"Well?" said Tammy.

We were in her bedroom. Anthony was in his room playing something called Nintendo 3DS. Whatever it was, it was little and expensive and if he ever lost it, I was going to play butt bongos on his backside until the cows came home. And since there weren't any cows in Fullerton, that might be a while.

"Well what?" I said. We were sitting on her floor in the space between her bed and dresser. Her back was to me and I was brushing her long hair.

"You know, Mom. Don't play cloy."

"Coy," I said.

She sighed. "Whatever, Mom. Cloy, coy. Either way, out with it."

"Since when did you get so demanding?"

"Since I realized that my mother has been lying to me my whole life."

"Not your whole life," I said, doing some quick math. She would have been about three when I was attacked. Anthony had been one. I had been a relatively new mom with one really freaky secret.

"So you've been lying for part of my life?"

"And since when did you get so smart?" I asked. She was skewering my words like an attorney. Like father, like daughter. That is, if you could call an ambulance chaser an attorney.

She waited, and not patiently. Down the hall, I heard Anthony groan and slap the floor, which sent minor shockwaves throughout the whole house.

He's getting stronger, I thought.

"I will tell you...more about me," I said. "But first, I want you to tell me why you think I have such a big...secret."

She held up her forefinger. "First, I don't think you have a secret. I know you have a secret." She raised another finger. "Two, you've always been weird."

"Thanks," I said.

"I mean, a person who can't go outside in the sunlight? A rare skin disease? I mean, c'mon!" She raised a third finger, and a fourth and fifth as she ticked off more points. "Three, you're always cold. Four, we have like no mirrors in the house. Five, you never eat." She lowered her hand and spun to face me. "Oh, you pretend to eat, but lately I've been secretly watching you sneak your food onto Anthony's plate. He's so dumb. He never notices it and just eats it. Such a doofus."

"Don't call your brother names."

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted," I said. "So tell me when you started having, you know, visions. When did they start?"

"Last month."

"When your period started," I said, nodding.

"Mom!"

Tammy hated talking about it, true. She thought it was gross, try as I might to convince her that it was the most natural thing in the world. Still, at ten, she was young to have started her period. She was young, but it was not unheard of. I had been ten, too, when mine started. Like mother, like daughter.

"Anyway," she said, rolling her eyes, "when that started, I also started seeing things."

"Seeing what?"

"I started seeing thoughts, I guess."

"Your own thoughts?"

"No, Mom," she said, nearly rolling her eyes full circle. "Other people's thoughts. I can already see my own thoughts. Duh."

"Be nice."

"Sorry."

"So, what did other people's thoughts look like, honey?" I asked.

She looked away, bit her lip. The aura around her was a light blue. Peaceful blue. There were flashes of greens and yellows, but she often had flashes of greens and yellows. Some colors were simply a part of someone. These were her colors. And, as always, I had no access to her thoughts. Other people's, sometimes. My own children, no.

Finally, she said, "They sort of appear as pictures. Fast pictures. They come and go quickly."

"How do you know they are not your own thoughts, honey?"

"Because they are things that I have never seen before. Things I had never thought about. Things I wouldn't..." She struggled for the right words.

"Things you wouldn't know," I offered.

"Yes, Mommy."

"So what did you think when you saw these strange images?"

She shrugged and reached down and cracked one of her excessively long toes. I cringed. I hated the sound, and asked her to stop. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, I was confused. But then I saw that the images seemed to come from people around me. I would see, for instance, Anthony's teacher in class, but from Anthony's eyes."

"So you concluded you were seeing his memories."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And the images only came to you when other people were nearby?"

"Yes!" she said excitedly. I think she figured I wouldn't believe her. Or that she was doing something wrong, somehow.

"So you weren't hearing their thoughts," I said. "But rather seeing their memories?"

She nodded and reached down for her toes, but then thought better of it. "I think so, yeah. Take Ricky Carpettle - he's the kid who always has boogers stuck to his forehead, 'cause, you know, he wipes his nose up instead of down. Anyway, I kept seeing him playing video games in his Batman underwear."

Despite myself, I laughed. I said, "How often do you see these images?"

"As often as I want."

"How do you stop them?" I asked.

She thought about that. "Well, I just sort of say 'Stop!' in my head real loud, and the images, you know, go away. At least, for a little while."

We were both silent. My daughter was a friggin' mind reader. How this came to be, I didn't know. Did her abilities have anything to do with me being a vampire? If so, how? My attack seven years ago should have no bearing on who or what she would become later in life.

My head hurt...briefly. I never had headaches for long. Still, I rubbed my temples, thinking hard. When I was done rubbing, I saw that Tammy was watching me closely. I didn't have to be a mind reader to know what she was going to say next.

"And when I'm around you, Mommy, I see things, too."

"Oh, God."

"You can fly, Mommy."

"Oh, God," I said again.

"It's you. I know it. But it's not you. You are something else, something huge. With wings, and you fly high above."

And now I really did have a headache, one that lasted a few seconds longer than normal. I buried my face in my hands and rubbed my head and wondered why the Universe was determined to utterly ruin my life and those of my kids.

"It's true, isn't it, Mommy? You can fly."

And the words I spoke next to my daughter should have sent me straight into an institution. Straight into a straitjacket. To be locked up forever. Words no sane person should ever, ever have to say. Especially not a mother to her daughter. And yet I heard them come from my mouth. I heard them from a distance. I heard the insanity of it all.

"Yes," I said, my face still buried in my hands. "I can fly."