There were many things in this world that Larten Crepsley would never come to understand about Darren. The boy's past would always be one of them. In the stone halls of Vampire Mountain there was always the option of ignoring the past and never broaching the subject of what had happened the night the storm had descended upon that small town.

Darren had still been human then and Larten had been in the process of tracking of him to his home. The sirens mounted on the public buildings had started to sound and Larten couldn't help but stare in wonder as cars full of people began to clog the small streets and side roads. He had never been in this part of the world before and he was unfamiliar with what was happening. Thus, he simply continued on his search for the dratted boy with the sticky fingers.

Less than an hour later, as the rain began to fall, he found Darren's house. It appeared quiet and restful. There was a light flickering in the window and the vampire wondered if they were burning a candle. It seemed an odd thing to do when they had electricity. He had watched from across the street as the door flew open and the teen ran out into the storm tightly clutching the hand of a little girl.

He spotted Larten immediately. It would have been difficult to miss the tall man with the billowing red cloak. But the teen ignored him in favor of pulling the brown haired child towards the side of the house where the cellar doors were locked tight. Darren fiddled with the key to the lock, the wind blowing at his body with such intensity that the vampire was concerned that the children would be picked up and blown away. But the boy got the doors open and forced his sister inside, saying a few words, and shutting the doors behind her.

Straightening, Darren rolled his shoulders back and stared at the vampire across the street. Ignoring the snapping branches and the power lines that began to fall behind him, Larten crossed to where the teen was standing, glaring and unafraid to square off with this monster.

"You can't be here!" Darren shouted above the intense wind. Even with his good hearing, Larten could barely hear him. And he didn't bother to reply. "There's a twister coming! You have to get to shelter."

Larten shook his head and eyed the thief. He had never been in a twister before but he wasn't afraid of wind and rain. He had been through worse before. Darren looked as if he no longer knew what to do. The vampire noticed that there was a welt on the teen's right eye. His knuckles were bruised. He'd been in a fight. Very recently.

Round eyes searched for something in Larten but seemingly finding nothing he turned and opened the cellar doors. He looked back once, perhaps to see if the vampire was going to follow him into the shelter.

Instead, he chose to go into the house. He hadn't come here to simply scare the boy. He had come for his spider and he wasn't leaving without her. The front door was blowing on its hinges. The children hadn't bothered to shut it on their way out and Larten simply walked into the house.

It was nice as far as houses went. They weren't a rich family but they weren't starving either. Framed pictures documented the years and a decorative vase lay in pieces on the floor. The vampire walked down the hallway and found himself in a comfortable living room. It had all the necessities humans liked: television, game console, and shelves of movies and games. And there, passed out on the nice leather couch, was a man Larten didn't know. He was bleeding from his temple and his knuckles were just as bruised as Darren's. Glass and pieces of plastic were scattered over the floor. A fire poker lay abandoned and bloody next to the couch.

Clearly something had happened. Larten wondered if Darren had killed this man. He didn't particularly care and so left the room without checking for life. Finding the stairs was simple enough and he made quick work of locating Darren's room.

Madam Octa was in the closet, tucked behind some t-shirts, and looking no worse for wear. He gently picked up her cage and then instinctively ducked to the floor as the glass of Darren's bedroom window exploded inward. A branch from a tree tore it's way through the room breaking the desk, chair, and half the bed into pieces.

Looking beyond the mess he caught his first glimpse of a twister. It was a dark vortex that was tearing away at everything in its path. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest and he felt his first real prickling of fear for the night. He finally understood what Darren had meant about finding shelter.

He left the house as quickly as he could, picking his way over glass, wood, and debris from the street. The home was ruined. Pictures fell from the wall in a giant crash as a strong wind blew through the house and simply ripped them from their nails.

The wind was torturous outside and he barely made it to the side of the house upright. It took every ounce of strength he had just to keep upright. Darren had tried-and failed-to keep the cellar doors locked and they were now blowing on their hinges. Larten stepped inside and saw the two kids huddled in the corner, Darren trying to protect the little girl's head with nothing but his hands. Larten crossed to them and set the spider by the boy.

He looked up with trepidation, thinking Larten would kill them, but the orange haired man simply turned his back and crossed to the doors of the cellar. Grabbing a piece of pipe lying on the floor he went back up the stairs and grabbed the flailing door.

The twister was coming closer and Larten watched a car at the end of a block get picked up and thrown as if it were nothing but a bug. He had never seen anything like this type destruction. He wondered if he would be seeing Mr. Tiny sometime soon. He would think this all a good laugh. Shaking those thoughts away, he pulled the doors of the cellar shut and slipped the pipe between the handles. He bent each end of the pipe to keep it from slipping out.

If he hadn't been a vampire he never would have been able to do it. His arms were aching from the effort and his legs felt like jello. He went back to the children and sat down next to them. He wasn't very close but he was close enough for Darren to tighten his hold on the small girl in his arms. Larten figured that this was his sister.

"Who was the man in the house?" Larten asked, suddenly remembering that Darren very well may be both a thief and a murderer. Larten didn't entirely care if he was but he was curious. It was all a very curious turn of events in his opinion.

"That was Dad," Darren said. There wasn't much in his tone. He was more wary of what Larten may be planning to do than what he was thinking.

"Did you fight him?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Larten asked. The wind was louder than ever and he decided that he would no longer travel to this part of the world. Not unless necessary.

"What do you care?" Darren snapped, his irritation coming out as he began to figure that Larten wasn't planning on killing them just yet. The man looked almost relaxed, his shoulders loose, and a pleasant expression on his features.

"Just curious," Larten replied sincerely.

"Daddy's a mean drunk," the little girl said, head popping up over her brother's arm to look Larten square in the eye. He could tell with one look that she was exactly the boy. She had the same eyes and they were filled with the same stubborn, reckless, wild fire. He liked her immediately.

"I see," Larten said. "Did you kill him?"

Darren shrugged.

"If I didn't, the storm will," he replied. "Hopefully." The last he said under his breath and Larten was sure he wasn't supposed to hear it.

They waited out the storm in silence for the rest of the night. When the rain and wind stopped Darren took his sister up the cellar steps and out into the sunlight. Larten was forced to remain in the damp, dark shelter until nightfall. But he didn't mind. He'd slept in worse.

Unfortunately, he'd learned the next night that one of Darren's idiotic friends had allowed himself to be bitten by Octa. And within the next few days Darren was bargaining away his humanity. By the next week, the two of them left that small town and headed out into the world.

Larten had never asked about Darren's mean father. And Darren had never saw fit to tell him. Paris had asked the boy about his family once and Darren had simply told him that he came from a place were the storms leveled everything in their path but with a family like his none of that really mattered. Paris hadn't known what he had meant although the response had been a pretty one.

But in his dying moment, as he heard Darren scream his name and he felt the heat and the wood of the stake, Larten figured he should have asked. He should have asked-and cared-about where Darren's mother was and if she loved her children. He should have figured out if that mean drunk had survived both his own son and that hellish storm. And he never should have stolen a child's humanity because Darren hadn't deserved it.

He wished, in his last moment of life, that the storm had simply blown him away.