By Blood We Live

Lincoln opened his eyes and looked over his arm. Was the light starting to move towards the vampire?

"Lo teera meepachad lailah…" You need not fear the terror by night…

The light began to coalesce around the vampire. She screamed. "Joseph! No!"

"…meedever ba'ofel yahaloch." The plague that stalks in the darkness.

The light surrounded her completely, so brightly that her form was completely covered. Her screams became softer, muffled.

Joseph stopped singing. "Begone," the cantor and he said in unison.

Lincoln heard one more loud scream, and the light flared up, forcing him to cover his eyes again. When the light faded from beyond his arm, he looked up again, and noticed three things in succession. First, he saw Joseph, lying on his bed asleep, with all the normal color back in his face. Second, he saw the cantor holding up in front of him a silver

Magen David, a Star of David.

Finally, he looked to where the vampire had last stood. All that was left of her was a pile of black dust, and a pair of sunglasses.

"Perhaps she was sent to test you, Mr. Kliman, perhaps not. I would not even guess."

It was Monday afternoon, two days later, and Lincoln had stopped by the synagogue to thank the cantor once again.

"At any rate, Cantor, it was your music that saved my son. And your Star of David. I owe you my eternal gratitude."

Cantor Gross shook his head slightly and smiled. "It was not merely my music, Mr. Kliman, but what my music represented, where it came from. As for the star of David, it has absolutely no religious significance at all. But I counted on the vampire not knowing that, and I was right. In short, I think your gratitude is well meant, but misplaced."

"Yes. Well. Cantor, I need to get back home now. I want to check on Joseph."

Lincoln turned to go, but the cantor gripped him by the arm. "Mr. Kliman, remember what we went through a few nights ago. What Joseph went through. Do not take his pseudo-conversion lightly and assume that he is now safe. The vampirism may still return."

"What do you suggest?" Lincoln asked softly.

The cantor looked him directly in the eye. "Start bringing the boy to synagogue. If you are not comfortable with this place, then bring him to one easier for you to accept. But do bring him to one. Let him build up an understanding, an appreciation of his background, his culture, his religion."

Lincoln pulled his arm away. "I'll consider it," he said, and to his surprise realized that he was speaking sincerely.

The cantor nodded. "It would be best for the boy to develop his own beliefs, his own defenses. Remember, Mr. Kliman, religion protects us from the many vampires of the world."

Lincoln nodded and walked out. It was a cold day, and he sneezed when he got outside. He reached into his coat pocket and found the yarmulka that he had been told to wear when he first entered the synagogue. He had forgotten to return it.

He looked back at the synagogue for a moment, then returned the yarmulka to his pocket and walked home. Perhaps he would find use for it soon.

Endless Night by Barbara Roden

Barbara Roden, along with her husband Christopher Roden, is the proprietor of Ash-Tree Press. Together, they are also the editors of several anthologies, including Acquainted with the Night, which won the World Fantasy Award. Barbara is also the editor of All Hallows, the journal of the Ghost Story Society. Her first collection of short stories, Northwest Passages, will be published by Prime Books in October.

This story, which first appeared in Exotic Gothic 2, is about an expedition to Antarctica in the Golden Age of South Polar exploration: the days of Shackleton, Amundsen, Scott, and Mawson. However, when the expedition has to replace a crew member at the last moment, it becomes apparent his replacement has his own reasons for wanting to go to a continent where there's no daylight for months on end.

The story asks: How would you feel in such an isolated setting, if you became convinced there was someone present who wasn't supposed to be there? And how would you feel if, in order to ensure the survival of yourself and everyone else, you had to do something which goes against all your values and beliefs?

"Thank you so much for speaking with me. And for these journals, which have never seen the light of day. I'm honoured that you'd entrust them to me."

"That's quite all right." Emily Edwards smiled; a delighted smile, like a child surveying an unexpected and particularly wonderful present. "I don't receive very many visitors; and old people do like speaking about the past. No"-she held up a hand to stop him-"I

am old; not elderly, not 'getting on,' nor any of the other euphemisms people use these days. When one has passed one's centenary, 'old' is the only word which applies."

"Well, your stories were fascinating, Miss Edwards. As I said, there are so few people alive now who remember these men."