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“You’d be more than welcome,” Absolon adds.

“I’m still happy with Santa Barbara,” I answer, leaning into my husband’s embrace. “The university keeps Vic busy enough.” Victor’s position as a research historian at UC Santa Barbara provides the perfect cover—limited contact hours, access to archives, and colleagues who don’t question his occasional absences or his seemingly ageless appearance over the years. He won’t be there forever, but he’s enjoying it for now.

“But you love it here,” he observes quietly, knowing me too well.

I shrug, watching as Olivia instructs Ezra on the proper way to make a daisy chain. “It’s vibrant. Alive in a way few places are. And there’s something about the fog, the way it conceals and reveals.” I meet his eyes, still captivated by their intensity after all these years. “But home is wherever we are together.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Ever the romantic.”

“I learned from the best.”

Our moment is interrupted by Olivia’s delighted squeal. “Butterfly!” she exclaims, pointing toward a monarch that has somehow navigated the fog to alight on a nearby flower. She scrambles to her feet, preparing to give chase.

“Gently,” Victor cautions. “Remember what we taught you about fragile things.”

She nods solemnly, approaching the butterfly with exaggerated care, hands cupped as if in prayer. The butterfly,seemingly unalarmed, remains on its perch, wings slowly opening and closing in the diffused light.

“Ah,” a new voice interjects, “the innocence of children. So pure, so untainted.”

We all turn to see a slight figure emerging from the fog—a man with intense dark eyes and a wild beard, dressed in faded jeans and a fringed leather vest. His presence brings an immediate tension to our gathering, though I can’t immediately place why.

“Charles,” Absolon acknowledges, his tone carefully neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“The park belongs to everyone, brother.” The man—Charles—smiles, revealing uneven teeth. His gaze sweeps over our group, lingering uncomfortably on Olivia, who has abandoned the butterfly to press against Victor’s side. “Just spreading the word, sharing the love. Saw you all here communing and thought I’d say hello.”

There’s something unsettling about him—a feverish intensity in his eyes, a coiled energy beneath his pseudo-peaceful demeanor. I draw Olivia closer to me instinctively.

“Kenneth mentioned you might be filming something with him,” Wolf says, his usually jovial tone flattened. “At the house.”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe. The universe unfolds as it should. I go where the energy takes me.” His attention shifts to me, those dark eyes assessing, invasive. “You have a beautiful family. Special. I can tell. Your little girl has an old soul.”

“Thank you,” I reply stiffly, discomfort crawling along my spine.

“We’re headed back,” Absolon says, rising to his feet with fluid grace. “Perhaps we’ll see you at Kenneth’s gathering later.”

Charles nods, that unsettling smile still in place. “All paths intersect eventually.” He raises a hand in a peace sign. “Love is all, brothers and sisters. Love is all.”

He drifts back into the fog, his presence lingering like a bad smell even after he’s gone.

“Who wasthat?” I ask when I’m certain he’s out of earshot.

“Charles Willis Manson,” Absolon replies, his ancient eyes troubled. “A self-proclaimed guru. He’s been circling the Haight for months now, gathering followers—mostly young women, mostly vulnerable.”

I shudder, pulling Olivia onto my lap. “He gave me the creeps. He’s not…like us, is he?”

“No,” Wolf says, his expression unusually somber. “Just human. But humans can be just as dangerous, in their way. Sometimes more so.”

Absolon nods in agreement. “There’s a darkness in him that has nothing to do with vampire nature. A hunger that cannot be satisfied.”

The encounter has cast a pall over our gathering. Olivia, sensitive to shifts in mood as all vampire children are, burrows closer to me, her small body unusually still.

“Perhaps we really should return to the house,” Abe suggests, always practical. “The fog is thickening, and we have that dinner arrangement later.”

As we pack up our impromptu picnic, the mood gradually lightens. Wolf regales Olivia with tales of his Viking relatives—heavily edited for young ears—while Ezra and Abe debate the merits of various local jazz clubs. Victor helps me fold blankets, his movements synchronized with mine after decades of shared life.

“You’re thinking about moving here,” he says quietly, a statement rather than a question.

I glance around at the fog-shrouded park, at the glimpses of flower children dancing in the distance, at this city perched on the edge of the continent, vibrating with possibility. “Maybe. Fora while. Olivia would have Wolf and Solon nearby. The music scene is incredible. And you could teach anywhere.”

He studies me, blue eyes seeing far too much as always. “You feel it too, don’t you? Something’s coming. A change in the air.”

I nod, understanding what he means. Twenty years of vampire life has taught me to sense shifts in the collective consciousness, to feel the tremors before the earthquake.

“The world is transforming,” I say. “Maybe we should be here to witness it. To be part of it.”

Victor takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Wherever you want to go, Lena, I’ll follow. That hasn’t changed since 1947, and it never will.”

Together, we gather up our daughter and our belongings, moving through the veiled landscape toward whatever future awaits. The summer of love unfolds around us, a brief, brilliant moment in the long span of our immortal lives. Ahead lies uncertainty, change, the ever-shifting patterns of human history that we will observe from our unique vantage point.

But here, now, in this pocket of fog and time, we are simply a family making our way home.