama jacket was pristine, but now Clyde had a clue as to this identity's self image. She saw herself as dressed in the same clothes she was wearing when her father died--clothes that were stained with his blood. *Oh, Kitten. You had a hard little life, didn't you?* "You know, Kitten. If you want to bad enough, I think you can make the blood go away."

Kitten looked confused. "Wash it?"

"I think that blood has been there for too long to be washed out like any old stain, but I bet you could wish it away."

"I wisht it away lots."

"Have you wished it away lately?"

"Um... not for a long time."

"Then you need to try again. After all, you're bigger now, and stronger." Her chest puffed out proudly. "It may take some time. What you need to do is this: every time you can remember to, just think about the blood going away. Think about your clothes being all clean. Think that they don't have to have blood on them, because what happened to your Daddy was very sad, and very bad, but it was a long time ago. I bet if you do that, then one of these days you'll see that those stains are starting to fade. Pretty soon one spot will disappear, then another, and finally your shirt will look just like it did when you first put it on."

"You think so?" Her voice was doubtful.

"It can't hurt to try, can it?"

Kitten thought about this for a moment, then said, "It hurts to think about Daddy, but I think about Daddy a lot anyways."

"Do you remember good things about your Daddy?"

"Course I do."

"You can remember good times?"

She smiled. "I useta ride kitty-back wif him. Mommy dint like that, but Daddy said I hadda know what I was."

"That's always best. Too many people never really admit what they are. What you need to do is this--whenever you start to think about your Daddy, try to think only about the good things. Think about the kitty-back rides." Kitten smiled. "See? It's working already. Kitten, can I ask you a favor?"

Kitten looked down lovingly at the Barbie, but she said, "What is it?"

"Nothing much. I was just wondering if you'd introduce me to your sister."

"Reesha talked to you already."

"Not Nareesha."

"Milda won't talk to you." Her bottom lip trembled. "Her won't even talk to me."

"Not Milda."

Kitten's eyes got round. "You wanna talk to Casey?" Clyde nodded. "Doctor man, that might not be smart."

Clyde smiled, and if Kitten was a little older she might have seen the mad glee lurking in his eyes. "Maybe not smart, but fun." Kitten eyed him doubtfully. "Don't worry about me, Thumb-felina. I'm a big boy--I can take care of myself."

"I'll ask, but I gots to go back." She hesitated. "The Barbie..."

"Your Barbie. It stays here. If anyone tries to take it, I shall thrash them thoroughly." Kitten looked confused. "That means I'll beat them up."

Kitten gave him a bright smile that was a little too sharp for a human child. "Jump 'em like a mousie! I'll go ask."

The girl's eyes lost focus, her arms going slack around the Barbie. Clyde waited. He knew it might take some time, and if it best suited his plans, he could be patient. *But that doesn't mean I can't have fun.* He took the doll out of the girl's loose grip and held it up in front of his face. "Barbie, girl, you're wasting your time with Ken. I mean, the man is even more anatomically incorrect than you are. Sure, you've got just smooth plastic, but you're not supposed to extrude down there. You need to dump him and hook up with... Oh, I don't know. Maybe Raggedy Ann."

"Yeah, someone down to earth. Not one of those fancy-schmancy wax or porcelain dolls." The voice was more nasal than Nareesha, more mature than Kitten. Clyde peered around the Barbie. The girl was sitting up, watching him with suspicious, and slightly hostile, eyes. She continued, "They always look snotty."

Clyde smiled. "They're never the drink and wet kind, because they'd never do anything so crass and common as pee." The girl snorted, but it was more of a surprised, reluctant laugh. "You're Casey, I take it."

"Bright boy, and the name is Acacia. I don't know you well enough for you to call me Casey."

"Fair enough, and I won't even ask you to call me Doctor in return."

Acacia looked around. "So, what is this? It doesn't look like a jail infirmary."

"This isn't prison. You're in a hospital."

"Oh." Her voice was flat. "A looney bin."

"I prefer to think of it as Crackpot Castle."

"A nut house. The Bastard put Lacey in a place like this."

"I very much doubt that. St. Lucy's is... unique."

"Look, I'm not interested in having a chat."

"Then why did you come out and speak to me?" Acacia was silent. "She's hard to say no to, isn't she?"

Acacia shrugged. "She's the baby. Everybody spoils the baby." Her eyes narrowed. "Everyone protects the baby--at least in this family."

"Ah. That's the real reason you came out--to see for yourself if I'm safe for Kitten to be around. I don't hurt the helpless, Acacia. Besides the fact that it's wrong--it's boring. There's no sport in it." Acacia lifted her chin slowly. "Yes, I thought that might be something you'd understand. Nareesha suggest that there's something about me that might make you a little more tolerant. You and your sisters don't have to worry about me messing with you--I like men a lot more than you do."

Acacia quirked an eyebrow. "Gay?"

"As the Easter Parade, dear girl. Now, if you had a brother, you might worry about me trying to seduce him."

Acacia grunted, but she'd relaxed a little. "I think I still might have to tell Kitten not to talk to you any more. I don't know enough about you."

"It's true that I know more about you than you know about me."

"You don't know us." Acacia's voice was hard. "Nobody does, or ever has, except maybe Nana."

"No one can ever completely know another person, but I know a few things about you. You were abused--badly abused--from a young age. It started with Kathleen, didn't it? Kitten had already gone to that place inside, and that left Kathleen, and she just wasn't strong enough, was she?"

"She was seven." Acacia's voice was a painful grate. "There wasn't anything she could do."

"No, there wasn't. Were you there even then, Acacia--there, but not strong enough to come out?"

"I... I don't know if I remember it, or I know it from Kathy. Sometimes I'm not sure which are my memories, and which are hers."

"He used you, and at first he was careful not to hurt you--at least not in a way that could be noticed--until he realized that your mother wasn't going to see the marks and signs, because she didn't want to see." Acacia's eyes were narrowing even farther, till they were slits. "It was probably because she had something she didn't want to lose. Was it him, or something else?"

"The money. The position." She took a breath. "The idea that with him she wasn't what she really was--a poor ex titty dancer with a kid who was big enough to give a hint of how old she really was. I knew what was going on for a while before I could come out, but when I came out--" she bared her teeth, "I came out swinging."

"Oh, I bet you did! I'd have given a lot to see the look on his face." Clyde was reaching into the pocket of his jacket. "Though this one is pretty good." He held up a photograph. Acacia studied the picture. "My guess is that he was never a handsome man, but I bet that even if he'd died a peaceful death, he'd have been ugly." Clyde turned the picture back toward himself and studied it. "Now... What a mess you made."

"I was pissed."

"Understatement of the decade. You know, pictures of real violence never look as real as fake ones. He looks like something that could have been used as a prop in Blood Feast, or Color Me Blood Red."

"I like horror movies, but the damn writers need to kill off at least as many men as they do women."

"Oh, I agree. Creatures of the night don't hold with that silly chauvinism--at least not in picking victims. Old Wallace doesn't look, shall we say, all there. Did you by any chance eat some of him?"

Acacia went very still. "What if I did?"

Clyde shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. A lot of lycanthropes do."

"Lycanthropes? I'm not a werewolf."

Now Clyde looked annoyed. "Look, I'm not treating you like you're stupid, so please don't act like I am. Werecat, not werewolf. Don't worry, no one else here knows, and you don't have to kill me to make me keep the secret."

"So you believe that I'm a cannibalistic monster, and it doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it bother me? I drink blood myself." Clyde smiled at her, and this time he showed his fangs. "You haven't smelled it yet?"

Acacia bent forward, sniffing deeply. Her nostrils flared, and she sat back abruptly. "You smell dead."

"I must write the manufacturers of that deodorant soap and complain. It's because I am dead--technically. And if you try to tell me that you don't believe me, that vampires don't exist-- I think the technical term is denial, but I like to call it 'willful ignorance.'"

"I believe you," she said slowly. She smiled. "Nice to know we're not the only freaks out there."

"Oh, believe me, you're far from that."

She shifted. "I have to go. I don't like leaving Milda alone for too long. Nareesha's good with her, but... They all feel just a little safer with me, you know?"

"I'm not at all surprised. You're an excellent protector, Acacia."

"You can call me Casey."

"Thank you. I just want to ask you one more question before you go back."

"Yeah?"

"Like I said, I've drunk blood, but I've never actually eaten human flesh." He thought for a second. "Not that I know of, any way. What did he taste like?"

If Clyde hadn't himself been insane, Acacia's smile would have frightened him. She said simply, "Prey," and then faded back into her interior world, leaving Clyde with an unresponsive, catatonic body.

As Clyde left the room, he muttered, "At least she didn't say he tasted like chicken."