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history that spanned at least ten years of mutual animosity. We had first
    encountered each other in primary school, where Shanice had tormented me relentlessly
    for about six months, until one afternoon I had snapped and punched her in her the face,
    breaking her nose. I still cherished the memory. Shanice felt differently, obviously, and
    although she had stopped pestering me, she had developed an intense loathing of me that
    manifested itself in hateful stares and the occasional sneered remark. I managed to ignore
    her most of the time, but I had known I would be in trouble today. I was vulnerable, see,
    and there’s nothing a bully likes more.
    “Oi! Freakface!” Original, Shanice. Nice one.
    I said nothing, just watched her, anticipating the blow, and wondering if I could do
    anything about it. I could put weight in my injured leg, but I would be clumsy, and my hands
    were tangled in the handles of the crutches.
    “Not so brave now, are we?” she taunted me.
    “Shanice Smith!” the headmasters voice rang out. “To class please. Now!”
    The bell must have rung. I hadn’t noticed it. Shanice flushed angrily, her bloated face
    turning an unhealthy puce colour.
    “Whatever!” she said in her whiny voice. “See you later, Freak,” she hissed at me, and
    then she turned and left.
    “Well, Miss Harding, I can see why you were late for school today. Carry on.” Our
    headmaster was a harsh but fair man, but he still made me nervous, so I nodded and left as
    soon as I was able to coordinate the crutches. I knew Shanice had detention that afternoon,
    so I would be able to escape home unharmed. But I also knew I’d see her tomorrow again. I
    shuddered.

    Angus
    I was halfway through my second coffee in what was supposed to be an upmarket
    breakfast café type thing, when my mobile started vibrating. It was Marcus. He sounded
    jubilant.
    “She’s one of us!”
    “I know. You said we had a match.”
    “No, no, that was just a blood group match.” Marcus always became impatient with us
    when we failed to grasp something, even when he had neglected to actually explain it
    properly. It was like he expected us just to know what he knew. It was flattering in a strange way, but also very frustrating.
    “She has an unusual subgroup that I had Fergus flag when it came up. It’s the same
    subgroup that we have, sure, but I wasn’t certain that she would have any of our peculiar
    genes. But today I ran the second DNA comparison. She’s got all three genes, Angus.”
    “Which means?” Sometimes I could be a little slow.
    “She’s a vampire !” Marcus was really getting excited now. I looked around to make sure nobody had heard his yelling.
    “God, Marcus, don’t use that term. You know Father hated it.”
    “This is brilliant, I can’t believe it, it’s just fantastic.” Marcus sounded a bit hysterical.
    “Explain, Marcus,” I said. “Don’t you have to be a, er, like us to have children like us?”
    Our father and mother had both been iron metabolisers, people who can use iron in a
    different way to normal people. Traditionally, I suppose we would have been called
    vampires, but we no longer had to drink blood to fulfil our iron needs. Iron tablets sufficed, and we had become slightly more civilised as a result. Well, Marcus and Fergus, certainly.
    But the underlying physiology was there, and we still really liked blood; we just didn’t need it.
    Marcus had coined the new term for what we are. And even though I didn’t like hearing
    the word vampire out loud - force of habit, I suppose - I found the political correctness of
    Marcus’ term a bit offensive. Call a spade a spade, dammit. Just not where anyone can hear
    you do it.
    “Apparently not. This is so exciting! A recessive set of genes! I can’t believe it!”
    Exclamation marks all over the place.
    “So why doesn’t she behave like one?” I wasn’t convinced. “She’s past puberty now,
    surely.” When our hormone levels started changing,