The Vampire Who Inherited a Sunrise

How it begins

The vampire inherited a sunrise on a Monday.

Clara considered this hostile estate planning.

Victor Hale considered it typical.

"She always did enjoy a gesture."

The sunrise waited inside a glass jar on her desk.

It was small, gold and making the office plants behave ambitiously.

Clara moved the nearest fern.

"You may refuse."

"Excellent."

"The replacement beneficiary is a corporation."

"Less excellent."

She turned the will toward him.

The witch had written the condition herself.

He must choose where the light goes.

Victor read it without removing his gloves.

For a man who had lived three centuries, he looked remarkably unprepared for a morning appointment.

"Why did she leave it to you?"

"We were once engaged."

"And then?"

"I was not brave."

Clara waited.

Outside her window, the ordinary sun rose over a row of offices whose owners had never had to decide whether daylight was emotionally complicated.

Victor looked at the jar.

For a moment, his face seemed younger.

Not in years.

In uncertainty.

"What does the corporation intend?"

"Premium dawn experiences."

He closed his eyes.

"Of course it does."

The jar brightened.

A warm line crossed the desk toward his hand.

Clara reached to move it away.

Victor did not.

"It won't hurt me," he said.

"How do you know?"

"Because she could be angry without being cruel."

Clara put the jar between them.

She had administered houses, debts, disputed paintings and one particularly difficult parrot.

She had never been asked to find a home for the part of a life someone had refused.

"We could make a list," she said.

"Of beneficiaries?"

"Of people who need morning."

Victor looked toward the city.

Downstairs, a cleaner was leaving a building she had spent the entire night making ready for others.

He watched her step into the light.

"Start there," he said.

Clara opened a fresh page.