And Happiness Is Always Louder Than Sadness.

That Evening, Rowing On The Quiet River As Sunset Turned To Dusk, I Saw An Occasional Smoky Smudge On The Towpath, Always Slightly Ahead Of Me, Like A Dark Star Guiding Me Home.

These Days Vampires Gravitated Toward Particle Accelerators, Projects To Decode The Genome, And Molecular Biology. Once They Had Flocked To Alchemy, Anatomy, And Electricity. If It Went Bang, Involved Blood, Or Promised To Unlock The Secrets Of The Universe, There Was Sure To Be A Vampire Around.

Somewhere In The Center Of My Soul, A Rusty Chain Began To Unwind. It Freed Itself, Link By Link, From Where It Had Rested, Unobserved, Waiting For Him. My Hands, Which Had Been Balled Up And Pressed Against His Chest, Unfurled With It. The Chain Continued To Drop, To An Unfathomable Depth Where There Was Nothing But Darkness And Matthew. At Last It Snapped To Its Full Length, Anchoring Me To A Vampire. Despite The Manuscript, Despite The Fact That My Hands Contained Enough Voltage To Run A Microwave, And Despite The Photograph, As Long As I Was Connected To Him, I Was Safe.

The Plain Truth Is That The Period I Study Is The 16th Century, And They Were Absolutely Obsessed With Witches And Spiritual Beings.

With Knot Of One, The Spell's Begun. With Knot Of Two, The Spell Be True. With Knot Of Three, The Spell Is Free. With Knot Of Four, The Power Is Stored. With Knot Of Five, The Spell With Thrive. With Knot Of Six, This Spell I Fix.