The Mammoth Book Of Vampire Stories Written By Women

It was after dinner at Varese, when Bella had been induced to take a whole glass of Chianti, and quite sparkled after that unaccustomed stimulant, that Mr Stafford produced a letter from his pocket.

"I forgot to give you Lady Ducayne's letter of adieu!" he said.

"What, did she write to me? I am so glad — I hated to leave her in such a cool way; for after all she was very kind to me, and if I didn't like her it was only because she was too dreadfully old."

She tore open the envelope. The letter was short and to the point:

Goodbye, child. Go and marry your doctor. I enclose a farewell gift for your trousseau.

ADELINE DUCAYNE

"A hundred pounds, a whole year's salary — no — why, it's for a — . A cheque for a thousand!" cried Bella. "What a generous old soul! She really is the dearest old thing."

"She just missed being very dear to you, Bella," said Stafford.

He had dropped into the use of her Christian name while they were on board the boat. It seemed natural now that she was to be in his charge till they all three went back to England.

"I shall take upon myself the privileges of an elder brother till we land at Dover," he said; "after that — well, it must be as you please."

The question of their future relations must have been satisfactorily settled before they crossed the Channel, for Bella's next letter to her mother communicated three startling facts.

First, that the enclosed cheque for one thousand pounds was to be invested in debenture stock in Mrs Rolleston's name, and was to be her very own, income and principal, for the rest of her life.

Next, that Bella was going home to Walworth immediately.

And last, that she was going to be married to Mr Herbert Stafford in the following autumn.

"And I am sure you will adore him, Mother, as much as I do," wrote Bella. "It is all good Lady Ducayne's doing. I never could have married if I had not secured that little nest-egg for you. Herbert says we shall be able to add to it as the years go by, and that wherever we live there shall be always a room in our house for you. The word 'mother-in-law' has no terrors for him."

Lunch at Charon's

Melanie Tem

Melanie Tem is an adoption social worker who lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband, writer and editor Steve Rasnic Tem. They have four children and three grandchildren.

Her nine novels include Prodigal, which won the Bram Stoker Award for first novel , Revenant, Black River and The Tides. Two more novels are forthcoming from Leisure Books, and her recent short story appearances include Dark Terrors 5 , Museum of Horrors and Extremes 2.

About "Lunch at Charon's", the author explains: "My eighty-three-year-old friend is expected to be flattered when people tell her she doesn't look her age. My twenty-five-year-old friend weeps over the first crow's feet at the corner of her eye. My sixty-year-old friend says his body has betrayed him because it's slowing down. Hardly anybody wants to call death out of the shadows and make friends with it.

"All this has something to do with the vampire mythos, I think, and also something to do with the genesis of this story."

Amy Alghieri is dead. That's three out of four. Leaving only me.

I heard about Amy at the gym this morning. She didn't work out — obviously — but she and my personal trainer Vonda were close; Amy'd been Vonda's physics professor in college, and a friendship had developed. "A massive stroke," she told me, keeping a critical eye on my workout. "Out of the blue. She was in the grocery store and just collapsed. The baby was in the grocery cart."

Chills raced through me, as happened whenever I heard about something like this: how could you protect yourself against lightning from a clear sky? Reminding myself that what had happened to Amy might not be as random as it seemed only made my horror more complicated. "God," I panted, grimly maintaining the rhythm of the arm curls and the breathing that supported them, "that's awful."

"Come on, Madyson, focus. Push it."

My given name is a dowdy, old-fashioned moniker common to women of my generation. I think of Madyson as my taken name. Madyson: young, fresh, more appropriate for someone in her twenties than nearing fifty, to go with my taken body and, presumably, my taken soul. I like the sound of it, the way it looks on the page. I like the y . I like what it projects about me.

I obeyed Vonda's command and managed to extend my arms ten more times with the weight, heavier than any I'd pressed before, steady in my hands. The burn across my shoulders and pecs was gratifying. Between controlled inhalations and exhalations I said, "That's terrible."