Jim Spencer gazed at the diary page dully, trying to fit the words into some kind of sensible order.  Creatures?  Special powers?  Blood?  What the hell was all that supposed to mean?  He held out the remains of the book toward the woman who was nearest him, still some feet away.  "I, uh, I-I found this when I sat down.  Do you think it's important?"  She ignored him for the moment.<br/><br/>He looked at her, and then let his gaze travel the beach.  The survivors of his own shipweck, not quite as numerous as the ones mentioned in the surviving journal page, had all washed ashore around dawn, and Jim had done his share in dragging the weaker ones up to drier land.  Now he was exhausted, a whole night's worth of swimming and floating and fear, and he just wanted to sleep.  But there was no time for rest, not with the needs of basic survival.  He might be able to help with that, too, as soon as he could stand up.<br/><br/>Yes, just as soon as he could stand up.<br/><br/>Soon as that...