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He didn’t answer, and I didn’t push. Maybe it was one of those things he had to come around to or would prefer we didn’t talk about. I didn’t know how often he should eat to maintain proper energy levels, but a time would come when he needed to feed again.

I tried a different direction. “What happens if you eat human food?”

“I get violently sick. My organs don’t function anymore, or rather, not as they should. My stomach can’t digest.”

“At the steakhouse—”

“I spat in a napkin.”

“I figured. Okay. That’s one. Name two more things you miss.”

“Good grief, Ensley.”

“Might as well humor me. We still have over an hour and a half to go before we arrive.”

“Fine. I miss bathing in the river and feeling the hot summer sun on my face without suffering severe discomfort.”

“Can you bathe in a bathtub?”

“Yes, and shower, but I can’t swim in a lake, river, or the ocean. I can’t go to church, not that I believe in a merciful God anymore since I am the devil’s creation, but I do miss it.”

“Were you religious?”

He didn’t answer for long enough that I glanced across the console and caught a melancholic smile as he peered into the distant fields at the side of the road.

“Mordecai?”

“Everyone was religious in the sixteenth century, Ensley. Science hadn’t taught us otherwise. It was a simpler time.”

“I guess.”

He turned to face me. “What’s your favorite meal?”

I grinned. “Easy. Poor man’s beef stroganoff.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Basically, ground beef fried with onions, a can of mushroom soup, and egg noodles. My mother will tell you I practically lived off it from age five to eight.”

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Will you make it for me?”

“I might need further instruction, but I’ll try.”

We arrived in Strathroy to a dreary fall morning. Slate gray clouds hung low over the town. The streets shone wetly, strewn with withered leaves from a recent rain. Skeletal trees shivered under the assault of a heavy north wind. The presence of Halloween lingered on every corner. Jack-o’-lanterns wore an array of faces, from comedic to haunting; flapping ghosts and skeletons dangled from branches and porch overhangs; cobwebs and black streamers hung with blow-up spiders, witches, or cats.

It reminded me of that night fifteen years ago. The only thing missing was the rain turned sleet, which the weather report had claimed was possible by midafternoon.

At least the dull day would ease some of Mordecai’s daytime discomfort. Regardless, the minute the sun lit the world, a pinch appeared in his brow, and he put on sunglasses.

Aiming for my childhood home, I detoured to show Mordecai the high school I’d attended and the ball diamond where I’d played Little League. “Dad was assistant coach for a few years.”

I pulled into the driveway of the two-story brick house where I grew up and killed the engine. Mordecai leaned forward and admired the structure through the windshield.

“It’s no mansion,” I said.

“How long has it been since you brought a man home to meet your mother?”