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CONTENTS

Title Page

EPILOGUE

About the Author

Copyright

Acknowledgements and Credits
Chapter 1

It must have been Wednesday when I landed at the Sofia Airport, or maybe Thursday, it was hard to tell. The seventeen-hour trip from Denver had lasted twenty-two, and we had been circling until we almost ran out of fuel. The fog was everywhere. It surrounded the plane like a sea of low-fat milk and oozed through the cracks between the jet bridge and the deck, making a curtain through which the passengers disappeared one by one. I followed them in turn, the fog drifting along and dimming the lights in the long corridors. At every corner, the patter of feet echoed back, and it seemed we were going to run into another crowd of sullen, drowsy people. We didn't and eventually got to the main terminal where sleepy-eyed clerks squeezed oranges and the coffee machines had just been turned on. Six clocks on the wall told the time in six different cities around the globe, none of them making sense, probably broken. To prove me wrong, the long hand of all six jerked to the next digit in perfect unison. The act finalized the trip and brought the world into order. My ears popped. Sounds flooded in, speech became comprehensible, and the day started to feel like a Wednesday.

As if by command, a path free of people opened in front of me and I saw Grandfather across the hall. White-headed and handsome, he stood with an ease that made him look like one of the wise men. Next to him, Grandmother clutched at her handbag. She had a fresh perm. On her right, Uncle was sweating and out of breath in his too tight, creased suit. They looked exactly as they had for the last seven years, meeting me in July, sending me off in September. They were even lined up in the same order as if they hadn't left this spot for the ten months of my absence.

Waving, smiling, moving in slow motion despite the effort to hurry, I reached them at last and submerged myself in their affection. They kissed me on both cheeks and put their arms around me, except for Uncle who had his hands behind his back. With a ceremonial flourish, he asked me to choose a hand. If I guessed right, there would be a small present for me there. I could never make a wrong choice—he had a present in his other hand too, which he would give to me when I left. This year I chose his right hand and found an antique enamel egg-holder shaped like a tulip. The petals were yellow with diaphanous green streaks. The same green as the color of my eyes, they noted, and walked me to the taxi stand, gathered around me, proud of my good looks and my poise, and a little jealous of the stares I attracted.

In the taxi, I answered the flow of trivial but inevitable questions. Everything was good with me. No new sports injuries, no conflicts with my father and stepmother, and no—no problems with the authorities. Everybody loved me. All my professors at SCU loved me (my father was one of them so he loved me too), my stepmother assured me on a daily basis she loved me, and since I'd started counting, a total of twenty-seven boys had told me they loved me. Even the family dog made a point of loving me to death. I could never reciprocate so much love.

"Shush, Evgenia," Grandmother said. "You are cranky, that's all. Have a cookie."

I had a cookie.

No one inquired further about my new family or my love life. We crossed the Balkan Mountains in the splotchy darkness of predawn and started down the northern slopes as the sun was rising over the Danube plains. The small, red-roofed town of my childhood was tucked in the foothills, another hour away. By the time we reached it, the excitement had worn off and I felt drowsy with fatigue. Once home, I headed in the direction of my room, skipping the customary tour of the house and the garden for the first time ever. No, no breakfast. No, I won't bathe. Need to sleep. Please somebody unplug the phone. Who is calling? Oh, it's for me?

"Evgenia, I need a favor." My father's voice cut through with clarity renouncing the ten thousand miles between us. "You know about the lecture I am giving tomorrow, yes? I just remembered that little village, Stork. Typical sixteenth-century folk architecture throughout. It is less than an hour from Kirpich."

"Father, I've just arrived. I am tired."

"You always sleep on planes."

"Not this time. On the transatlantic I partied with these Scandinavian kids, and then in Frankfurt—"

"Just go and take some pictures for me. I'll need them before 1:00 PM Mountain Standard Time tomorrow. Keep in mind the time difference."

"But—"

"By the way, don't tell your grandparents you are going to Stork."

"Why not?"

"Long story. Just don't. Promise you won't."

"Okay. I don't care."

"Thank you, sweetie. That's my girl."

His girl fabricated a lie for her grandparents and sleepwalked to the bus station. I went along, feeling a pleasant detachment from my body still throbbing with jet engine vibrations. The bus to Stork was about to leave, and I was the only passenger. The driver told me that the village was two hours away, not one as my father had claimed. Nothing to be done about it. I took my seat and passed out. A moment later the driver was shaking me awake. We had arrived.

Swaying and yawning, I stepped out of the bus into the bright, unchangeable ambience of a remote mountain village. A tiny church with a moss-covered slate roof leaned away from the tavern. A pair of storks circled over the church steeple. Chamomile grew between the cobblestones. Two-story houses with deep eaves, white walls, and boxes with red geraniums on every balcony hid behind six-foot stonewalls and heavy, wooden gates. The gates were wide enough for three horsemen riding abreast and probably required two strong men to open. For everyday use, small doors were carved in one of the panels of the great double gates. I took my camera out and trained the lens on one of these doors. My finger was still on the button when the door opened and an elderly man stepped out. He had a tall lamb-fur cap and a white, fluffy, perky, glorious mustache. I thought his presence in the picture would make it more authentic and was about to shoot, but he saw me and stared at me for such a long time that I was sure I had offended him with my camera. I stifled another yawn and walked over to apologize.

"So, you've finally decided to visit the birthplace of your ancestors," the old man asked in a very loud voice.

"You must be mistaken. My grandparents are from Kirpich. I came to take some pictures of the local architecture. I hope you won't mind."

"I am not mistaken. I am talking about your other set of grandparents, on your mother's side. Let's ask my father if you don't believe me." The old man grabbed my camera-free hand and pulled me inside the door.

I wasn't shocked—if there is one thing I am not, it's easily shocked—but I was surprised enough to follow the old man with no protest.

The door screeched and closed behind us on its own accord. A cobblestone path led to the house where, on the sunny side of the porch, an even older man was having his breakfast. The older man's lamb-fur cap was taller than the younger old man's, and his mustache whiter, fluffier and more glorious.

"Father," the first old man shouted, "this is Lilla's great-granddaughter, what do you say?"

"That's her alright. What does she want?"

"She wants to see the picture. Take her upstairs."

"I don't want to see any pictures," I said.

"That's not what you just told me." The first old man looked at me as if I were cheating and ushered me into the house where his father had already gone. The three of us started up a narrow stairway, with me in-between. Hanging on the walls of the stairway was an arrangement of ancient daggers, knives, revolvers, old photographs, and framed cuttings from magazines. The father stopped on every other step to point at one piece or another. "This was my grandfather's hunting gun. And these two were my father's revolvers. This knife used to belong to somebody my uncle killed in a tavern squabble. We use it now to skin the pig come Christmas; it is the sharpest in the house. And this here is your great-grandmother Lilla."

In the faded black-and-white picture, two young girls in traditional costumes stood in front of the same well I'd seen outside. There wasn't a need to ask which one was Lilla. The tall, skinny one, with roses woven into her headpiece, could have been me.

"Eh... who is the other girl?" I asked.

"My mother. She and Lilla were sisters-in-law." The older man pointed a sharp, bony finger at me. "To her deathbed, Mother blamed herself for what happened. She had dreamt about fire the night before the wedding and didn't warn the family."

"What happened?"

The two old men seemed to have waited for this question all their lives. They started shouting in my ears, tickling me with their long, white mustaches, coughing and getting out of breath, their voices getting stronger and louder with every word.

Of all the nonsense they told me, I could make out that my maternal great-grandfather had been daft and my great-grandmother had been a harlot, or insane, or both. Or very clever. She had been having an affair with somebody and telling her husband that her lover was a zmay.

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "This is all very interesting, but maybe you could tell me about it some other time. I am very tired."

"There is nothing more to tell," the father said. "As soon as Lilla's father found out about her cheating ways, he put a hole through her chest with his Mannlicher, that big."

I must have had a blank look on my face. The son spread his hands apart to show me how big the hole had been.

"Are you telling me that her own father killed her because he thought she'd been involved with a legendary creature? How could he possibly have believed that?"

"What was there not to believe? Others had seen the zmay, too. My mother had seen him. Admittedly, a very handsome fellow when in human form, and very—"

"Okay. I am leaving now. Pleasure talking to you, but I need to be going."

They talked some more, but I had stopped listening, nodding and taking little steps in the direction of the gate.

Finally outside and alone, the reason for my trip came to mind. I walked to the middle of the village center, took the camera out, and turning around in a circle, I shot about eighty pictures. The job was done, and it was only two fifteen. I walked over to the bench in front of the tavern, and using my backpack as a pillow, I made myself comfortable.

My head was still full of the old men's voices. Were I not that tired, I would have found their stories entertaining. It was clear that they had decided to spice up the family history, borrowing from the popular myths and inventing the angry father with the Mannlicher for additional drama.

In Balkan folklore, the zmay dominates the sky and rules the weather elements. Evidently, it's fashioned after Zeus, the sky god. The zmay is a dragon-like, sentient being with a tendency to lust after beautiful women, to whom it appears in human form. Many folk songs explored the problems of inter-species relationships, which didn't seem much different from human-to-human relationships. I couldn't remember any such song in its entirety, but usually the maiden would be telling her mother, "A zmay loves me, Mother. How about that?" And the mother would answer...I forgot what.

That was all I knew, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I overcame my sleepiness, ignored the promise I'd made to my father, and called home.

"Guess what, Grandma," I said when she picked up. "I met two old men and they told me they were my great-uncles."

There was silence on the other side as if Grandma was holding her breath. Then, "What are you doing in Stork? You said you were going to Raven. Come home at once. Don't listen to the old men. They are liars. They are crazy. They have promised never to tell you...may their tongues wither in their treacherous heads."

Grandma indulged in a few more rounds of vigorous cursing before asking, "So what did they tell you about your mother?"

"Nothing, not a word. Nor did they mention my other grandparents. They all must have died unexciting, boring deaths. Lilla, my great-grandmother, was the only one they talked about."

Grandma, breathing laboriously, was trying to believe me. I could tell that. One day, I was going to sit her and the rest of the family down and shout in their faces until they heard me. "I don't care about my mother. She means nothing to me. I've known the secret for as long as I can remember. The woman suffered postpartum depression. It was her choice to die. Get over it. I am not damaged. I don't feel remorse, or guilt. I feel nothing. And I would never do a crazy thing like that. I am the most level-headed person since Eve. Now, let's all take it easy and forget about it."

Someday, I'd do it. For now, I tried to reassure Grandmother that I am still my innocent self. I gave her a full report of the encounter with the old men, without her interrupting even once. When I mentioned the zmay story, she only said, "Oh, I am sorry, dear. We didn't know back then." I thought she was talking about my maternal great-grandmother being in a sexual relationship with a mythological creature, but she was referring to her humble place of birth, which, by the way, invalidated my claims for being a pureblooded citizen of Kirpich. I didn't plan on advertising it.

I closed my eyes, but the sun-drenched village wouldn't leave me as if it had imprinted itself on the inside of my eyelids. I slept, watching the shadows running up the stone walls of the houses across the street, the small lizards scattering in and out of the well, and one or the other of the storks landing in the nest with a twitching snake in its beak. I missed the precise moment, but the empty village suddenly filled with people. Somebody made a racket opening the tavern shutters, old men started arriving by twos and threes and instead of entering right away, stopped by the door and chatted in loud voices. The aroma of fresh-baked bread drifted from the bakery, and a queue of ancient women and men formed at once. Then, one really old woman passed by with a herd of goats, which started nibbling on my backpack and my sandals that I had tucked under the bench. Through my sleep, old people went back and forth, stopping sometimes to check on me, voicing their disapproval like discontented clocks. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

The bus came around five, bouncing on the cobbles, and leaping over the potholes with jerky, cartoon-like motions. No one came with it, and no one left but me. The bus driver started whistling, but he fell silent as soon as the bus crossed the hunchback stone bridge over the river and was swallowed by the darkness of the forest on the other side. Old trees, oaks, elms, walnuts, crowded on both sides of the road as if they had parted only to let the bus through and were going to move back after it passed. There was no sign of rain before, but under the canopies of the trees, it was raining. The rain didn't fall in its usual fashion—it seeped through the leaves like green vapor. The driver was quiet behind the plastic partition, and it was lonely on the empty bus. The headlights cut through the moss-colored drizzle, changing the woods into something different, alien and disturbing. The leaves on the trees turned into dragon scales, the tree branches into claws. Deep, growling noises upset the birds nesting in the trees. From the foliage, a round reptilian eye stared down at the bus, unblinking.

Abruptly, the bus came out of the tunnel and into the brittle twilight. The road was dry, and the town outline was sketchy but reassuring in the distance. The bus driver resumed his whistling and asked me if I would rather have him drop me in front of my house since he was going to the depot anyway. All I remember after that was falling asleep between sheets that smelled of the lavender Grandma kept in the linen closet.
Chapter 2

Shortly after midnight, in a room suffused with the pale light of a three-quarter moon hanging low in the window, I woke up with the feeling of a brief but severe disorientation. I was in bed, my arms relaxed on top of the covers, my breathing as regular as it could be, my heartbeat loud in my ears. There was somebody in my room.

Very slowly and very cautiously, I opened my eyes and peered through the mesh of eyelashes. At my feet, on top of the brass frame of the bed, crouched a dusky young man. He sat on the heels of his crocodile-skin boots, perfectly motionless, sinewy arms resting on his knees, his big hands with beautiful, elongated fingers loosely entwined. Aside from the boots, he wore only a pair of tight jeans. I glanced over the slender torso, the broad shoulders, the clean line of the throat, the strong chin, and the sanguine mouth with slightly parted lips. Confusion washed over me.

Who was this man? What was he doing in my room? How was he able to keep his balance on the one-inch brass tube? Was he, possibly, a Gypsy acrobat from a circus passing through? Not likely. He was too tall for a Gypsy, and he wasn't looking for things to steal. He was looking at me. Through the strands of dark hair hanging over his face, his black eyes stared at me with an intensity that reminded me of the demons Vrubel painted.

I felt more disturbed by his dark, savage beauty and by the mournful expression on his face than by the bulk of his body hovering over me. If I could see him so clearly, he must be able to see me, too. He must have noticed the slight quiver of my eyelids and the droplets of sweat on my neck. What made him so calm, so sure I wouldn't scream and raise the household?

As if he had read my thoughts, the young man put a finger to his lips and smiled. His smile was genuine and disarming, and the softness of his full, bow-shaped lips made him look less feral, almost innocent. Still, there was something reptilian in the way his body moved, something majestic and powerful, and utterly sensual. He looked more handsome and more fearsome than Archangel Michael.

I was dreaming, of course.

I smiled back and propped myself on my elbows to take a better look at the stunning youth I had conjured up. The movement upset his balance, and for a split second—or did I imagine it?—he changed. See-through wings spread wide, disturbing the air in the room. Suddenly fluid and translucent, his body wavered, looking human one moment, dragon-like the next. Scales glimmered up his arms and neck. Inside his chest, his heart pulsated like a new-born star, pumping through his veins not blood but plasmic fluid. The vision didn't last. He gained his equilibrium, the wings folded, his body became solid again, and the scales melted, leaving only a few, running from his wrists up his forearms in a flame-shaped pattern.

I laughed, relieved and delighted by the power of my imagination.

"I've just invented you," I said. "You are a zmay."

He didn't deny it. He laughed too and jumped to the floor, graceful, almost weightless. "And you are a girl. The sweetest, the loveliest, the most beautiful girl a zmay could wish for. We belong together."

"We belong together? I hope you mean this in the traditional way."

"The traditional way?"

"Well, you know how it is supposed to go...the passionate kisses...the torrid sex.... Could you pretend you are madly in love with me?" I thought for a moment. "Or ravish me, or something?"

"I wouldn't think of that!" the zmay said. His voice was suddenly deep and enticing, and had a ring in it that sent shivers over my body.

"Mmm...I like your voice. And why not?"

"I am into consensual love-making."

"I consent."

The zmay frowned in a becoming way, his eyebrows making a straight line. He bowed his head over my face and looked at me.

"I do not understand your humor," he said, "but I am sure you don't mean that. This is not a folk song, and I haven't come to ravish or harm you in any way."

"Oh, I see. What do you want to do then?"

"I...I would like to get to know you better."

"You want to get to know me?"

"Of course. Don't you want to get to know _me_?"

As it seemed, my subconscious would not allow me to have sex with somebody before the dating rituals were performed. Even in my own fantasy. What nonsense!

"The zmay in the fairy tales are somewhat more assertive and salacious," I said, not as an accusation but as a matter of fact.

"The girls in the fairy tales are somewhat more bashful and docile," the zmay pointed out. "Times have changed."

That was right, times had changed. The males, as it seemed, of all species, had become less manly, the females less womanly. Just like in a unisex fragrance ad. I heaved a sigh and I started reciting. "My name is Eve and I am nineteen. I ski, snowboard, paraglide, dance, go to parties and rock shows, and in the time left over, I study to become an architect. Is this enough information?"

"The books here are on history, not on architecture." The zmay pointed to the books piled on my desk and on the chest of drawers.

"Courtesy of Uncle—a high-school history teacher and an ancient empires enthusiast. He gave me the books when my obsession with the past became bigger than his."

"You are not interested in the future?"

"Not at all. I like to be surprised. Now, your turn. Who are you?"

"I am... My name is Gor."

"Nice to meet you, Gor," I said, trying not to laugh. Gor means 'of the forest' in Bulgarian and it's a fitting, if not a blatantly stereotypical, name for a zmay.

"What is there to do in this town on a first date?" the zmay asked. While I considered the question, he took one of my books and started leafing through it, pretending he could see in the faint moonlight, or maybe able to do so.

What could be a good place to take a zmay on a first date? The park across the river should be all right. The town was supposed to maintain it, and there were benches and the occasional light, but it was overgrown and wild for the most part. Very appropriate. However, I would rather stay in bed with the zmay.

"Sorry, but I can't get out of the house. I'll wake up my grandparents."

"I can help you out of the window," the zmay offered.

"How?"

As soon as I asked, he was upon me. His strong hands encircled my waist and lifted me out of bed and out of the window. The next instant, we were standing on the flagstone patio, my stomach still jittering. The whole thing took less than a heartbeat. I didn't even see his wings spread. As I was catching my breath, I became aware of his evergreen scent, and then, of the small pebbles under my feet, one of them poking painfully into my heel. I rubbed one foot onto the other to free the pebble, but it didn't work and I had to dig it out with my index finger. The progression of experiences was too graphic and too coherent even for my most lucid dreams.

I felt the first pang of worry. As I had learned from the two old men, there were insane nymphomaniacs in my ancestry, and insanity was known to run in families. Probably nymphomania did too. Hallucinating a supernatural creature, not to mention feeling carnal about it, could be a very bad sign. Let's hope I was dreaming.

"I didn't say do it. I asked how," I whispered, keeping quiet in case I was already fervently mad, wandering around the yard barefoot.

"Did I scare you?" the zmay asked just as quietly.

"You didn't. But I need to change into something more appropriate. People don't go out in their pajamas."

We were back inside before I had finished speaking.

I opened the wardrobe, minding the loud hinge, and put on shorts and a shirt. The zmay waited with his back to me, arms crossed, his head slightly tilted, hair flowing to one of his shoulders, leaving the other exposed, hard and muscular and looking velvety in the moonlight. I wondered if it felt as smooth as it looked and ran my fingers across it. The zmay shuddered under my touch and turned around in one swift, fluid motion, catching my hand with unwarranted force. Sparks flew everywhere and small shocks of static electricity prickled my fingers.

"Are you ready?" he asked, smoke drifting from his mouth and nostrils. Startled by the Promethean display of special effects, I could only nod.

We walked the empty streets in silence. The houses cuddled with each other against the foreboding of the night, but as soon as we passed by, they turned to study us with their blank facades. A zmay and a girl, what a curious couple. In the darkness, someone was plucking guitar strings, and the sound came forlorn and distant.

"So how do you like it, being a zmay?" I started a conversation.

"Fine, I guess. How do you like being a human?"

"Not so much. That's why I fantasize about zmay if you haven't noticed."

"How often do you fantasize about zmay?"

"Tonight is my first time. I've just learned that one of my female ancestors had a fling with a zmay some seventy-nine years ago. I guess that got me thinking...."

"Whom did you fantasize about before?"

"Typically about Caesar or Alexander the Great," I said, and to hint about my species impartiality, I added, "sometimes about the Predator."

"The Predator?"

"You know, from the movies."

The zmay stopped abruptly. We were crossing the bridge at the moment. He leaned on the parapet and looked at me with odd, wary eyes. I knew I looked lovely. My hair was a mass of waves and curls that would fall down to my waist if the night breeze would let it. My green eyes and honey-colored skin were most exquisite I've been told. The zmay didn't seem to notice. He kept his eyes on mine, looking uncertain and disappointed, which he wasn't trying to hide. As if I were in his dreams acting inadequately, not the other way around.

"I have the feeling you are not taking me seriously. Why is that, Eve?"

"Oh, I am taking you very seriously. Do you want to walk along the river?" I asked, all of a sudden worried that the exhibitionist, who usually lurks in the park to spy on couples, might still be around to spoil the mood. Even without him, I was having such a hard time seducing my imaginary date that it was starting to look like some self-inflicted payback for every boy I've ever rejected.

I wanted to go, but the zmay made a gesture for me to wait. His unwavering attention was on me, and not in a way I found encouraging.

"What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you find me attractive?"

The zmay touched my hair with hesitant fingers. "I find you so attractive...it...takes my breath away," he said, sounding out of breath, his resonant voice falling another octave. "Perhaps this is the problem. Being with you doesn't feel real. If I had ever dreamt, I would say it feels like a dream, a wonderful dream, but an irrational and confusing one. There is so much I need to tell you, and I don't even know where to start. Anything I say changes its meaning when I say it."

"I don't understand. What is there to talk about? You don't want to make things complicated, do you?"

"Things are complicated, and I don't understand half of what you are saying either. But it is urgent that we talk. We have to make the effort."

"No, we don't. We are on a date. It is supposed to be fun."

The beautiful eyebrows made a straight line again, and after another long stare, his expression relaxed and the white teeth gleamed in the dark. "You are right. Forgive me for being so brash. There is nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow."

"Good. Let's go then. I'll show you my favorite spot by the river."

As we walked along the dike, the zmay took his eyes off me only to look at things I was pointing out to him—the moon path in the water, the fireflies crisscrossing the night, males in the air, females in the grass, the jacaranda shadows under the trees. We reached the old mulberry tree that I wanted to show him, and when I told him I was planning to climb it as soon as tomorrow, he disappeared, leaving behind only a shimmer in the air, and almost instantly was back with a handful of mulberries. We sat in the grass and ate them from his cupped hand. An innocent enough pastime if he didn't tense every time our hands touched or I wasn't already dizzy from his proximity and his scent, which was hard to define—a mixture of rain and pine needles—but was almost palpable in the air between us. The time had finally come, I assumed hopefully.

"There is a better way to eat berries," I murmured, taking his hand. Languorously, using my lips and tongue, I started picking the berries from it. After they were all gone, I kept my mouth on his palm, licking the sweetness from it, trailing my lips along his fingers, keeping my eyes on his black, wide-open eyes. He looked spellbound, not moving, his lips quivering, his face drained of blood.

"Kiss me, Gor," I said, my voice low and raspy. "It's been a long dream, and I could wake up any moment.... Oh!"

As if suddenly brought to life, the zmay moved. The next instant we were up. His face hovered over mine, coming closer and closer, then going to the side, his mouth missing mine, his lips brushing slightly over my skin as they went down to the hollow of my neck and lingered there. He kept me in the circle of his arms, not touching me and not pulling me closer as if some unfriendly force was keeping us apart. His uneven breathing turned erratic when I unbuttoned my shirt and let it slide down my back. Moaning as if from pain, he stroked my shoulders and the back of my arms with light, fleeting touches, using only the tips of his fingers. The brevity of his caresses soon became impossible to bear, making me want more, wanting it all.

The world withdrew in haste, taking away the river, the moon, the birds, the trees, the fireflies, leaving me in Gor's arms to burn with impatience, turning and sliding in his embrace, rubbing against his bare chest, his arms, his trembling hands. Skin sliding against skin, lips searching for lips, flesh wanting flesh.

Somewhere, at the edge of my consciousness, I felt a storm forming, but chose to ignore it. Nothing could stop us now. We were swaying, we were sinking to the grass, riding on the soft, fragrant air for one endless moment, but never getting there, falling instead into the chaos of a raging gale that seemed to have erupted from under us. Lightning hit a tree on the other side of the river and split it in two. Thunder ripped the air like a cloth. Wind bent the treetops to the ground. Torrents of rain swept over us with violence, threatening to drown us.

"I am so sorry," Gor cried, trying to overcome the deafening noise of the storm. "I should've known better. It's my fault."

"You didn't read the weather forecast before you took me on a date?" I cried back.

Another bolt of lightning hit only a few feet away from us, but instead of thunder to follow, a complete, ear-ringing silence fell. A group of winged men descended from the sky, forming a circle around us. Startled, I pressed close to Gor, only to realize that he was trembling. "Do I need to be afraid?" I asked, but he didn't answer. His attention was on the men, who, to say the least, looked very angry.

It was so obvious it was a dream it was funny. I recognized some of the angry men—my dentist Dr. Buffer, my old pediatrician Dr. A. Zink, and the orthopedic doctor who fixed my broken wrist last summer. The rest of them were unfamiliar, although one of them resembled Gor and another one reminded me of someone I must have met a long time ago. In my dream, I had made all of them, including Dr. A. Zink, young and breathtakingly handsome.

"What have you done, Gor?" my pediatrician said. "Have you lost your mind?"

"As a matter of fact," I said, "Gor has done nothing, thanks to your ill-timed interruption. So, dear Dr. Zink, I appreciate all the inoculations, but I would like to see you gone, along with the rest of them."

"Evgenia, you don't know what is happening," my pediatrician said.

Gor moved away from me so unexpectedly, I almost lost my balance. "Evgenia?" he said with such alarm as if my name was poisonous. "But you said your name was Eve. You lied to me?"

"Gor, be sensible," I said, trying to keep away from the vaguely familiar person? zmay? who was offering his hand to support me. "Back off," I told him and turned to Gor. "You know, one is not supposed to give one's real name in a dream."

"This is not a dream," Gor said.

"Whatever. It's ridiculous all the same, and I want it—"

"I'll take Evgenia home and explain it to her," the vaguely familiar man said.

"You won't do any such thing," I said. "I stay here with Gor, and all of you go away. Gor, tell them to go away."

"Gor cannot tell any of us anything," the vaguely familiar man said. "You are mine, Evgenia, and now would be as good a time as any to accept it. Step aside, Gor."

"If Evgenia wants me to stay, I'll stay," Gor said.

"Hell, yeah," I started and was interrupted again, not by a spoken word, but by the strange behavior of the men around me.

They all turned to face one another, their eyes focused on something in the middle. They took their time doing nothing, and why wouldn't they? —they were dry while Gor and I were drenched from the storm. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, they broke their engagement, and the man resembling Gor turned to me.

"We have decided to take this discussion elsewhere. Gor will take you home."

I didn't protest. It was clear the dream was disintegrating. My knowledge about zmay wasn't sufficient enough to keep it going. My first zmay, Gor, with his wet hair and shaking hands, appeared to have more substance than the rest of them, so I willingly stepped into his embrace when he spread his wings.

The flight home was uneventful and brief. We landed in my room, chilled and dripping wet. I had lost one of my flip-flops.

"So now what?" I asked since my zmay looked taken aback.

"Should I hope you would forgive me about the storm and would like to see me again?" he said with a formality that leaked regret and humiliation, and suggested imminent departure.

It was clear that he would not accept a towel and an offer to warm up in my bed with me. I felt cheated and mad with him, with my dream, with the sudden storm, and there was nothing I could do but play along.

"You are forgiven, and it would please me to see you again." I checked the clock. It was about two in the morning. "Same time, same place."

The zmay brushed my cheek with cool lips and left my room and my dream on fantastic noctilucent wings.
Chapter 3

The next day, in the delicious leisure of a late morning, I spent an hour-and-a-half thinking about the dark, handsome young man who was a zmay, and whose poignant scent still lingered in my hair. As I thought about his hot mouth on my neck, and the impetuous force with which he had lifted me from the grass, I fell so much under the spell of this evocation that being awake became unwelcome. I threw the sheet over my head and turned onto my side, determined to go back to sleep until I had another dream, hopefully about a zmay and preferably about Gor.

Something rustled under my cheek. It was a piece of paper, four-by-two, glossy and so white it looked bluish. The writing was done in dark green ink—who still uses ink pens these days?—and was so precise that it looked more like computer font than actual handwriting. It had a slightly gothic flare to it. 'Dear Evgenia,' the note read. 'We need to talk. The matter cannot wait till tonight. I'll meet you at the Plaza Café at two o'clock. Please be there. Truly yours, Gor.'

"Grandma!" I screamed. "Grandmaaaa!"

I jumped from bed and stepped into something clammy and wet, which provoked another piercing scream. It was the towel I had used to dry my hair last night. The shorts and the shirt I had worn in my dream were on the floor, next to one of my flip-flops. Its twin wasn't in view. I was searching for it under the bed when the door flew open and Grandma trotted in with two full grocery bags in her hands.

"What is it, Evgenia? Is it a spider? I thought I got them all before you came."

"It's not a spider." I dragged myself out from under the bed, hitting my head on the frame, and realized that I didn't know what to tell her. Having gone crazy didn't seem like something I was willing to admit yet. "It's nothing. I just couldn't find my flip-flop." I pointed to the sandal on the floor.

The irony didn't escape me. When I fly in my dreams—and I do that a lot—I am always afraid I'll lose my shoes. It seemed I had finally managed to do just that. I burst into hysterical laughter, tears in my eyes, unable to stop, the stunned look on my grandmother's face making it worse.

"What are you so happy about?" she asked, grossly misinterpreting the situation and appearing offended.

"Well, Grandma, I had a wonderful dream. About a zmay. I wish you'd seen him. He is gorgeous and he loves me."

It's never I love a zmay, or we love each other, the zmay and I. It's always the zmay loves the girl. In olden times it didn't seem to matter if the girl had feelings for the zmay, or, perhaps, it was self-explanatory that any girl would love a zmay, given the opportunity. Probably it was that. I couldn't imagine why a warm-blooded girl would refuse the affections of a zmay if mine were any indication of what they looked like.

Grandma didn't seem to find my dream amusing, but I persisted. "Sadly, I've lost my flip-flop while flying. One piece of advice—if you ever go out with a zmay, put on boots."

Not deigning a reply, Grandma switched the grocery bags to one arm and bent to inspect something on my sheets.

"What is this?" she asked, her temper visibly gaining momentum. She pulled off my upper sheet and waved it in my face. "How many times do I need to tell you? Don't smoke in bed!"

I looked closer. The fuss was about four or five small round burns on my sheet. I haven't had a cigarette since I was thirteen.

"It wasn't me—" I started laughing harder, choking and giggling and slapping my knees, "—I told you, a zmay...a fire-breathing zmay loves me!"

"You wish!" Grandma said and stomped out.

I searched the whole room for my flip-flop, and when it became clear I wouldn't find it, I went to make peace with Grandma. I took a few steps into the living room and halted. From the kitchen came the angry clatter of cookware. "Do you know what this is about?" I asked Grandfather, who was monitoring the scene from behind his newspaper. "It is not about a few small burns, is it?"

"It is not. Your Aunty Leta visited earlier this morning. She claims she saw you last night kissing some Gypsy under the street light in front of her house."

"And you believed that?"

"Of course not. But she came along with your Aunty Minerva, inquiring if you've given up any hope that a decent lad would have you and turned to Gypsies in desperation. Your grandmother is beside herself. You better tell her who you've been kissing under the street light so that we can get some peace and quiet."

Sleepwalking and fabricating evidence were now supplemented by hallucinating in public. I knitted my eyebrows, trying to remember what I knew about people witnessing other people's hallucinations. The most familiar case had happened in our family. My grandfather had two sisters, one of whom had died at a very young age from typhoid fever. Her sickness had lasted eight days, and she had been delirious most of that time. Her fever had filled the house with headless men walking on stilts, decomposing corpses, and fire-spewing monsters. It had become so crowded with them that all the household activities had been put on hold and the family members had been forced to stay idle, waiting for the little girl to die so that they could go about their day-to-day lives.

"Looking at your face, one would think you don't remember who you kissed last night," Grandfather said.

"I don't think I kissed anybody. I was tired and I must have had a fever. I am almost sure I hallucinated this boy. True, I went out...with him, but nothing more. Aunt Leta is making up the part about the kissing, the nasty little intriguer she is."

"Even so, you will never be able to persuade her this was the case."

I knew that. The only way would be to find a similar guy, but not a Gypsy, arrange to go on a date with him, and exchange some kisses with him under her windows.

"Can you think of somebody in town that is tall, dark and approximately my age?" I asked my grandfather.

He couldn't.

Back in my room, I spat on my index finger and tried to smear the 'E' in Dear Evgenia. It smeared just fine. The note had been written with an old-fashioned ink pen, no doubt about it. This excluded the possibility of me writing it in a moment of split personality. I don't own an ink pen. But maybe my other self does? I felt like screaming again, but didn't. Instead, I tore the note into pieces, then I dressed in haste because it was already one forty-five and left, kicking the lone flip-flop out of the way.

It was one of those lovely, hot days when the air shimmers from the heat, and people are napping in the coolness of their rooms, having warned the children to stay quiet. I walked unhurriedly, the soft asphalt muffling the sound of my steps. From the inner gardens drifted the dusty smell of roses past their prime. Stray cats squatted on masonry walls, seeking the coolness of the stone. As I passed by, they watched me with yellow, feral eyes. The heat and the familiar scenery almost fooled me into thinking that everything was as right and fine as it had always been, and I was going to the Plaza Café for no other reason but to have a cup of double espresso.

The café, shaded by a cluster of magnolias, was the most pleasant establishment in town, and the obvious choice for a second date. This summer more than ever, as the magnolias were in bloom for the first time. With every gust of wind, they scattered their blossoms over the people, the tables and the coffee cups, and made everyone smile. I couldn't smile. I kept my head down, looking at the white coffee cup, the white saucer, and my hands, resting on the white tablecloth. My hands seemed to have parted from me and become a piece of this sterile nature-morte where everything was bleached white like in a psychiatric ward. I tried to persuade myself that I was perfectly sane, but the fact that I was here, waiting for an imaginary date, was enough to discourage any self-deception.

At twenty after two, I had finished my coffee, placed some money under the saucer, and was ready to leave. It was inevitable to be disappointed one way or another. Being stood up by a nighttime hallucination may not be worse than the hallucination materializing in the café of a four-star hotel where the most important guests of the town stayed. At this moment, one of them appeared on the stairs leading up to the terrace. I assumed he was a guest because I'd never seen him before, and he wasn't a man to be forgotten once seen. Only, I had seen him, hadn't I? Just last night, in my dream. The vaguely familiar man, not so unfamiliar now, but solid and real in the bright daylight.

He had the straight, perfect features of an ancient Roman, except he was tall and fair. Six two at least, strong legs, broad chest, muscular arms. He seemed at the top of his health and wellness, and only the reserved expression and the lines on the sides of his sharply cut mouth gave away his age. Probably mid to late thirties. He looked like a man who considered his physical attraction the least of his qualities. A career man, a man of power, impeccably dressed and carrying himself as if the world was his to command. The daydream of lonely librarians, schoolteachers, legal secretaries, and such.

The man to whom I had assigned all unprofitably employed maidens in the world came straight to my table and asked in a pleasant, cultured voice if he could join me. This wasn't uncommon if there were no free tables. Around me, half of the tables were vacant. He took my hesitant nod for an agreement and sat opposite me.

"Evgenia, allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Delian."

I didn't think of anything to say and waited for him to continue with something that would make sense.

Instead, he said, "It was most unfortunate that you met Gor before we had a chance to talk. But let me set your mind at ease, you won't have to deal with him again."

I touched my forehead. It was damp but cool.

"How so?" I said.

"He didn't know who you were. Now he knows. Furthermore, he had put your life in danger."

"What are you talking about?"

"The storm."

"Storms are common this time of the year."

"That one wasn't natural. Gor's emotional response to you caused it, and it could've been deadly. The cloud electrification was one million volts and went up for twenty miles. The lightning falling around you had temperatures of 54,000° Fahrenheit."

"Yeah, right...whatever.... Why didn't Gor come to tell me this himself?"

"He is not allowed to appear among humans from now on."

"Among humans? Are you telling me that Gor is not human?"

The waitress came to the table and picked up my cup and the money I had left. She didn't ask what's-his-name if he wanted anything, nor did she say a word to me. She had been very friendly earlier, but now appeared sluggish and distracted. The man didn't wait for her to go away before he spoke.

"Evgenia, you know very well that he is not. Neither am I for that matter."

The cold, blue eyes stared at me with disappointment as if I was under-performing on purpose. My father looked at me like that when I said something disagreeable in his class. If my imagination was trying to construct an unpleasant and intimidating man, it was doing a good job. Only, I wasn't sure if the man in front of me was imaginary. He appeared rock solid, and his pulse was visible on his neck.

"Excuse me," I said. "What was your name again?"

"Delian."

"Okay, Delian. I don't care for this conversation." I pushed my chair back and prepared to leave. Delian reached over and caught my hand. On the inside of his arm, starting from the wrist and going halfway to the elbow, was a tattoo that imitated scales. The imitation was amazing. The scales looked almost real, multicolored and silvery, and glistening like an oily spot in a rain puddle.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, not letting go of my hand. "Do you want me to prove it?"

"What are you going to do? Fly around and give all these people heart attacks?"

"At the moment no one can see me. Or you."

I pulled my hand free and glanced around, worried I was attracting attention with my behavior. The people at the other tables looked absorbed in their conversations. Two women in obnoxious dresses were leaving, and the waitress was telling them she was glad they could come today. No one looked at me. Trying to make it appear unintentional, I tipped the sugar container and gave it a little push. It rolled to the edge of the table and crashed to the ground, shattering to pieces. Not a single head turned in my direction. The feeling I was in a dream splashed over me, muffled all sounds, blurred my vision, and turned my voice feeble and quivery.

"What about the cameras? I am sure they have security cameras here. And the satellites? Wouldn't they record your being here?"

"I can control everyone and everything in the vicinity. My abilities have no limit. You will see when you get to know me."

"I don't want to get to know you. I don't believe any of this."

"What do you want, Evgenia? Are you hungry for drama? Do you want me to steal you away? Do you want me to lock you in a high tower? I can do it if this is your wish."

"You can't scare me," I said, and called much louder than intended, "Waitress! Over here!" She didn't hear me or pretended not to.

Only then did I become aware of a continuous ringing and realized I've been hearing it for a while. It was the quarter chime of the tower clock, the set repeating itself over and over again. The tower was in middle of the plaza, and the clock face was so large that I could see it clearly. It seemed that the minute hand was stuck at two forty-five, causing the incessant sound. As I watched, the minute hand jolted to the next line, and the sound finally ceased.

Delian took my hand again. I looked at him, trying to appear unruffled, but my lips were trembling and I couldn't make them stop. His expression softened and he pressed my hand gently onto the table before withdrawing his as if to show me that he had no intention of keeping me against my will. I left my hand where it was to show him I didn't think he could.

"I am not trying to scare you," he said. "I am only trying to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to have anything to do with you. Go away. Go to your legal secretaries and librarians."

"What are you talking about? Why do you insist on being so irrational? Don't you understand? There is no going back. You have no choice."

"Leave me alone, or I am calling the police." I took my phone out of my pocket, wondering what number to call if it came to that.

Delian's glare didn't leave my face as he slowly rose from his chair.

"Look at me, foolish girl. Look well. No one and nothing can stop me from taking what I desire...and what I desire is you."

His last words sounded like the roar of thousand men shouting. His clothes split apart and his body emerged from them, expanding to gigantic proportions. His wings moved the treetops, and a rain of magnolia blooms whirled in the air along with the napkins from the tables and all the newspapers from the stand opposite the plaza.

A chair crashed behind me. It was mine. I ran without looking back and didn't stop until I reached the psychiatric hospital.
Chapter 4

Two minutes, I told myself, no more. Enough time to cool down after the sweaty run and recover my composure. The clock above the reception desk seemed to be doing what clocks are supposed to do. In precisely two minutes, I pushed the buzzer. The sound was loud and obnoxious like a panic alarm. I almost expected to see male nurses charging down the corridor with straitjackets in their hands. A narrow door that I hadn't noticed until now screeched, and a decisively female nurse stuck her head in. It was a bulky head with huge facial features and an immense hairdo. It looked remotely like the moose head I had seen on somebody's wall once but bigger. This was hardly an improvement over the male nurses, especially when she opened her mouth and spoke in a powerful basso profondo.

"You didn't come here to inquire about your mother, did you? Because if you did, I must assure you one thing. No one here knows anything about that."

It was the most reassuring statement she could have made. She knew me, she had deduced the most probable reason for my being here, and she had taken care of business in a most efficient way. So refreshing to see somebody acting in a predictable manner.

"No, ma'am, I am not here with such queries. I would like to see Dr. Kazak if he is available. Personal matter."

The nurse squeezed through the door a body that did her head proud, left the reception area, and disappeared into an office.

Dr. Kazak, the senior psychiatrist, had a reputation for having a strong rapport with crazy people. He was unlike anyone I knew. He had chosen to dress and carry himself in an extravagant manner that would set him apart anywhere, and even more so in a small town like Kirpich. It was difficult for a man with such an unfortunate combination of physical features to pass unnoticed on the street anyway, but his Spanish beret covering long, oily hair and letting his huge ears stick out made it impossible to ignore him. Dr. Kazak's skin had a dark olive color, his eyes were almost black, and his body was hunched and twisted, one shoulder higher than the other. He looked straight in front of him when he walked, expecting the sea of tall, light-colored people to part and make way for him, which it did. I always tried to meet his eyes when he was passing by, but he never acknowledged me or anybody else.

I was surprised that he agreed to see me without an appointment.

"Hi, Evgenia," he greeted me with a rich, booming voice much more becoming on him than on his nurse, and invited me to sit down with an elegant gesture. "What brings you here?"

"Hi, Dr. Kazak. Hmm...I expected you'd have one of those couches for me lie down on."

"Well, this is a psychiatric hospital, and often my patients are brought to me in straitjackets. A couch would not be of any use to them."

"You can't be serious! They are still using straitjackets here?"

"Not much, anymore," Dr. Kazak said with a hint of regret in his voice. "We have tranquilizers nowadays. Anything else that bothers you?"

"What's up with the yellow walls? The corridor is yellow, your office is yellow, everything is yellow. Somebody found a deal on yellow paint, or what?"

"It is supposed to calm the patients down. I am afraid they overdid it. Sometimes, when I step outside I feel like I am stepping out of Cinderella's pumpkin. But aside from being opinionated about my office, why did you come?"

I looked out the window. It faced the high-walled yard where the patients took their walks when they had lucid moments. Presently, there were only a few, scattered throughout, everyone walking away from the rest. When they reached the boundaries of the walls or the buildings, they turned around and started walking back, intercepting one another at the center of the yard, nodding formally and continuing in opposite directions. They looked engaged in a complicated quadrille.

"I am having strange dreams," I said, taking my eyes away from the window with an effort.

"Strange dreams, eh? Would you rather have boring dreams?"

"I guess not."

"There is no reason for concern then. Besides, yours could not be that bad. You should see mine."

"Excuse me?"

"If somebody is having strange dreams, it's me. For example, I often dream about sheep. Let me ask you something. When you think of sheep how do you picture them?"

I must admit that I rarely think of sheep, but I gave it my best effort. "Hmm, white...fluffy...green pastures...baaah?" I said, not certain of what he expected to hear, wondering if all psychiatrists were crazy, or only this one.

"Exactly," Dr. Kazak said, and leaned toward me. "This is exactly how sheep should be, in reality or in dreams. But not in mine. The sheep in my dreams are scruffy and dirty, full of diseases and parasites, their fur torn in patches and hanging to their sides and down to the ground. Terrible! What do you think about that?"

"I am not sure, Dr. Kazak. I would not presume..."

"Give it a try."

I tried, but Dr. Kazak interrupted my amateurish analysis and proceeded to tell me about another dream, in which his mother had died and turned into a zombie. At the last gruesome detail, he shuddered and closed his eyes. He had the longest lashes I'd seen on a man or a woman. They were dark even against his olive skin and made an elongated curve that mirrored the curve of his eyebrows. He looked like a sleeping Buddha, his big ears not compromising the effect but contributing to it.

"So what do you think?" Dr. Kazak came out of his trance and caught me observing his face with more attention than strictly appropriate. He didn't seem to care and waited eagerly for my interpretation, which I felt obliged to give.

"I think you are afraid of death. You are afraid that your mother will die, and then it will be your turn, and there is nothing to prevent that from happening."

"You may be right, but I doubt this is the case here. Everybody is afraid of dying. You are afraid of dying, aren't you? I have a patient who tried to kill himself because he cannot stand the thought of dying."

"That doesn't make any sense! I cannot stand spiders, but you won't see me sticking my face in a spider web."

"It makes perfect sense if you think about it. You can choose from a number of ways to commit suicide. This way you are over with it on your own terms. No heart attack or a freak accident waits for you in the future."

"I hope you are not telling him that."

"Don't worry. He is doing quite well at the moment. Actually, I might have cured him of his little obsession."

"Oh, I am glad to hear that. What did you do? Some new therapy?"

"Nothing of the sort. I paid Aisha to tell him he will die in his sleep from old age."

"Who on earth is Aisha?"

"You know her. The Gypsy woman. She cleans here and does fortune-telling on the side. That reminds me, she keeps leaving the lights on. I need to talk to her about that."

A disturbed expression suddenly came over Dr. Kazak's face. He looked like a man who had just remembered that he had left his dog in the car on a very hot afternoon.

"What is it, Dr. Kazak?"

It was another long, dreadful dream about some flickering lights. Dr. Kazak took his time telling it to me, then put his hand over his chest and waited for my response.

I tried to think of something and couldn't, and was about to point out that I was not a dream expert, after all, but was interrupted by the nurse who knocked briskly on the door and without waiting for an answer cracked it open and stuck her huge head in.

"Doctor, are you going to be long? You have a patient waiting."

"We are almost done here," Dr. Kazak said, and turned back to me with an apologetic smile. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Evgenia?"

"Actually, there is."

"You want to tell me about your dreams?" he asked and licked his lips with what looked like anticipation.

"It's not dreams only. My problem is bigger than that. I see things in the middle of the day. Strange things."

"Do you see anything strange in my office?"

I looked at the dusty books on the shelves, the banged up chairs and desk, the worn out carpet. The office appeared comfortable and ordinary. But then, Dr. Kazak had on a canary yellow leather jacket, bright and shiny as if it were painted in an auto shop. Admittedly, it went rather well with his dark complexion and oily hair.

"Everything looks normal," I said. "Unless you tell me you are not wearing a yellow jacket."

"I am wearing a yellow jacket. It's chilly here. Don't blush. Other people have made even less favorable remarks about this jacket. Let's concentrate on the strange things you are seeing. What is their nature?"

"Mostly handsome guys with a supernatural streak."

"Evgenia, I didn't know you blushed so easily. What's the matter with you? It's perfectly normal to look at strangers of the opposite sex. I must confess that I look at attractive women all the time, and I enjoy it. Just this morning I met one. You should have seen her. She looked like a princess-warrior. And she had beautiful, large feet. Oh, large feet," Dr. Kazak moaned, then he got hold of himself and asked, "Do you read a lot of fantasy?"

"I sure do, but I've never lost my sense of reality or hallucinated before—"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not at the moment, but—"

"This explains it all. Being sexually frustrated, especially for a young person like you, may start giving you all kinds of problems. There would be dreams, there would be fantasies, there would be embarrassing events." Dr. Kazak coughed in his handkerchief. "My advice to you, Evgenia, is to find yourself a nice boy. If it doesn't help, come and see me again."

"I can do that. But in the meantime, if I see something or someone strange, what should I do?"

"Hmm...if it happens again, and I don't think it will, why don't you come and see me at once?"

"That is what I just did. I met this guy at the café, and no one seemed to be able to see him. The moment he started doing weird things, I came here."

"Is he here now?"

"No, he is not."

"Why do you think he didn't follow you?"

"I have no idea. I ran away."

"Then, if you see him again, don't run. Ask him to come with you and see me. After hours, you could come to my house, but not later than nine forty-five. My mother locks the door at ten."

"What should I do if it's later than that?"

"You could show him to your grandmother. Knowing her, she can take care of any man that would dare to bother you, hallucinated or not."

With this, the doctor closed his eyes and remained like that, an oracle on a mountaintop, resting before the next pilgrim interrupts his meditation.

Out of his office, I bent over the water fountain, and when I lifted my head, who would come out of the restrooms but Aisha. If I'd had any doubt who she was—and I didn't—she was quick to dispel it. "Do you want to know your future?" she cried, and without waiting for an answer, she took my hand and pried open my fingers. She glanced over my palm, and her expression changed as if she had seen something terrible. Of course, it was a part of the show.

"I don't care to hear about my future," I said. "Besides, I am a better fortune-teller than you are. Do you want a sample? Your name is Aisha, and you accept money to lie to mental patients."

Aisha didn't seem to hear me. "You'll be loved by two men," she started her little performance with a stage-gloomy voice. "One fair, the other one dark. They'll both love you to death—"

"Who could ask for more," I said. "Now, leave me alone. I shouldn't keep two men waiting, should I?"

"Lie to yourself if you so wish," Aisha said, pushing my hand away. "But it won't be for long. Clouds are gathering. A storm is on its way. You cannot ignore it."

"Just watch me," I said, and walked away. Down the yellow corridor, past the security door, across the yellow vestibule, and out the front door. It felt like I was stepping out of Cinderella's pumpkin.
Chapter 5

Under a linden tree across from the hospital, Peter and Paul, my childhood friends, were sitting on the curb, their mopeds parked next to them. The twins looked radically different than they had last summer. They used to be tidy mama's boys. Now they wore black leather and chains, and tattoos that appeared real. One of them had dyed his hair jet-black, the other almost white blond. Here came my men—one fair, the other one dark. Aisha knew her trade, after all.

When the twins saw me, they jumped to their feet, rushed over and started gluing bubble-gum lips to my face and hands, talking in turns as was their habit. It went like this: "So good to see you. Why didn't you call? What were you doing in the loony bin? We have a name-day party tonight. It is Saints Peter and Paul's day, our day. You are coming, yes? Your hair has grown since last summer. Your boobs have grown too. You look good enough to eat." They finally shut up, realizing they hadn't allowed space for me to answer.

"Of course, I'll come to the party. You look great yourselves. What does your mother think about your new look?"

"As a matter of fact, she is relieved," Paul said. "She had suspected for some time that we might be gay. Now she feels almost certain that we are not. It would help if we had girlfriends, but it's two of us and only one of you. Maybe you should make the choice?"

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?" Peter interrupted. "I am sensitive and gentle."

"Choose me," Paul said. "I am assertive and intelligent."

"May I do the choosing some other time? I was going to ask for a favor, and it seems to me you'll have no problem with my little request."

"Which is? Ask anything."

"I need one of you to walk me home after the party and make out with me under Aunty Leta's windows." I didn't have the heart to tell Paul that I preferred Peter because of his black hair. Bugger Aunty Leta.

"For real? Yeah? Sure!" the twins cried, their voices suddenly shrill, and then with less enthusiasm, "Which of us, though?"

"Doesn't matter."

Peter and Paul checked with each other. "What about both of us?"

"That sounds fair."

Right then, Dr. Kazak appeared in the front door of the hospital, and seeing me with the twins, who were giving each other high fives at the moment, shook a finger at me.

"Two at the same time," he said, sounding very professional. "Way to go, Evgenia."

After I parted with the twins, I walked home in a state of contentment, which could only come after a heavy load has been lifted from one's shoulders. Sexual frustration didn't sound too bad. It was summer, and many a virile and willing boy would be available to relieve me of this malady. The good feeling lasted until I took the turn onto my street.

In front of my grandparents' house was parked a sleek dark-blue Maserati Quattroporte. All the kids from the neighborhood were crowded around it. One of them kept everybody a step or two away. He might've taken a tip to keep the car safe from small, dirty fingers.

In our living room, having tea from Grandma's best china, was Delian. He was talking with Grandma in French, and she was glowing with pleasure. I remained at the door, speechless. As the two of them raised their eyes to look at me, the temperature in the room fell under the freezing point. I shivered.

"Dear, see who has come to visit us," Grandma said with a tone of voice reserved for the most deserving. "Dr. Dellin, Delian Dellin, a meteorology professor at the Sorbonne, and a friend of your father. Please speak English with him, your French is not very presentable."

"He speaks perfect Bulgarian," I said. "And since when is he a friend of my father?"

My breath came out in a white fog. I hugged myself and glanced at the walls and the ceiling. There wasn't any evidence that air conditioning had been installed in my absence.

"You must excuse my granddaughter. Since she went to live in America, her manners have plummeted," Grandma said in French, and then spoke to me in Bulgarian, "Behave yourself. Here is a letter from your father, in which he recommends Dr. Dellin to us. You should have an email from him explaining everything. Your father hopes you'll make yourself available to show Dr. Dellin around."

While this exchange was going on, Delian looked absentmindedly at the photographs on the wall and sipped his tea. He had on a linen shirt and trousers in earthy colors. Tan loafers, a tidy haircut, a Rolex, everything for a grandmother to approve of. More so since no scaly tattoos were visible on his forearms.

"Did Dr. Dellin tell you that we've already met?"

"He told me everything about the small misunderstanding that happened this morning. He said he had intended to come here first, but when he recognized you at the café, he felt he should introduce himself."

Then, she switched to French, explaining to Delian that since I was so exceptionally attractive, gentlemen approached me all the time, and sometimes I wasn't very polite about it.

Delian nodded with understanding.

"Miss Bolyarski, I am sorry that our acquaintance has begun in such an awkward fashion. It was entirely my fault, and I apologize. You may find it useful to read the email from Dr. Bolyarski."

Dr. Bolyarski is my father. As mentioned before, he loves me very much. He's never sent me birthday greetings, let alone a random email. I doubted he even knew my email address, but I went to the computer in my bedroom for the sake of appearances. To my surprise, there was email from him. "Delian can help me get the biggest commission of my life. You should be very nice to him."

I wasn't able to move. The chill that had gone already to my bones was replaced with a rush of heat. My face burned and my thoughts became fever-scattered. Could it be that Delian is exactly that, a meteorology professor visiting for reasons related to the local changes of climate? Did I imagine the whole conversation at the café and make an ass of myself by running away? I typed 'schizophrenia' in the search window and hit the enter key. On the screen appeared the first ten of 38,200,000 found articles. I went through a few, dismissing them quickly, only one of them catching my attention. According to it, the three main criteria for a belief to be considered delusional were certainty, incorrigibility, and impossibility of contents. I checked my experiences from the last two days against the criteria for madness. First, I was certain that I had seen what I had seen. Second, no one could persuade me otherwise. Third, none of it was even remotely possible.

As I sat with my hands limp on the keyboard, somebody, probably Grandma, knocked on my door. Sane or not, there was a situation, and every situation is an opportunity. "Coming," I called, and started typing a response to my father's email. 'I won't be nice to anybody unless...' I thought what I could ask for in return for being nice to one very attractive, if not very young man. There was one thing my father refused even to discuss, but things had changed, hadn't they? I typed rapidly: '...unless you promise I could have a cat. Or, I want one percent of the profit.'

It would be interesting to see what would piss him off more, the cat or the money. I smiled, clicked the send button, and went to the living room to earn myself a pussy cat or some cash.

"Dr. Dellin—"

"Please call me Delian. I'd be delighted."

"Okay, Delian. I am sorry that I was so jumpy this morning. I understand you would like to do some sightseeing?"

"That's correct. Your father told me you love hiking the Balkan Mountains. With your grandparents' permission, I'd like to join you a few times. Oh, and for tonight only, would you be so kind as to be my companion and interpreter for the International Meteorology Conference reception? It will be a very nice event, and it will be held close by."

"I am going to a party tonight."

"Did I say tonight? Pardon me, I meant tomorrow night."

I was almost sure he had said tonight, but one cannot reschedule a whole conference, can one? "What is the dress code for the evening?" I asked, with the faint hope that this would relieve me of my obligation. I didn't feel like going anywhere in my current state of mind. What I needed was the care of Dr. Kazak, or preferably, the care of another, more competent doctor.

"It's formal."

"I've nothing to wear."

"She does," Grandma said. "Is there a woman who has enough clothes? You must know that, Dr. Dellin. You must be married?"

"I've never been married. Haven't met the right woman yet."

Grandma was visibly pleased to hear that. The calculations running in her head made an almost audible clinking sound. After a lengthy exchange of niceties between her and Delian, he finally left, and she started a long and convoluted monologue about how I'll never get married if I go on like this, and how Delian was a prime candidate and I should carefully consider him. Very carefully.

"Grandma, you are talking as if he had asked for my hand."

"If you are smart, he will. He told me he was charmed by you when he met you this morning, I can't imagine why. He must have seen a picture of you and became interested in meeting you. Don't you think?"

"I am sure my father doesn't carry my picture in his wallet, and I don't advertise on the Internet. And this guy is too old for me."

"He is only thirty-three, and he looks very youthful."

"You asked him about his age?"

"I asked him about his parents, his job, his hobbies, and his interests. I found everything more than satisfactory."
Chapter 6

"Who is this clown?" Grandma asked when Peter came to pick me up for the party. "Oh, this is Peter. Hi, Peter. Has Paul made a scarecrow out of himself as well?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This must be very frustrating for your mom."

"No, ma'am. She likes our new look. She finds it manly and distinctive."

"Distinctive, my arse," muttered Grandma when she thought she was out of hearing range and went to have a lie down. She liked her five o'clock sherry, and it didn't usually leave her tired, but today, excited by the charming professor's visit, she had had two.

For the last three hours and forty-five minutes, nothing out of the ordinary had happened to me or around me. I knew because I had kept an eye on things. I had even pushed my luck a little, trying to imagine Peter and Paul with wings. Paul looked ridiculous, but Peter was fine. Even so, he didn't come on whistling wings, he came riding his moped, and I decided it was safe to assume that I was back to normal.

Nothing at the party made me think otherwise. It was about identical to all other parties I've attended in this town. The choice of music was speed metal. Over the terrific din, a voice could be heard now and then. "Paul, I am going for more wine. Fine, don't forget to tighten the spigot or father will kill us. Evgenia, you are making me hard. Where is the grappa? Where is the bong? Hey, don't give this girl any more to drink, she's wasted. Which one? The blond one? Oh, she really is. Put her on the sofa. No, she takes up too much space there. Put her on the gray chair over there. Mom, the music is barely loud enough to hear. What about the neighbors? Come on, sit down with us for a sec. I'll make you a wine cooler. Now go or you'll be embarrassed. Hello, please, somebody move this girl out of the way, I've been tripping over her all night." Etc., etc.

Things went very fine until a shrill, spooky howl came from behind the closet door. By then, no one remembered about the girl that the twins had stuffed in there, and we only opened the door because we hoped to find the family ghost inside. We met the sobering girl in the middle of everybody else sliding into oblivion so fast that we could only smile sloppily at one another and continue to finish the evening in the chaos of the usual small misunderstandings. People were leaving with other people's jackets, or girlfriends. A small group came back, claiming that the town had disappeared and outside the front door was a desolate land lost in fog that they could not possibly cross alone.

About four in the morning, the last person was pushed out of the front door and gently pointed in the direction of his or her house. The twins and I walked the empty streets, occasionally meeting disoriented people from our party. We stopped under Aunt Leta's window for an enthusiastic make-out session. I hoped she was watching from behind the curtains and the fog didn't obscure her view, otherwise that would have been a waste of a very good performance. One could never be sure without seeing the recording afterward, but Paul sucking on my toes while Peter was French-kissing me should account for something.

At home, on the kitchen table, I found a bowl of raspberries and a glass of Grandma's weak sangria. I ate the berries and drank the sangria, which wasn't what it usually was—my grandmother's labor, fruit from the garden, ruby-red, young wine, and a touch of my uncle's homemade grappa. It was a message, a proclamation. It said, 'It is summertime. You are young. You are free. You are loved. You should be happy.'

I was happy. I finished the sangria, tiptoed to my room, and switched on the light.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, reading one of my books, was Gor.

"Very interesting interpretation of the Roman-Gallic conflict," he said, lifting the book so I could see the title. It was Gibbon's _The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_. "May I borrow it for tomorrow only? I am almost through."

Gor seemed as real as anything else in the room. He even had a shirt on. True, a shirt of a quality that I didn't think existed, but still a shirt, pure white, and, oh, partially unbuttoned, so I had a glimpse of his hard, smooth chest. With a great effort, I moved my eyes away, searching for inconsistencies and finding none. Except for reading in the dark, Gor wasn't doing anything peculiar. I knew he was reading because I saw how he took notice of the page number before closing the book.

"Gor, before we continue this conversation, you need to prove to me you exist outside of my head. Do so, or get out of here and never come back again."

"Evgenia—"

"Please keep your voice down. If my grandparents get a whiff of a guy in my room, they'll throw a fit. Whether the guy is real or imaginary, it wouldn't make the slightest difference to them."

Gor left the book on the night table and stood up. He stepped closer and his nostrils flared. His body started losing solidity and became almost transparent. His chest, in the area where his heart should be, became illuminated as if from internal fire. Scales glittered all over, but mostly on his forearms. He still looked gorgeous.

"Why do you want me gone? Because you like the young men you've been with tonight better than me?"

"What men? What are you talking about?"

"You have been in the arms of two men. Isn't this true?"

"Oh, those guys are just Peter and Paul. I asked them to kiss me under Aunty Leta's windows."

"Why would you want to do that? With the two of them at the same time, and at that particular location?"

"It's hard to explain. My psychiatrist thinks it's only sexual frustration—"

"You are seeing a psychiatrist?"

"I think I've lost my mind. Aside from the other things that have been happening to me, I am sure you are a hallucination."

"I definitely am not. Don't you trust your senses?"

"No. Not lately."

"Evgenia, I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I am real." Gor sounded calm and resolute. He was back to his human shape. A very attractive young man whom a good fortune or my sick mind had brought to my door. Impossible to not want to kiss those cool lips, to not want to touch that broad chest. Gor saw in my eyes what I wanted, and his verdant, faintly resinous fragrance filled the air. Not hesitating this time, he took me in his arms and laid his lips on mine with the care and absorption of a first kiss. His hands cupped my face, and the fervor of his second kiss turned my knees to rubber.

"See? My lips are real. My hands are real. My breath is real. You need more proof? Kiss me again."

"Dreams can be just as real," I murmured, pulling back only slightly. "That doesn't mean I won't take advantage of your invitation. You are so much fun to kiss. But can't you come during the daytime? In any case, I need to show you to my psychiatrist."

"That is not an option. You must understand. We do not exactly advertise our existence."

"Haven't you ever heard about doctor-patient confidentiality? The oath of Hippocrates? As long as you don't sign a release form, Dr. Kazak will keep your secret. No need to do much. Just tell him you are a zmay and show him a trick or two when he asks for proof. Gor, please. You said you would do anything."

Unmoving, Gor stared at me, as he always seemed to do when considering my words. I stared back at his beautiful face, full mouth, strong chin. I could see his blood beating in a vein on his temple. So real. But there were people that took off from sixth-floor windows, believing they had just grown angel's wings.

Gor seemed to have made up his mind. He took off his shirt and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans. "Yes, I'll do that. Let's go. Where does the psychiatrist live?"

I checked the clock. It was five-fifteen. Outside, pale light was seeping from the east, turning the fog that still lingered a rose-yellow color. "16 Tsar Darius," I said. "The fourth house around the corner. But it's too early. Maybe if we pay twice the fee. Do you have any money?"

"Not on me. If you excuse me, I'll be right back." Gor's departure and return were almost simultaneous. "I passed by the doctor's house," he said. "He is up, having tea in his study. Shall we?"

Dr. Kazak was indeed having tea. He let us in, not in the least appearing surprised, but warning us to be quiet as his mother was still sleeping. Having found myself in the best appointed room in this town, if not the whole region, I was speechless, anyway. The study was lined with cherry wood. Built-in bookshelves covered three of the walls. All books were leather-bound. Antique pieces of furniture gleamed in the nimbuses of period-true light fixtures. The doctor was dressed in a dark grey smoking jacket. I was almost tempted to feel the shiny fabric between my thumb and index finger.

To my delight, there was a couch in the corner. It looked very Freudian. I wanted to try it, but I was afraid that tired as I was I could fall asleep there. I sat in a chair upholstered in the same brocade as the couch. Gor took another chair next to me.

"Dr. Kazak," I said, "this is my friend, Gor. Do you see him?"

"Of course I see him. Nice to meet you, Gor. Is Evgenia giving you a hard time?"

"No. She is concerned, and I would like to put her mind at ease. Thank you for receiving us at such an early hour."

"What a fine shirt you are wearing, Gor," Dr. Kazak said. "Will you tell me where you shop?"

"It's hand-made," Gor said, coloring slightly.

"Good for you." Dr. Kazak appeared saddened by the fact that he could never come into possession of such a terrific article of clothing. "Do you play chess by any chance?" he asked with renewed enthusiasm, pointing at the chess board sitting on a side table next to his bureau.

"Dr. Kazak! Will you please keep to the subject at hand?"

"But I thought we were through. Not only can I see your friend, but I can also have a meaningful conversation with him. The young man is as real as they come. What more do you want?"

"He claims he is zmay."

"Oh, a zmay." Dr. Kazak took a sip of his tea, appearing thoughtful. "Gor, are you sure you are a zmay?"

"I am positive."

"Do your parents accept that?"

"They most certainly do."

"Evgenia, do you have a problem with this young man being a zmay?"

"No, but—"

"Why are you wasting my time, then? Off you go, both of you. I am very busy, Evgenia. I have a match with your uncle this afternoon, and the last two times he won. Go now. All is good. Pleasure to meet you, Gor."

"My pleasure, Dr. Kazak. Thank you once again." Gor placed a shiny coin on the bureau. "Will this suffice?"

The coin had an irregular edge and would have appeared ancient if it didn't look just minted. Dr. Kazak took it, weighed it on the palm of his hand, and slipped it in the pocket of his smoking jacket as if being paid in gold was only natural.

Gor and I left, tiptoeing by the room of Dr. Kazak's mom, and out of the little vestibule that led to the inner garden. "Please wait for me here," I told Gor, and hurried back to Dr. Kazak's study. He was in the process of pouring absinthe over a lump of sugar in a tall crystal glass.

"Dr. Kazak," I whispered. "Do you really believe Gor is a zmay?"

He shrugged. "What does it matter? Such a nice young man, and you are fretting over the little things?" He lifted the absinthe spoon and offered it to me. "Do you want the sugar?"

I wanted to stomp my feet, but I didn't have the energy. Six o'clock in the morning, and I had been up the whole night. I wiped my fingers on my shirt, picked up the sugar clump and put it in my mouth. It was wonderfully sweet and fragrant. I crunched on it, feeling hungry for more, but said goodbye, leaving Dr. Kazak to fiddle with the absinthe fountain where ice cubes clinked and shone.

In my short absence, the inner garden, small and tidy when I saw it last, had become a strange place. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I lost my sense of direction. The morning fog, instead of vanishing, had become dense as cotton candy. Gor was a mere suggestion of an outline a few feet away. I made a few hesitant steps in his direction. He was with his back to me focused on something farther away I couldn't see. A ringing laughter came as if a response to what Gor had said.

"Gor," I asked, alarmed. "Who is there? Who are you talking to?"

Slowly, Gor turned to face me. Smoke was streaming from his nostrils and his mouth when he spoke. "A good friend of mine. If not for him, my being here would not have passed unnoticed."

I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to disperse the fog that was becoming denser. "Well, tell him thanks for me, but why the atmospheric interferences again?"

"The town is waking up, and I wanted to be alone with you for one last kiss. Come to me, Evgenia. Show me how you kiss somebody real. Will it be a kiss just as sweet as the ones you grant to the men in your dreams?"
Chapter 7

The book I had chosen as a distraction kept sliding out of my hands until it finally tumbled to the ground and I almost overturned my hammock trying to reach it. It was useless, anyway. Neither fiction nor reality managed to keep my attention, and both felt equally taxing. The fiction was blatantly realistic. The reality was disconcerting if it was reality in fact. My recollections of Gor's visit were sharp and clear to the smallest detail while the party with the twins had left only a vague, disjointed mixture of images and sounds in my head. For the insane, I imagined, reality often appeared less vivid than the world of their delusions.

I slept until noon today. Nothing unusual about sleeping the morning away, but this hadn't been the familiar, semiconscious drifting between dreams interrupted from time to time by a kid shouting down the street or a bird singing or people talking. This time my sleep had been so void of dreams that it felt as if the last six hours hadn't happened. As if I'd been under anesthesia. It seemed that I hadn't moved through the whole night, and the folds of my pajamas had left marks on my skin. I would have ignored those little oddities but I couldn't. On my pillow was a note from Gor telling me how happy I had made him last night and how he longed to see me again tonight. The note was now hidden between the pages of my book. Every time I thought I was most immersed in my reading, the bluish-white piece of paper would appear unexpectedly on the next page I opened. It still carried the scent of juniper.

Around two-thirty, Aunt Leta came with a bunch of her new green beans for Grandma. Passing by my hammock, and while smiling in the direction of the house, she hissed, "Evgenia, do you think me a fool? I can tell two local boys with dyed hair and high-heeled boots from a six-foot four-inch Gypsy."

"No, Aunty Leta, I certainly don't think you a fool. I've decided to kiss different boys every night this summer, and thus, I can't promise you repeated performances. By the way, do you think many people tend to go crazy in this town?"

She looked at me, slanting her eyes, arms akimbo.

"That was a change of subject," I added helpfully.

"No one has gone crazy in Kirpich since '57 but your own great-aunt Maria. Her lover drowned in the big flood, and ever since she thinks she is a recurring dream."

"You mean she's having recurring dreams?"

"I said what I meant. She thinks she is a recurring dream."

Heavy like a triumphant war ship, Aunt Leta sailed toward the house. My mouth was gaping. So much insanity on both sides of the family, so many secrets. I leafed through the book for Gor's note to see if it was still there and if it still said the same thing. It persisted in existence and in meaning.

When the two old ladies appeared from the house, I was still looking at the note. Grandma must have boasted about my going to the scientific reception tonight because Aunt Leta came out seemingly dazed, muttering under her breath her opinion of girls that didn't have any decency and would come to a bad end. Aunt Leta had been predicting my coming to a bad end for years now, but only when she was out of Grandma's earshot. It had stopped making me uncomfortable after I heard her own mother saying the same of her. Aunt Leta was sixty-seven, and she hadn't come to a bad end thus far. She was virtuous, robust, and made the best plum preserves in the neighborhood.

"It's almost four," Grandma said after Aunt Leta had taken her indignation elsewhere. "When are you going to get ready for the reception?"

"I don't want to go."

"Of course you do. I'll let you borrow my pearls."

"I'll let you keep them if you leave me alone."

"What is all this about? Did Leta tell you something upsetting? What was it this time?"

"About grandfather's sister. That she's crazy."

"Oh, she is not. She just wanted to be left alone and invented the whole thing. Do you think it's that easy for a person to go insane? You would have driven me crazy a long time ago if it were."

As usual, she offered the lie with a candid face and unwavering internal conviction, and for once, I accepted it with gratitude.

A cup of thick, black Turkish coffee made me as alert as I could ever be and ready to meet Dr. Dellin. If he acted normal, as he had the previous day at our house, I would have no choice but to accept the truth. A respectable meteorologist, a friend of my father, could not have grown wings in such a public place as the Plaza Hotel and later that day had tea in my grandmother's living room as if nothing had happened. If I had imagined the conversation I had with him at the café, I most surely was imagining Gor and all this nonsense about them both being zmay, Dr. Kazak's opinion notwithstanding.

By six o'clock, dressed in my pale-green dress that could pass for formal and wearing Grandma's small, drop-shaped emerald necklace, I was turning in front of the mirror under her critical stare and Grandfather's indulgent one. He told me I looked like a princess. From the time I was a snotty child dragging my grandma's dress behind me and ruining her best pair of shoes, he was telling me the same thing. This time I couldn't disagree with him. The dress was becoming, and the mental turmoil seemed to have added ardor and mystery to my expression. With my long, never-fully-opened eyes, I looked like the bearer of ineffable promises and secret delights.

The bell chimed, and I opened the door for Delian. He gave me a curious look, making it clear that the changes in me were more obvious than I thought. He came dressed in a way that made my grandmother anxious of how I looked compared to all that elegance. "Evgenia," she cried in horror, "you could not possibly wear that clumsy watch. Please take it off at once. Dr. Dellin will tell you the time if needed."

I went to my room to take off my solar atomic flight chronograph, for which I had shelved books in the library for six months in order to afford it.

"I thought of postponing the conference again, but decided it would be better to be over with it," Delian said when we got going. "I hope you won't find it tedious. You may even enjoy it. I could see all my colleagues flirting with you."

"I doubt meteorology attracts that many...interesting men. Besides, I imagine they're all old."

"Do you think me old?"

"I do."

He laughed and suddenly looked much younger. He was in a good mood, laughing often, teasing me, talking to me with the geniality of an old friend. Was I enjoying my vacation? Was I happy under the exuberant care of my grandparents? How did I like the weather?

We were passing the city limits now, and he sped up. His driving was crazy even by Bulgarian standards. He was speeding, changing lanes, and avoiding the other vehicles on the road seemingly by miracle. For a moment, I wondered if he wasn't showing off, but he did it as a habitual thing, unconsciously and effortlessly, handling the gears with the panache of a Finnish rally driver. His hands were strong and tanned, with sun-bleached hairs on the knuckles of his fingers. Not a hint of scales.

At the reception, there were fifty or sixty people in all, dressed up, clinking glasses with drinks, and engaged in conversations in many different languages. The glasses were Czech crystal. The champagne, however, was the same brand they offer in three-star resorts all over the world.

On the raised podium in one of the corners, a lady with a tragic and very pale face played the piano. She played with pathos, her eyes on the ceiling, her desire to woo one of these important foreigners into falling in love with her, with her music, and with her tragic secrets all too obvious.

The scientists' party turned out the same as any other party. Some had a few more drinks than they could handle and became loud. Some used the opportunity to bestow their eloquence on unwilling people who listened, trying to feign interest. Women flirted with men, and the other way around. Everybody wanted to talk to Delian. I heard him speak French, English, Spanish, Italian, and perfect Bulgarian. He introduced me to his colleagues not as his interpreter but as the daughter of his good friend, the famous architect Bolyarski. I felt tempted to accuse him of lying to me, but there wasn't an opportunity. People kept drifting in our direction, waiting for the chance to talk to him. There was nothing for me to do. I smiled absentmindedly when introduced, keeping a wistful eye on the buffet.

"You look bored," Delian said in my ear, as three Japanese men left our circle to be replaced by two Arabs.

"You're too popular. We'll never get to eat anything," I said after the Arabs left.

Delian laughed as if I were being silly and led me toward the buffet. He didn't eat or drink, but helped me make my choices, warning me not to touch the shrimp because of its high mercury content. Next to me, the pianist was nibbling on some shrimp, unaware of the danger. "You should try the turbot, it's better than the shrimp," I whispered to her. "Furthermore, scientists are not the type of men to save a lady from her circumstances." She scuttled away without thanking me.

"Have you had enough of the old people's party?" Delian asked. When I shrugged, assuming he was ready to leave, he went on, "There are apartments upstairs. We can call for room service and finish the evening there."

"I'd rather not," I said, without emphasis or reproof. Having heard the same proposal from many men and on many occasions, I wasn't terribly surprised. In a way, it was reassuring. Delian was acting predictably, nothing was happening out of context, and the food was good.

"Where would you rather go?" Delian interrupted my assessment of the evening.

"Home."

"Not before we talk."

"Go for it. I'm listening."

"It's impossible to talk here. Can't you see?"

Somebody was calling Delian's name already. He ignored the caller, took my hand, and murmuring 'if you want it that way' pulled me aside, a few steps away from where we stood. It seemed a pointless move until I looked back and saw the two of us still standing in our previous spots, conversing with two gentlemen in trendy but identical suits. It might have been the shock of seeing my double, but the sounds deteriorated to a distant clinking, the light became grainy, and everybody seemed to move slower than before as if I was observing this party on a very old TV set or from outside a window.

Delian followed my stare. "We look good together, don't we?"

"I need to go to the restroom," I managed to say and started out, pushing through the crowd, stepping on someone's feet, zigzagging to avoid people I had already met. Passing by, I heard my double's voice cutting through the waves of distorted noise, clear and excited. "...you are too kind, but thank you...yes, I'd love to...." I never talk like that. I never flirt with men I am not interested in. This girl, giggling and tossing her hair, wasn't me. It was somebody else who my delusional mind was dressing in my clothes and gluing my face on her. I swayed. The room blurred and stretched like an elastic band, moving the exit to the far end of the long, narrow space. Delian was already next to me, supporting me with a firm hold on my elbow. I steadied myself and forced a smile for him before entering the ladies' room.

Once in, a sob came out so violently that I thought it would tear me in two. I pressed my hand over my mouth and rushed to the sink, turning on the water and looking under the stalls at the same time. No one was there, no one had heard me. Shaking with the effort, I splashed cold water on my face and bit the inside of my mouth. I shouldn't cry. I was crazy, that was all. It shouldn't be different than if I were blind or deaf. I would need to compensate for my deficit just like I would with any other disability. If I were careful, no one would notice. My face was a little pale and my eyes had a startled expression, but nothing too obvious. I could pull through.

As I was collecting myself, the pianist walked in. She came so close to me that I was forced to move aside. She looked under the stalls as I had done earlier, and begun to floss her teeth. Our eyes met in the mirror.

"I liked your performance," I said. "It's very...powerful."

She kept on flossing.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, really."

She wouldn't look at me. I kept babbling, trying to make her say something or acknowledge my presence until the truth eventually sank in. My madness was making me invisible. No, it wasn't that—I was mixing things up—I was thinking I was invisible because I was crazy. Oh, this was so hard, so confusing. What made me think madness could be concealed? If it could, why wouldn't all those people in the yard of the psychiatric hospital do it and go home? Why would they go on with their quadrilles and their empty eyes, some of them for years, some of them for a lifetime?

"Are you okay?" Delian asked when I walked out eventually, preferring him to the woman who refused to see me.

"I'm tired. I want to go home."

"We need to talk first. You cannot keep avoiding it."

"It's—"

"It's what?"

"I ate the shrimp."

"Pardon me?"

"I ate the shrimp and I feel sick. Please take me home."

The muscles on Delian's jaw tightened and his blue eyes turned slate-gray. He took my elbow again and started out of the building and down the stairs leading to the parking lot. There were a few people outside, a couple here and a loner there, smoking. None of them turned to look at me stumbling down the stairs, being dragged against my will to a car. I knew what was happening. It wasn't a conspiracy. It was paranoia. Pleased I still could make the distinction, I didn't let this worry me. I even said 'thank you' when Delian opened the car door for me.

"I don't know what you think you are doing, Evgenia, but I'll ask you to stop. I've never been treated with such little courtesy by a human...by anyone. I never thought I would allow somebody to treat me like you do."

"I'm sorry."

Delian jammed the brakes on and pulled over at a widening of the road.

"Why are you stopping?" I yelped, barely holding onto my seat.

"I thought you just expressed regret over your behavior, and we'd finally talk."

"What is the rush? Can't we talk some other time?"

"I'll need to be away for the next few days. Now is the last opportunity for a while. Please."

"Okay," I said. "What's up?"

I could feel Delian's eyes on me and could see his hands on the steering wheel with my peripheral vision. Displeasure and irritation radiated from him like heat.

"I had a simple wish," he said, "I wanted us to get to know each other in the best of circumstances, in your favorite place and in your favorite season. I would have taken my time. It was supposed to be a love story. No one was supposed to interfere. Gor, least of all. He is lucky that his interest coincides with his father's interests. Do you understand all that?"

I wondered what Delian was really saying. Maybe he was thanking me for the evening, maybe he was asking me if I still felt sick. I was inventing this totally different conversation. Any response that I could think of would probably not make sense to him.

"Evgenia, look at me. Gor has nothing to offer you. I am the one you want. I can give you things you never dreamt possible. I can put the world at your feet. I can make all your dreams come true. I can make you the queen of the whole world. All I want from you is to give me a chance."

The hills must have been covered with linden trees. The fragrance saturated the air and clung to my dress and skin. Delian's voice was full of promises. It seemed to lull me into a state in which everything looked attainable. Over the scent of the lindens, his scent came to me, hot and spicy like desert. It was hard to resist, it was hard to keep silent. I pressed on the bridge of my nose, trying to snap out of this silly mood as if silly moods could be put off like sneezes.

"I've never heard more outrageous promises. Are they metaphorical, or am I supposed to believe you?"

Delian took my chin and made me look into his eyes. "Just tell me what it is that you want, and you'll have it."

"I don't want anything."

"Think again. What would you wish for if you thought you could get it? What do you want to have? Where do you want to go? What do you want to see? There must be something you want."

I took a deep breath, then another one. I lowered my head and murmured so softly that I wasn't sure if he could hear me. "I want my life back. I want none of this to have happened." I closed my eyes and hoped against all hope that when I opened them I'd find myself again at the airport, looking for my grandparents and my uncle. But I was still in the car, and Delian's arms were around me. "That is one wish I cannot grant," he said. Smoothing my hair and wiping my tears, he kissed my face and my lips with compassion I didn't expect from him. I kissed him back, a fleeting kiss of gratitude, and tried to pull away. He wouldn't let me. His caresses lost their innocence. He searched for my lips with a hunger I wasn't willing to satisfy because I didn't like him, because I didn't care for his sympathy, and because I had already realized the truth. This was just another evening out, and Delian was just another man. He had nothing to do with what I thought was happening. I had to wake up from the nightmare of my insanity, and wake up now while I could, not later in a straitjacket, dazed by tranquilizers.

"I want to go. Please, let's go now."

"What is it? Why are you getting fearful again? I told you, I'd never hurt you. I'll never let anyone hurt you."

Delian looked at me with quizzical eyes, searching for something, maybe for signs that I was deceiving him with my tears and my discomfort. He didn't seem to find what he was looking for.

"I can be patient," he said. "I've been waiting for you longer that you can imagine. I can wait some more."
Chapter 8

We didn't talk on the way back. Certainty, incorrigibility, and impossibility of contents, the signs of mental disturbance, turned endlessly in my head until their meanings were lost. Only long after all hope had vanished did the solution come to me. If I could not avoid the experiences that my reason told me were not possible but my senses insisted were real, I should look for verification outside of me. I should choose a rational person whose judgment I should accept and never question. Not Dr. Kazak for sure. He was as mad as a March hare. Grandma? No, she would grow suspicious if I started listening to her. Uncle drank more than was good for him, and nothing more recent than a thousand years ago mattered to him. Grandfather...I didn't know him. I'd never made the effort. I'd always accepted his wisdom and his kindness without trying to see further. His wisdom might be imagined, his kindness just that, kindness. I shook my head. I would go crazy if I kept thinking like this.

When Delian parked in front of my house, I didn't have the strength to get out of the car. He came around and opened the door for me. As I was reaching for the offered hand, a sharp, sudden change of pressure sucked all the air from my lungs, almost knocking me unconscious. Gasping, I watched the world around me contracting, then expanding further than it should, as if appearing in a concave mirror, then snapping back to normal. After a short moment of calm, a throbbing vibration shook the ground. The windows of the houses exploded. The asphalt in the middle of the street, where the old well had been, erupted in large chunks, and a blast of water, fifty feet high, burst out. Thunder and lightning tore the sky, and I couldn't hear my own screams. Through the shards of broken glass and drops of water, I saw Gor materializing in front of Delian and charging at him without success. Delian was all of a sudden in a different spot.

"What have you done to her? Why is she crying?" Gor asked, his features distorted and barely recognizable.

"Take hold of yourself, you fool!"

"Why did you take her here? This is between you and me." Gor charged again, but Delian made another swift move through the sharp pieces of glass and drops of water still hanging in the air, and was again out of reach.

Only now I realized that we were in a changed place. The scene was frozen as if someone had pushed the pause button on a video player. No, it wasn't completely still. The glass shards vibrated in their positions, emitting a high-pitched, whining sound. The water drops had become shapeless blobs. The blobs bulged like amoebas, unknown gravitational forces pulling them this way or that. I touched one of them, and it dissolved into a small wet spot on my finger.

I heard Gor's voice, shouting angry words at Delian, and looked up, having forgotten for a moment about the two of them. They looked like toreadors stalking not a bull, but each other, their supple bodies going through the appearing-disappearing act with precise, flowing motions. Gor's white, unbuttoned shirt seemed to float around him as he moved. Delian's sand-colored one was dry and crisp like new. Delian had lost his wrinkles along with his tie and jacket, and his face was young and fiery handsome. If not for his rancid expression, he would look like an all-powerful and all-wonderful, contemporary Ormuzd. The image of a deity in a clean shirt made me laugh.

Gor and Delian turned their eyes to me.

"She should not be here," Gor said. "She should not witness this."

Suddenly, the glass splinters and the water dropped down an inch or two and, just as abruptly, froze in place again.

"She stays. There is nothing to be witnessed. Get out of here, Gor. This stopped being entertaining a long time ago."

Gor looked at me with black, tormented eyes. No one, not even an imaginary being, should suffer as he clearly did. I wanted to do something, to kiss him and drink the bitterness from his lips until all his misery was gone. I started out, but Delian pushed me back into my seat, and slammed the door. The window rolled up by itself. The locks clicked. What was he thinking, locking me inside the car? Angry and frantic to get out, I shook the door handle. It wouldn't open. I wanted to break the windows, to tear at the leather of the seats, to smash the dashboard.

The dashboard, which was supposed to be dead with the engine not running, wasn't. All indicators were blinking and beeping. The clock said 56:79:01. I watched the numbers change, the seconds taking longer than the minutes, the hours turning rapidly with no reference to the 24-hour clock time keeping. Like clean, frosty air, clarity descended on me. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't delusional. I was a fool. Zmay causing bad weather and stealing women as in the folktales were superstition. Creatures manipulating time were a different matter. Clocks had no mind to go crazy.

I should have paid attention.

I slapped the window with both hands. Delian made an inpatient, dismissive gesture and returned his attention to Gor, who was pointing at me with a shaking hand. I knew what he was seeing—a disheveled, wild-eyed girl beating at the windows to get out—and realized that unless I calmed down, something bad might happen.

Too late. The air between Delian and Gor rippled with a silvery shimmer. A wave of energy hit Gor in the chest and smashed him to the ground. He remained motionless, his arms spread wide and his face peaceful at last.

Water and glass clattered down. People started shouting. Lights appeared in the windows. Grandma came running out of our house, followed by Grandfather. I stumbled out of the car, trembling and not able to find my feet. Delian supported me with one hand and made a calming gesture in the direction of my grandparents.

"She is not hurt. Don't worry, she is fine."

"But she is bleeding," Grandma cried.

It wasn't clear why she looked so agitated, why Grandfather's face was so pale. My pretty dress was covered in blood, but there wasn't any pain. I wanted to tell them that I only needed to sit down for a moment and I would be fine. Nausea made it hard to speak. They held me up, turning me in their hands and checking me for wounds until I started feeling giddy and light like a balloon. If they'd let go of me, I would have risen to the power lines...and the treetops and....

"She seems a little dizzy," Delian said. "Let's take her inside."

"Who is this?" my grandfather pointed to Gor. "What happened to him?"

He killed him, I wanted to say, but couldn't find my voice, which turned out to be a blessing. I would have sounded ridiculous since right then Gor stirred and took a shallow breath. Of course, Delian wouldn't kill Gor. What did I think this was? Some Shakespearian melodrama?

"He seems to have a concussion," my grandfather said. "We need to call an ambulance for him if not for Evgenia."

"I'll take him to the hospital," Delian said. He dropped me unceremoniously in my grandfather's arms and ordered, "You take her inside and keep her warm. I'll be right back."

"She is hurt, she needs to see a doctor," Grandma shrieked, not letting go of me.

"Mrs. Bolyarski, please calm down. Evgenia has a small cut on her forehead, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot. All she needs is a Band-Aid."

Police sirens sounded close by. Delian ushered us through the gate and ran back to Gor. He grabbed the front of his shirt and tossed him into the car. The door wouldn't close on the first try. Delian moved the feet or whatever of Gor was blocking the way, slammed the door shut and getting to the driver's seat through the opposite door, pulled away at the same time as the police car was turning onto the street.

I tugged at my grandfather's head, trying to get my mouth as close to the big shell of his ear as possible. "Do you see all that? Do you?"

"I do," he whispered back. "But it's over. You are safe, thanks be to God. Let's go in."

Halfway into the yard, he had a change of mind and brought me back to the street where the police officers called an ambulance as soon as they saw my bloody dress.

In less than five minutes, we were at the emergency room. The nurse cleaned the blood from my face, and the doctor closed the small cut with medical glue if only to calm my grandmother. The cut was in my hairline and even if it left a scar, it wouldn't be visible. I recovered and was able to persuade everybody that all I needed was to go home.

In the taxi, my grandmother didn't stop wondering how could Dr. Dellin, otherwise a perfect gentleman, abandon me and go to take care of some random Gypsy boy instead.

"Grandma, that boy was not Gypsy, and he was unconscious, didn't you see that? Have a heart. It's not only me in this world."

I started sobbing, and Grandma was still crying. The taxi driver looked relieved when he dropped us in front of our house.

The street was in ruins. Broken glass everywhere. A big hole in the middle of the street, fenced off with yellow tape. Two more police cars and a fire truck. Leaves and small branches scattered on the asphalt and the sidewalks. Grandfather made a comment about the mess. By his estimate, the hole was ten feet in diameter and only a few feet away from where Delian's car had been. No, I wasn't crazy at all. This had really happened.

"So what?" I said later to my reflection in the bathroom mirror and went on brushing my teeth. I was so tired, I couldn't make myself care. The world as I knew it had changed. I would revisit the situation tomorrow. Gor was young and would recover nicely, and who knows? I might fall in love with him. At least, I would try. Now, I would go to bed.

I fell asleep, thinking that I had forgotten to turn the lights off. I had closed my windows—which I never did—and it was a pointless effort since the glass was broken.

After what felt like a few seconds, I woke up realizing that the low, knocking sound I heard had been going on for a while. I tried to hide deeper in my sleep, but the knocking became more insistent. Hoping it might be Gor, I made an effort and opened my eyes. It was Delian. He was hovering outside the window, shirtless, his wings spread, his arms crossed. At least he had kept his body in the human six-foot-two-inch frame. Anger accelerated my heartbeat and woke me up in an instant. I searched along the headboard, and when I found the pull switch, I tugged on it hard. The lights went off. I turned my back to the window and covered my head with the sheet.

"Evgenia, may I come in?"

Delian's words came to me clearly as if he was speaking in my ear. I buried my head under the pillow, but I still could hear his voice, now ringing with cold undertones.

"You can't go against my will. I could be lying next to you now if I wanted. You know the glass is broken. Even if it weren't, it wouldn't make any difference. There is no window and no door in the world that can keep me out."

I turned around and kneeled on my bed to get closer to the window.

"Stay out of my life! And stay out of my town! If you don't, I'll just ignore you. I won't look at you, I won't talk to you, I won't have anything to do with you."

"Evgenia, this wasn't my fault. Gor started the fight—"

"You lie. You hit him. I saw you."

"You saw it that way because we move quicker than you can perceive. Gor tried to hit me, and he should know better than to start a fight with me. I am immeasurably stronger than he. I am stronger than anyone has ever been."

"Good for you. Now go away."

The next instant, Delian was in my bed, holding me tightly in his arms.

"Be a good girl," he said. "We should not quarrel over such petty matters."

"What did you do to Gor? Where have you taken him?"

"Gor is fine. I will make sure he won't bother you again. How do you feel?"

"I was asleep if you haven't noticed."

"Sorry to wake you up, but as I told you, I have urgent business to attend to. I wanted to have a word with you before I leave."

"I want to see Gor."

"Not desirable. When you go outside tomorrow, you'll understand why. Gor has no self-control. He endangered not only your life but also the lives of others. Do you know how many people suffered glass cuts? Three or four of them are in the hospital in serious condition. A child would have died if not for me."

"What child? Who are the others? What are you doing to my hometown?"

"Gor is wreaking havoc. I am the one cleaning up the mess after him, saving people's lives. Don't you appreciate that?"

"I'd appreciate it more if you promised—"

"Surrender to my will, Evgenia, and I will promise you the world."

"Not that greedy, thank you. Just promise that nothing bad would happen to my town again."

"It won't. You have my word." Delian brought his face close to mine. "A goodnight kiss? I deserve one, don't I?"

"You do indeed," I murmured, attempting sarcasm, but my speech and my thoughts were slowing down, and even the sinister lips pressing mine, even the hot tongue flicking inside my mouth couldn't keep me awake. "But I'm not sure I like your soporific kisses," I think I managed to add.

Chapter 9

It was drizzling outside. Amplified noise of rain shifting tree leaves came through the windows with the hi-fi definition of surround-sound speakers. The night seemed different as if a change, subtle but unmistakable, had taken place when I wasn't paying attention. The hands supporting my shoulders had become long-fingered and mobile, the lips on my lips were cool, the scent had changed colors, from bright yellow to forest green. A man, who wasn't Delian, was trying to lift me up. What a clumsy person, I thought, but it was my head that had become so heavy that my neck wasn't able to support it. As it drooped backward, my eyelids flipped open and I caught a glimpse of Gor's worried face. Then, all I could see was the ceiling where yellow splotches from the streetlight fought with the shadows.

"Wake up, love, wake up," Gor kept murmuring softly but with inexplicable urgency. "Tell me you are well."

"I am fine...why shouldn't I be?...so happy you are, too.... You are, aren't you?"

He didn't seem to have heard me. I tried to speak louder. "You should be more careful in the future. People got hurt."

"Please, say something," Gor said, his voice tremulous and scared, and I realized that no spoken word had left my mouth. I made an attempt to lift my head, but it was impossible. The effort only made my heart beat faster. "Don't be afraid," Gor said. "I'll be right back."

If Gor had left, I didn't notice his absence. There was a brief vacillation in the air that I felt on the surface of my skin, or maybe I imagined it. Gor was still holding me when two other men appeared. Dark, handsome men, one of them resembling Gor, looked down at me, touching my forehead with concerned expressions. I wished I could move my eyes in Gor's direction, but I couldn't even do that. I could only listen as one of the unfamiliar men said, "Delian has sedated her. This is a provocation. He has no right to do that." And Gor responded, "Let's take her home, Father. You'll be able to wake her up, won't you?"

Somebody lifted me from the bed, maybe Gor, but not in his usual swift way, and not he alone. Wings whirled, fingers plucked at me, vibrations of movement or sound—I couldn't tell which—made for an uncomfortable moment. It was impossible to protest, to move, to speak.

Next, I was in a room with a high vaulted ceiling. The man whom Gor had addressed as his father was holding me, his fine, batiste shirt pleasant against the skin of my arms and legs. He adjusted his hold on me, and I caught a glimpse of my surroundings. The room was populated with a number of strange men. Delian was there, too. I couldn't see him, but I could tell by the smell of hot sand, mixing with the myriad of strange odors around me.

"You are in my house, Lord Delian, please honor the—"

Delian's face came into focus as he moved into my field of vision.

"Lord Lava, I didn't mean to impose upon your hospitality," he said, "but you have abducted my soon-to-be mate. We have an agreement with the Staries. Evgenia is mine."

"Things have changed. Gor has fallen in love with her. This gives him equal rights. He shouldn't have tried to fight with you, but he apologized and you accepted the apology. Now you should accept the fact that you have a rival."

"Your son my rival? What are you scheming, Lord Lava?"

"Such bad timing," somebody behind me said. "Can't we leave this argument until after the pressure is stabilized? We are strained up there."

"The Novies, and I as their leader, want this matter resolved now, before it turns into a problem," Delian said. "Gor is not his own man yet, he is barely eighteen years old, and his actions are reckless and dangerous."

"He'll be nineteen in November."

"I am sure we shall have a nice celebration for Gor's coming of age. But for now, I'll have some of my friends join us."

The scene changed quickly as if fast-forwarded. Among the flutter of wings and low, growling sounds, more zmay lords appeared. It seemed to me there were more of them than the room, vast as it was, could hold. Most of the newcomers didn't have any clothes on, and their bodies kept the opalescent glow and transparency even when their wings folded. Some looked less human than others. Silvery or varicolored scales glistened. Slit-pupil eyes glanced over me. Facial features shifted from human to reptilian, and then back. The zmay, taking turns looking at me, moved around with a rigid formality, yet appeared utterly relaxed at the same time. It seemed that when more than one of them had an idea or a thought, they expressed it together, using the same lexicon. Groups of a few or all of them would speak as one, or there would be individual voices offering their own opinions. Admittedly, a very effective way of communicating, but the hollow sound of voices gave me an eerie feeling. It was only a few hours ago that I had regained my sanity, and the world managed to turn strange once again, erratic and incomprehensible like a poorly montaged motion picture. It seemed wise to ignore the oddities and try to stay collinear with the rest of the personages, in case somebody thought of waking me up finally. No reason to get scared, not at all.

"Lord Lava," a chorus of voices interrupted my silent attempts at courage, "we are here to support Delian and to protect the interests of the Novies. Give back the girl."

The air crackled with electricity. Sparks flew. A big chunk of the ceiling broke and started its gentle fall down. Small, choking sounds came from my throat. I remembered the stories about people undergoing surgery, paralyzed with neuromuscular blockers, but without general anesthesia, the doctors having forgotten to administer it. The patients were unable to move, but were conscious and feeling the agony of pain as their flesh was cut open. I felt like one of them. I was afraid that the sparks would set my hair on fire, or the zmay would hurt me in some unspeakable way, or the rubble from the ceiling, still suspended in midair, would complete its fall and bury me alive.

"Lord Delian," I heard Gor's urgent voice, "please wake Evgenia. She is scared. Father, do something!"

Lord Lava looked down at me and nodded. He placed me on a cold, smooth surface, probably a table, and I felt Gor's fingers arranging my nightie, which was riding up and twisted around me. Gor tried to put a cupped hand under my head, but Delian displaced him. He didn't seem to push him, he just took over the place Gor had been occupying, and Gor was forced to move aside.

"She wouldn't be in this state if you hadn't tried to wake her up. As you can see, Gor, everything you do causes Evgenia harm. I was only trying to spare her your clumsy attention and precarious presence. Now, instead of resting, she'll need to endure this unnecessary argument."

Delian took my face in his hands and bowed his head over me. His lips opened to reveal the red hot inside of his mouth. His teeth looked unnaturally white and sharp. A brief, tingling kiss, and my body jolted, released from the spell of immobility. A few outstretched hands reached out and helped me up. The scene moved forward again, the zmay exchanged places like cards in a reshuffled deck and arranged themselves around me in two groups. From time to time, there was a shift, and one or another of them seemed either to change, or to be replaced by a new one. Some of them looked at me with kindness, others with marginal courtesy at best. I was, as presumed, in the middle of a long, marble table.

"Sorry, love," Gor murmured.

"Evgenia, tell them they are wasting their time, and I'll take you home." Delian said.

"What the fuck!" I said.

"Evgenia," Lord Lava said, wincing at the profanity. "Please accept our apologies for this incident."

"Apologies not accepted. Who do you think you are?"

"We are Zmay." The roar of voices made me clasp my hands over my ears, but I still could hear them. "We are the Guardians of Earth's civilization."

"Bull crap! Guardians. You are not doing a very good job, it seems to me."

"You are wrong," Lord Lava said, this time the only one speaking. "If not for us, the humans would have ceased to exist a long time ago."

"Really? What is it that you do?"

"We make sure there is a self-sustainable population. We keep the climate in optimal ranges. And we keep you from killing each other to the last man when you try to do so."

"You may be Guardians but you aren't gentlemen. I won't be treated like that again. And you'll leave my town alone. Eh, how do I get home from here?" I said, feeling like a fool. The faces around me started shifting faster, the roar of voices became lauder. No one was paying attention to me, not even Gor. "Oh, stop that!" I cried. "You are making me dizzy."

"You stop fussing, Evgenia," Lord Lava said. "You'll be home in a moment. You've taken enough of our time already. As you can see, we need to take turns being here, arguing over you while the rest of us are dealing with the storms in the troposphere."

"Arguing about what?" I asked.

"You should have figured it out by now," Lord Lava said. "The argument is about my son's right to court you."

"You can argue for as long as you wish, it doesn't matter to me, and it should not matter to Gor. I have given him my permission already."

"It is not for you decide, Evgenia," Delian said. "Neither is it a decision the Staries should revisit. You shall be mine and mine alone."

"Nonsense, I will date whomever I want."

Lord Lava tried to hush me with an impatient gesture, but I was not to be hushed.

"Please kindly do not interrupt me, sir." The crowd in the room moved around in an agitated manner, and I realized that I had very little time left to turn the events in my favor. "Listen, I appreciate your having important business elsewhere, so please allow me to propose a solution—I will give Delian another chance only if Gor is allowed to see me as well."

"That's the spirit!" somebody clapped and cheered gaily. "I like it. So be it!"

"Lord Kiro, think what are you doing," Delian roared. "I won't consent."

"You must, Lord Delian, or it would seem that you are afraid of competition. Now, why don't you all go back to work? We can settle the details tomorrow."

I turned around but couldn't figure out who had spoken. Everybody was taking off in a flutter of wings that lifted my hair and threw dust into my eyes. I was about to demonstrate my full repertoire of obscenities when Gor and Delian stepped closer. They bowed their heads to me, but it was Lord Lava who spoke.

"Once again, Evgenia, we apologize for the inconvenience. Somebody will contact you in the next day or two with our decision."

He scooped me into his arms, and after a short but disorienting falling sensation, I was alone in my room. There was a piece of white batiste clutched in my hand.

Chapter 10

With hushed noises punctuated now and then by the clunking of something knocking against something else, Grandma was tidying my room. Dresses went on hangers, books were lined up, cords and rechargers were untangled and arranged next to their respective devices with fair accuracy. One would think she was preparing for the prospective suitors that were supposed to call any time now. But she couldn't know about this, and obviously she didn't because—or was it by nature of habit?—she was snooping around. Dusting my laptop, she put on her reading glasses and tried to get to my emails. Alas, intrusion of my privacy and sleep had been a fact long before strangers started showing up in my room through the windows. "Almost noon," Grandma murmured to herself or maybe to me, suspecting I was awake, but keeping quiet in case I wasn't, then, suddenly indifferent to the fact, she cried in full volume, "Over here, Father Ohnufrii, the door is open, come right in!"

Father Ohnufrii, a big, hirsute man with matted tresses of hair and beard enough for a few orthodox priests, marched into my room, his black robes billowing around him and his outstretched hand slashing the air with a small posy of garden basil. He dipped the basil in the copper pail he was carrying in his other hand, and spraying large drops of holy water over my bed and my shocked face, hollered, "May the evil leave this chaste maiden's room, may the ungodly spirits lift from her pure bosom—"

"But Father, they are not evil," I interrupted him, squeezing holy water out of my eyes. "They are just pompous and ill-mannered, which you should entirely leave to me."

Father Ohnufrii stopped his chanting and frowned. "What are you talking about, Evgenia?"

"Er...I thought.... What are _you_ talking about? What evil and what chaste maidens?"

"I told you, Father, she is not herself," Grandma whispered to the broad back of the holy warrior.

"Father," I cried when he dipped the posy into his pail again, "please mind the electronics, they are not waterproof! And, for goodness sake, what are you doing in my room?"

"What do you think I am doing? Your grandmother told me you've suffered an awful fright and talked all night in your sleep, thus, she wanted me to rid your room of residual evil."

"I see. I can assure you that I have recovered completely. Thank you, anyway."

Not a bit perturbed by the absence of evil to prevail upon, Father Ohnufrii pushed out a hairy-knuckled hand for me to kiss, and glancing sideways at the silver coin Grandma dropped in the pail with holy water, inquired about the mildew that was plaguing the grapes this year—his vineyard was next to ours. I could hear them discussing fungicides while I drifted back to sleep.

Then—I had barely laid my cheek on the still wet pillow—it was one o'clock in the afternoon and Grandma wanted me out of bed because the contractors had replaced the glass on all the windows with the exception of mine. But first, she wanted to feed me some soup. Uncle walked in a moment later. He brought eight different types of chocolate bars, a beautifully illustrated _Odyssey_ , and the whole 'N' section of paperbacks in the bookstore. Nabokov, Nietzsche, Nesin....

"Why 'N'?"

"First on the right shelf, eye level. This will keep you distracted for a few days while you are recovering."

"Uncle, what few days? I am fine." I swallowed the spoonful Grandma had pushed in my mouth. "No need to worry about me. I just happened to witness this...eh...."

"Earthquake," Grandma prompted.

"—earthquake," I said, and looked at the glassless windows in my room. The glass had blown outward and there were no chips inside.

"We are very lucky," Grandma said when she caught my stare. "Somebody had made arrangements on our behalf. The contractors were here at six o'clock this morning."

"Would you send them to my house after they are done here?" Uncle asked. "It's impossible to book a contractor sooner than a couple of weeks. It seems all the windows in town were broken last night."

Tearing through the splintery image of a windowless town, hot wind blew and filled the room with the last dry remnants of linden petals and stems that had clung to the street trees up until now. There was a moment of silence, the three of us still and thoughtful, powdered in pale yellow dust, waiting for another unseasonable gust of wind, which didn't come, but even so we abandoned my bedroom for the safety of the living room.

"It's never been so hot so early," Grandma remarked. "People in Greece are already fainting on the streets, and that usually doesn't happen before the middle of August. It will be our turn in a week or so."

"Don't worry, Grandma. It's just global warming. Another dinosaur era in the making."

"I hope it's over soon," Grandma said, which made me wonder if she ever listened to me.

I gave up talking to her and turned to Uncle. "Is your car still in the garage? If not, let's get out of here. I know a much cooler place up the mountains."

"No," Grandma said. "You are staying in bed. Your grandfather and I are so worried about you—"

"Then you two stay in bed."

"Don't talk back to me or I am calling your grandfather."

Funny, she always threatened me like that while it was a common knowledge that she wore the pants and the crown, and held the scepter. Grandfather accepted this with the stoicism of most Bulgarian men, and only on rare occasions he would step down to the basement where he expressed his opinions in a hushed tone of voice and always in a different language, usually Turkish.

"She seems fine, Mother," Uncle said. "I could—"

"Ivan Svetoslav! You stay out of this. You have no better sense than she does."

"Please, Grandma, it will do me good. Just for a few hours."

Grandma made a show of how her advice was never taken and how hurt her feelings were. In the end, she agreed that I appeared in good health and could go wherever I wanted, but should I feel dizzy or worn out, I should immediately come back. She told Uncle to go get the car and pick me up from here so that I wouldn't need to walk the six blocks to his apartment. He obeyed, left, came right back to bring in the parcel that the mailman had just delivered, and left again.

In the parcel was a note. 'Dear Evgenia, I regret that your dress was ruined last night. Please accept this one as a replacement. I hope it will be to your liking. Sincerely, Delian.'

I unwrapped the thin, perfumed papers to find another pale-green dress, a slightly different hue than the one I had worn last night, with a designer's tag. I checked their website. The least expensive dress in their summer collection was six thousand dollars.

Grandfather stepped in with the news that all the windows had been repaired and the contractors wouldn't accept any money. Somebody had paid the bill already. Grandfather was going to take the contractors to Uncle's house, and they would charge for their services there. He interrupted Grandma's comments about the generosity of a certain gentleman and ignored the dress she was waving in his face.

"Evgenia, how do you feel about this man?" he asked.

"I don't care about him, and I certainly don't care about six-thousand-dollar dresses from someone who claims to be my father's acquaintance."

While he could have afforded a sixteen-thousand-dollar one, I thought spitefully. Zmay sit on a treasure in their caves, don't they? At least, that was how the fairy tales told it. Furthermore, he should have paid for all the broken windows in town, not just ours.

"I talked to your father this morning," Grandma said. "Dr. Dellin is more than an acquaintance, and if he helps your father get this commission, you will enjoy a vacation home in Hawaii."

"Wife, can you be silent for once?" Grandfather said. "I know you mean Evgenia well, but I don't like this Dr. Dellin and I find his so-called generosity preposterous, if not insulting. And tell me how a delivery from Paris could reach us in such a short time?"

Grandma considered this for a moment, then perked up, dismissing the issue as unimportant in her scheme of things. "I am sure he will be able to explain it," she said breezily. "Since when is it a crime having money and spending it on a girl you like? I think he is fine. My intuition tells me—"

"Your intuition has never been that good."

"I married you, didn't I?" Grandma said, chill piercing her voice like an icicle.

"Keep your head on your shoulders, Evgenia," Grandfather said—as if it were up to me—and left for the basement. The first Turkish words of his frustration, no doubt obscene but vowel-rich and melodic, sounded as soon as he turned the corner.
Chapter 11

"Nothing spoils one's most glamorous moments like pestering from one's grandmother," I told Uncle when we were in his Lada Samara, driving away from the town with the broken windows.

"By glamorous, you mean?"

"Never mind. You wouldn't be interested. It's a contemporary romance with supernatural elements. I'll tell you all about it when it becomes history and when I sort it out. Right now, I could use some explaining myself."

"What is the supernatural part? You found a boy to your liking finally? Is that why you want to go to Stork? Did you meet somebody young and handsome while you were taking pictures?"

"I met two old men there, and they told me they were my great uncles, and...I was too tired to pay attention. Why has no one ever told me that my mother's family was from Stork?"

"You never wanted to hear anything about your mother. Every time I brought it up, you asked me to tell you about Alexander and his horse Bucephalus. I still wonder why."

"What can I say? Some dead people are more interesting than others. Look at this forest. Don't you find it somewhat strange?"

Uncle, obviously relieved by the change of subject, looked around. "Good, dark forest," he said. "Not many like this one are still around. Why do you want to visit your great uncles? Is there a particular reason for that?"

"They asked me to. Can't imagine why. You'll see them; they are two mean-spirited, yet sweet, frisky old codgers.... Uncle! Look at the steam! Is the engine overheating again?"

"It'll last another few minutes. We are almost there."

The car emerged from the anemone-dotted darkness of the forest, and stalling for a moment atop the hump of the bridge, rolled on the cobblestones down the narrow street and then up to the village center. Uncle parked in the shade of the church and took out the empty plastic jug that was never supposed to be empty. We walked to the well, intending to draw some water and refill the boiling radiator. The well had a wooden lid, its two panels secured together with a dumbbell-sized rusty lock, which we both shook a few times before crossing over to the old men's house. I half expected the small door to open as we approached, but it didn't. In fact, it didn't open even after I knocked on it a few times.

"It's awfully hot," Uncle complained and wiped large drops of sweat that had formed on his forehead. With his pale face and dark circles under his eyes, he looked like his own portrait, a ghastly oil painting by the art teacher at his school, a bitter old spinster who had entertained certain hopes about him once. Had she asked I would have told her. Uncle wouldn't end his bachelorhood for any woman that could not measure up to Bathsheba of Bethlehem, at least.

"Do you want to walk around?" I asked. "The village is so picturesque, and you look like you could use some fresh air. Anyway, the engine needs time to cool down."

Uncle looked at me as if I was proposing the most silly and outlandish thing. "Why don't you go and have a nice walk by yourself," he said, "and I'll have a beer at the tavern over there."

"Get some water, too." I pointed to the jug at his feet and strode away.

There wasn't a soul on the streets. Fruit trees hung over the masonry walls enclosing the houses, and their leafy shade was the only relief from the heat. From time to time, a curtain moved in a second-story window, indicating the village was not as abandoned as it seemed. It took me fifteen minutes to reach the upper end where the cobblestones ended and a dirt road continued into the woods. Another fifteen minutes and I was back to the tavern. Half an hour walking in the middle of the street in a bright summer dress should have been sufficient to get me noticed if there were someone to do the noticing. Clearly, there wasn't. The village didn't turn out to be Gor's hanging out spot as I so foolishly had hoped.

Uncle had finished his beer, and we went knocking on the old men's door again. No one answered. Just as we were preparing to leave, they made their appearance on a roaring, cobble-loosening, glassware-shaking motorcycle. It was an old machine with a sidecar, straight out of a WWII movie. The son, rigid but regal, was riding in the sidecar. His father was driving. Their white mustaches rippled back like dog ears from a car window, and their chins were tilted at the same proud angle. When they saw Uncle and me at their gate, they continued for another twenty feet before they stopped. Speaking in loud voices, they consulted each other about our presence. Then, the motorcycle shook violently and backed up.

My heart skipped when I saw the shield mounted on the sidecar, a prominent letter Z inscribed on it. Z for zmay, I thought. "A Zűndapp," Uncle said with admiration in his voice.

The son unbuttoned the leather flaps that covered his legs and lower body, and jumped out of the sidecar. The father switched the machine off and swung a spindly leg over it with dignity and cracking of bones. The two men were dressed in ancient, worn-out leather costumes that made them look handsome in a rugged, crazy way. They wore similar leather helmets and goggles. No doubt, the motorcycle, the costumes, and the helmets were circa 1944. The goggles looked older than that.

"Evgenia, you are right on time," the father said. "We have prepared the deed."

"What deed?"

"You are a very fortunate girl," the son shouted. "Isn't this your uncle? You two better come in."

We stepped through the small door into the courtyard. The two old men invited us to sit on the porch and left us there. We heard them struggling out of their costumes somewhere inside the house, swearing abundantly and with notable creativity. After they had changed, the father joined us at the table while the son busied himself bringing out homemade grappa, picking vegetables from the garden, and making a salad.

"We won't stay for long," Uncle protested. "Besides, I am driving, and I already had a beer."

The father said that this was their oldest batch of grappa, some eighty years old. Wouldn't it be a shame not to try it?

"It would," both Uncle and I agreed, and we all had three shots each before the father leaned back on his chair, indicating that it was time to get to business.

"The deed," he commanded.

The son hurried inside and brought out a large manila envelope. The father took out some documents and pushed them toward me.

"All taken care of. The house is officially yours."

"What house?"

Two pairs of bushy mustaches perked up in my direction. "Haven't you been listening to what we told you, girl? You are the last on the distaff side of your line—a disgraceful bunch of harlots, all of them—but the house is yours. We have kept it in good repair. If you wish, you could move in right away."

Uncle looked at the papers and nodded, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "Yes, there is a house in your name. Where is it? Can we go and see it?"

We waited for the son to clear the table and wash the dishes, then the father fumbled through a multitude of keys hanging on a hook next to the front door. He pulled out a ring heavy with keys and led the way out. The four of us started toward the upper end of the village. The old men had wide, springy strides, and Uncle couldn't keep up. He was out of breath after a few steps and fell behind. I walked with him. We caught up with the old men in front of another big gate with a small door carved in one of the panels.

"You are the sole beneficiary of your grandparents' will, do you know that?" Uncle said, his breath whistling and his tone of voice morose and defensive. "I don't mind. You will inherit my apartment as well."

I wanted to say something about my still hoping for a cousin or two, but it sounded far-fetched and insincere even as a thought. O Bathsheba, where art thou?

The father unlocked the small door, murmuring something about being too old and his son being too lazy to take proper care of the grounds, but that the house was fine. Inside the gate, there was a large cobbled courtyard. A pathway to the house cut through a yard that had grown wild a long time ago. The house looked better than the yard, at least from a distance. The second floor walls were whitewashed. The wood on the windows and the wrap-around veranda was freshly stained. There was a warm, inhabited air around it as if the people had just stepped out and would be back any minute. The only sign of desertion was the absence of flowers. Upon opening the gate, small lizards ran between the stones of the first floor walls and disappeared into the crevices.

"I hope there are not snakes here," I said, watching my step.

"There may be," the father said in a dismissive tone of voice. "Look at this beauty. Twelve rooms. Big kitchen. Basement with a wine cellar. Two five-ton wood barrels for wine. Twenty smaller ones for grappa—we have almost drunk them dry, however. Consider this a payment for the upkeep. All the furnishings are included. Home-spun carpets and blankets by the dozens. All yours, Evgenia. What do you say?"

"Wow," I said. "What about plumbing?"

"You have your own well. And the privy is back there."

"No bathroom?"

"There is a tin tub in the barn. It fits two people."

"Aha," I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

The first floor had a vast dining room with a ten-foot long table, a kitchen with a wood-burning stove, and a washroom where I could put the tub until indoor plumbing was installed. The well was just outside the kitchen door, which opened not to the back of the house, but to the side. A steep stairway led to the second floor where the twelve rooms waited for me with their screeching floors, their beautiful walnut furniture, and their bright carpets.

I went on exploring my new house, left all alone. The two old men and Uncle had gone to the basement, presumably to enjoy the size and contents of the barrels. It was getting dark outside. To my pleasant surprise, the house had electricity. I started going from room to room, switching the lights on. If there was a zmay in the area half worth his salt, he should come and see what was happening in this house, brightly lit for the first time in decades. No one came except Uncle with the two old men, who asked me if I owned a power plant and informed me that from now on I was responsible for the electricity bill.

On our way back, shortly after entering the woods, but luckily before the sharp curves began, the car sneezed a cloud of vapor and came to an abrupt stop, choking and trembling like something alive. The first kaput for the season, executed in the usual lack of suitability.

"You forgot to refill the radiator, didn't you?" I asked in my most cheerful voice.

Uncle scratched the side of his neck.

"What happened to the jug? Did you leave it in the tavern?"

He had. We got out, and Uncle, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the frame, pushed the car to the edge of the asphalt. He had perfected this way of moving his car and could often be seen pushing it through town in the direction of his apartment if the problem seemed manageable or in the direction of Toni's garage if not, refusing the help of the passers-by and accepting the cheers and ridicule in good humor. Once, hanging out with my friends downtown, I saw him going first up then down the street, apparently having misjudged the severity of the problem. The image inserted itself in the composite memory I have of my hometown, and every time after that when walking the streets in a nostalgic dream, Uncle was there, pushing his car this way or that, sometimes closer, sometimes in the distance, but always a part of the picture.

Presently, our options were limited to two equally unpleasant, if not humiliating, ones. I could go back to the village and fetch the two-gallon jug from the tavern, fill it with water and come back. Or, I could call the two old men, ask them for help, and listen to their sarcastic remarks.

While Uncle stood over the open hood waiting for the steam to disperse, I looked under the seats. Aside from my almost empty water bottle, there wasn't any other container, but in the trunk I found Uncle's rubber fishing boots. One of them could easily hold two gallons of water. I showed my find to Uncle and started up the road—we had passed over the bridge five minutes ago—when it came to my attention that the ground sloped down on one side of the road into a deep ravine.

"The river must be somewhere down there," I told Uncle and marched into the ferns.

After a few steps, the dark forest grew darker and acquired an ostentatious and menacing resemblance to a fairy tale forest. It was drizzling, and fog lay at the bottom of the ravine, making it impossible to see how deep it was and if there was any water. A faint but offensive smell drifted up, polluting the clean scent of the woods and sticking greasily to my damp skin.

Waiting for my night vision, I made small progress down the slope, which turned out much steeper than I had expected. At last, the ferns gave way to a patch of lower vegetation, maybe moss. I touched it with the tip of my sandal, and the next moment I was sliding, trying to grab at the ferns that now were out of reach, at the low branches of the trees, at the tree trunks flying by.

Out of breath but intact, I tumbled to the bottom where I lay for the shortest time, propelled upright by the feel of something cold and slimy under me. What I thought was moss turned out to be fungus. It was soft looking, black or maybe ink blue, and repulsive to all the senses. And the stench, oh, the stench! It was so wrong, so out of place. I wasn't sure what was more disturbing about it—its alien nature or the sweet, flowery scent that didn't mask but enhanced the foul odor. It was like a week-old corpse of an extraterrestrial being, dead from a flesh-eating disease and rotting in a pond with water lilies.

To the touch, the fungus was wet and spongy. I've never heard that such a life form existed in this part of the world. No doubt, it was another unwelcome exotic introduction like the banana slug. I seemed to have fallen into the center of the infestation. Tendrils of fungus spread and thinned out a few feet away. Sure that Uncle would want to see it, I stepped out of the patch and tried to collect some of the fungus on a piece of bark. It was resilient and impossible to break. Crouching over, I hacked at it with the bark, thinking I should stop right now and see about the water, but kept hacking, and was I sorry when I hit a soft spot that burst like an overripe boil and squirted warm liquid at my face.

I took a breath to shriek, but the feeling that something was watching me came from behind and poked like a cold, sharp finger between my shoulder blades. "Take it easy, would you," I scolded myself, suppressing the shiver and wiping my brow. Red streaks marked the back of my hand. The finger on my back poked harder. I looked up, not daring to turn around. The fog seemed denser above me, and only the fire of Uncle's cigarette, drawing arcs way up where the road should be, was visible. "Stop being such a goose," I advised myself, and started a thorough review of the situation.

It wasn't hard to put the cause and effect together. The small wound on my forehead had opened, and my own blood had soaked into the fungus from where I had extracted it so skillfully and to such a vexing effect.

Perfectly calm now, I took another look at my surroundings. At eye level, caught in the brambles, hung the rubber boot. I took it and hurried toward the sound of running water that made itself audible just now, feeling like a fool for having surrendered to the illusions of a trite horror scene so easily.

Back in the once-again-running car, trying to make an ancient Band-Aid stick to my forehead, I told Uncle that I would like to keep my new possession a secret for the near future. I surprised him less than I surprised myself. I wished he would ask me why so that I could put my decision into words and understand it, but he only said that in this case I should give his address for tax queries and such, and leave the papers with him for safekeeping.

It was dark when we reached town, and the streetlights were on. Things were looking better. The debris had been swept away, and many houses had glass in their windows. The hole in front of our house hadn't been filled yet. The yellow tape was still around it, and the street was closed to motorized traffic. Uncle dropped me off at the corner and went to see how his own windows were coming along.

As I ate dinner with my grandparents, they told me that the police had been taking pictures and measurements of the hole in the street all afternoon. Out-of-town government agents had been knocking on doors around the neighborhood and questioning people about last night. They had come twice looking for me. The second time, they had said I should go to the police station at my first convenience, but no later than tomorrow morning. It seemed that the epicenter of the explosion had been right in front of our house, and it hadn't been an earthquake.
Chapter 12

I didn't go to the police the next day. Or the day after. I was expecting visitors, eagerly one of them, reluctantly the other. Gor was my age and he was in love with me. Any way one looked at it, he was a better match for me. Delian could try, it was his business, but he didn't stand a chance, and if he were smart, he would not waste his time and mine.

The waiting made it impossible to attend but to the simplest activities. The first day I helped Grandfather gather hay, then rode on top of the pile in the horse cart through town. The following day I spent with Grandma, picking cherries and making preserves. On the third day, when it had become clear no one was coming, I started complaining that there was nothing to do. If at least I had a moped, I could go places. Uncle's car was always in the shop when one needed a ride. My bicycle was ten years old and made strange noises. Grandmother said that a moped was out of question, and if I had nothing else to do, I could go to the police station. Suddenly, there were things to do. I could go swimming in the river, or memorize a poem, or shorten all my skirts by four inches.

A call from the police station made the decision for me. I had to go right away, or they would send a car for me. I was there in fifteen minutes. They made me wait more than an hour because someone who wanted to talk to me wasn't there. When he came, he introduced himself as Mr. Casko, an SOF agent. "SOF," I repeated, raising my eyebrows, I hoped not impolitely.

SOF, the Bulgarian Special Operation Force, was famous for nothing. No one knew for sure how they kept themselves occupied. Aside from the few old, self-endorsed books glamorizing their imaginary struggle with western spies, these days they seemed to have fallen into oblivion.

Mr. Casko invited me into a sparsely furnished room and sat on the other side of a desk, without removing his sunglasses. He was the stereotype of a secret agent as depicted by pop culture—the sallow complexion, the enlarged pores and the small pox scars, the metal undertones in the otherwise nondescript voice.

"Ms. Bolyarski, you have double citizenship. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"Do you know that you don't enjoy U.S. protection in the country of your birth?"

"I wasn't aware of that. Why would I need protection?"

Mr. Casko took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to me. I refused.

"I am not saying you are in need of protection," he said as he inhaled deeply to get his cigarette burning. "Sorry if it sounded like that."

"Why did you mention it then?"

"I wanted to remind you that you are a Bulgarian citizen, and as such you are obliged to help this investigation."

"What are you investigating?"

He didn't answer my question. He went to the window to tap the ash off his cigarette. When he sat back in his chair, he said, "I want to ask you about your association with other foreign citizens, and I want to hear the truth, all of it."

"Mr. Casko, do I need a lawyer?"

"Ms. Bolyarski, answer my questions."

"I don't think so," I said. "I think I will leave now. Good day, Mr. Casko."

He leaned back in his chair, and squinting from the cigarette smoke drifting into his eyes, watched me as I walked to the door. The door was locked.

"You need to calm down," he said when I stopped trying the doorknob. "I wasn't going to tell you, but the sooner you clear your involvement the better for you. The military is interested in this case."

"What are you talking about?"

"Please sit down. Thank you. Look at the picture from our point of view. An explosion with unexplainable origin occurs, and you happen to be there, with two other foreigners. How would you explain that?"

"I don't know about two foreigners. I had spent the evening with a friend of my father. His name is Dr. Dellin, and he is a meteorologist and a professor at the Sorbonne. He is of Bulgarian ancestry, by the way."

"What about the person he took in his car when he left?"

"I didn't see him taking anybody in his car."

"A number of people, including your grandparents, reported that there had been a person on the ground who appeared hurt, and Mr. Dellin had supposedly taken him to the hospital. No such person was brought to the hospital that night."

"I didn't see anything. I was in shock."

"You had been seen with a man of a similar description as the one on the ground only a few nights ago."

"If you are going to base your investigation on Aunt Leta's gossip, you won't get far. I told you all I know. Will you unlock the door?"

"You are not being very cooperative, miss. This is unfortunate. I will let you go now. Please sign here."

The agent pushed some papers across the table. I read the whole thing before I signed. It was a confidentiality order.

The same afternoon, in my hammock waiting to doze off, I opened the book I had forgotten there. Gor's note from a few nights ago slipped out from between the pages. I looked at the handwriting, the long, elegant gothic strokes, and I could almost hear Gor's deep, dark voice whispering my name. I sniffed the piece of paper. The evergreen scent was gone and was replaced with the dusty and slightly damp smell of an old library book.

Grandfather came out of the house dragging the phone cord behind him to tell me that Peter and Paul had three tickets for a rock show tonight and I was invited if I had nothing else to do. As it happened, I had not. "She has not," Grandfather spoke in the receiver and after a short pause again to me, "Paul has drawn the short straw and is going to be the designated driver." He relayed the last piece of information with a puzzled tone of voice and with a slightly confused, introspective expression on his face.

Since I was going to a death metal concert, I dressed appropriately. Boots, leather jacket, torn black shirt with the logo of another death metal band in front, and black jeans, very tight and torn as well. Grandma was appalled. The twins approved.

We climbed in their father's car, an indeterminate make and model with manual turn knobs for the windows and no air-conditioning. The twins had to shout so that I could hear them over the noise of the air turbulence.

"We recommended an Aprilia," Peter yelled.

"We'll teach you how to ride it," Paul roared from the back seat.

"I'm getting a moped?"

"You are. Tomorrow morning. Act surprised. We promised not to tell you."

"I don't understand," I mused. "Where did they get the money for it? And so quickly, I haven't even started throwing tantrums yet."

"Thank your grandfather. He is worried that your summer is not going well and you look unhappy. The money is what they had saved for your wedding."

"Grandma must have been worried about my well-being too, but she tried to fix it cheaply by having Father Ohnufrii bathe me in holy water."

"Yeah, she said that now you should be content with her hand painted china as a wedding present. We said we'd be happy with the china, whomever you choose to marry."

"How could one ever choose between two equally handsome, marvelous, sweet...hey, Peter! Watch the road!"

The queue at the theater front doors was long, and we barely got in for the opening band, which turned out to be not so good. Peter and Paul introduced me to their favorite cocktail, the Naphtha, a triple-shot mixture with a dirty color and a pungent smell, and once we had had a few each, things improved. After the intermission, four very large Nordic dudes came running to the stage, shaking long, blond manes. Peter recommended shots of rum for stamina and led the way. As the mosh pit bubbled around us, we found ourselves pushed along a current of sweaty hands and encompassing warmth. The Nordic guys, cheerfully growling about shallow graves and maggot-covered pale maidens, made good use of their instruments. The crowd went wild. The security guards poured water in the mouths of the thirsty and took away the ones that fainted. It was great fun.

When the show was over, we didn't remember who was supposed to stay sober and drive. Peter and Paul were trashed worse than I was, so I refreshed with cheap champagne served in a plastic cup and drove back. Very slowly. Stopped twice for Paul to throw up. Got to town after one-thirty. I didn't think I was in good enough shape to walk, so I left the twins in front of their house, endured their sloppy, overly wet goodnight kisses, and took their dad's car to my house with the promise to return it first thing tomorrow morning.

Our street was still closed. As soon as I parked at the corner, another car pulled behind me. It was Delian's Maserati. I took the last sip of the champagne grown stale in the cup holder and got out. Delian walked to meet me. When he was about four feet away from me, he inhaled deeply and glared.

"Who have you been with?" he asked. "A horde of unwashed barbarians?"

"None of your business," I said, slurring just a little.

"You are intoxicated."

"Yup, and happily so. By my own will, not drugged by you and handled like a—"

"It was Gor's fault, you know that."

"How dare you blame Gor! Oh, why do I bother?" I reached into the car to get my backpack, and caught sight of Delian's face in the back mirror. Something in his expression made me almost sick. Or it could have been the effect of the substandard beverages I had at the concert. It didn't matter. I jumped into the car, locking first the door on my side, then the other front door, then almost falling head first, I locked the back doors. When I pulled myself back up, in my seat, Delian was sitting next to me. Another gush of nausea made my head spin. Something was profoundly wrong. I wasn't in the driver's seat as I should be, Delian was. I was in the passenger seat, and the car seemed different. The car was different. It was his car.

I thought the appropriate response would be to puke all over the dashboard, but I had always had a strong stomach, and unless I stuffed two fingers down my throat, it wouldn't be possible. Instead, I gave him a glare to match his own.

"Didn't I just mention I dislike being handled like this?"

"Evgenia, why do you do this to me? What is the problem? Are you angry that it took me so long to come to you?"

"Don't make me laugh. I wouldn't care if I never saw you again."

"I was busy, that's why I couldn't come earlier. Haven't you heard about the cyclone forming south of Indonesia? It's all over the press."

"I haven't followed the news lately."

"I can see that. You've been preoccupied with getting wasted."

I hiccupped and was about to respond in some smart way, when I remembered. "Delian, let's forget about this for now. I want to talk to you."

"I want to talk to you, too, but after you sober up."

"I am fine. Listen, please. There is a problem, and you should take care of it because it's your fault."

"What is it? Why are you whispering? Would you prefer to come to my hotel if you are uncomfortable talking here?"

"I don't want the receptionist to see me going to your room at two in the morning."

"I'll make sure he is asleep."

I must have agreed because a few minutes later we were in the hotel lobby. As promised, the receptionist was snoring at his desk, his hands hanging down and his face square on a thick phone book. We stepped into the elevator, and Delian stopped breathing. He didn't inhale until we got out. The first thing he did when we were inside his room was to ask me to take a shower. He said it would clear my head.

It didn't. It made things worse. When I came out of the shower fifteen minutes later, the floor seemed to be constantly sinking, and the pattern on the carpet swirled, brown and mustard yellow. Double vision made it impossible to tell which one was the real chair of the two swaying in front of my eyes, and I almost sat in the wrong one. Delian's robe was too big for me and kept sliding down my shoulders. Water dripped from my hair, dampening the back of the chair. A towel that I must have dropped lay on the floor, but it seemed too wet and too crumpled to be worth the effort to pick up and use.

Delian tossed the discarded towel into the bathroom, brought out a fresh one and started patting my hair dry. When he was satisfied with the result, he brought me a glass of cold water and watched me while I drank.

"How much did you drink at the concert?"

"It was such a good show," I muttered. "The rum, however, was execrable."

"Glad to hear you liked the concert. How much did you drink?"

"Two or three beers. Why should you care? May I have some more water? Thank you."

"What did you want to tell me, Evgenia?"

"Oh...yes. The window breaking has attracted the SOF's attention. I was questioned in the police station today. Some Mr. Casko wants to play badass agent, and he tried to scare me into telling him about you and Gor. Since you are here on official business, I told him who you are. But I said that I hadn't seen anybody else at the scene. I am sure he will want to talk to you. He wants to know why the unconscious man you took in your car didn't turn up in the hospital and where he is now. I want to know the same thing. Where is Gor?"

"I imagine home. I am not his sitter. His father is responsible for him."

"But he should be back from wherever the cyclone kept you busy, no?"

"Gor? What use could we have of him up there? He is a son, and he stays home like the rest of the sons."

"Oh, I wonder why he didn't come to see me. You've been drugging me again!"

"I haven't. I didn't need to. When I did it, it was for your protection and for the protection of others. Four people from this town almost died. The lives of more than seventy million people in the Indonesian region are still in grave danger. Should I worry about Gor creating problems down here while I am busy saving lives? Or are you so smitten with a silly boy with dark locks and curly eyelashes that you don't care anymore about others?"

"What do you mean you didn't need to drug me? You knew that Gor wouldn't come?"

"Yes."

It seemed that my proposition had offended Gor. Or he had decided that I was not worth the trouble. I felt sad, and angry, and most of all, tired. I could not believe that my sweet, beautiful demon had given up on me so easily.

"But his father said...and Gor said..."

"Do not be concerned with what anyone tells you but me. I'll explain everything to you when you feel better."

"I feel better," I murmured, but my eyelids were getting heavy, and my head, still ringing from the loud music, was getting lighter.

"You don't look better," he said as he kneeled next to my chair. "But you look beautiful all the same. With this wet hair and sleepy eyes you look like Ophelia just saved from drowning. You look like a girl that needs loving."

His face came closer to mine and before his features moved out of focus, I saw his eyes turning an odd color, their expression predatory and full of hunger for me. I caught sight of his face transforming from merely handsome to unbearably beautiful, a Roman statue, the marble flashed with passion. His breath was burning the side of my face like a hot desert wind and his arms were closing around me. I wasn't sure I liked being compared to a drowning girl, but my body was responding. His need became my need, and my mind could do nothing but follow. "I am not on the pill," I said, and next, I was out of the robe, lost in Delian's arms, his mouth on mine, flying with him to the bed.

We didn't touch it. Our bodies hovered in midair above it. Delian had taken most of his clothes off without me even noticing. His wings spread and whirled around us. His hands found every curve of my body, his tongue slipped through my lips and told me that I had never been kissed before. I thought I'd die, oh, I was dying....

Abruptly, his caresses ceased, and he held me still. My groans and loud breathing had prevented me from hearing the sound that had caught his attention. I turned my head to see what he was looking at. The window glass was popping and clinking, and spider web cracks spread from the center out. Then, it collapsed in slow motion.

I laughed. "The glass mongers have had enough work in this town already, Mr. I-Can-Keep-My-Cool."

"It wasn't me."

Was he pissed! I wouldn't want his anger directed at me, ever. But he was very much able to keep his cool because without letting me out of his arms, he opened the bathroom door, grabbed my clothes and boots from the floor, and so fast that I wasn't sure what had happened, I was in my own room and he was gone. As I lay in my lonely bed, I wondered: Can zmay do it like humans at all, or will they tease me until I burn like a torch in their hands?

I slept and had very entertaining dreams that night. In some of them, I was riding my new moped.
Chapter 13

The next day, a shiny new Aprilia was parked at our gate, waiting for my shouts of surprise and excitement, which, on my part, didn't take any effort to deliver. The Aprilia was bright red, just like the one in my dream, and almost as easy to ride as a bicycle. I rode it up and down the street, having promised not to go any farther before the twins declared me competent.

Over breakfast while I was telling my grandparents about the show and they were wondering where the world was headed, the phone rang. It was Delian asking me to go on a hike with him, promising the owed explanations.

The only explanation I cared to hear was if I was going to see Gor again. I wondered if it had been Gor breaking the hotel windows, and if he had seen me making out with Delian. I hoped not. My behavior last night was shameful, I wasn't trying to deceive myself, but I wasn't going to dwell on it either. After all, nothing had happened.

I prepared—shorts, tank top, hiking boots, hat, sunglasses, water bottle, backpack, and good intentions. Grandfather asked me to find out if Delian had paid the bill for the glass repairs, and that reminded me of another unresolved issue—the dress. I packed it in its original box, put the box inside a black garbage bag to confuse the neighbors, and went to the corner where the Maserati was already waiting for me.

Delian got out of the car to open the door for me. I glanced over the never-worn-before hiking attire, the designer sunglasses, and the rest of this very handsome but jaded and superficial man, and wondered how I could have found him so attractive last night. If I could only avoid his artful kisses, clever hands, and dangerous proximity, I should be safe from making the same mistake again. I got in the car, pretending I hadn't noticed that he expected we would kiss. He went around to the driver's seat, looking puzzled, then displeased when I handed the box with the dress to him and told him I wouldn't accept such an expensive present.

"Money has no meaning to me. Please keep it."

"If you are so wealthy, why don't you pay for all the broken windows?"

"The checks are already in the mail. From my personal funds. I haven't even asked Gor's family for reimbursement."

"Very noble of you. Hey, where are we going?"

We had left the town, going south. Golden wheat fields rushed past on both sides of the road. The Balkan Mountains were behind us, we were headed in the opposite direction, and the Danube plains were not known for their hiking opportunities.

"I've bought a property nearby," Delian said. "A cheap hotel is not fitting for our rendezvous, don't you agree?"

"I was under the impression we were going hiking."

"I was under the impression that this was what you would like your grandparents to believe."

"It may be so, but I dislike arrangements to be made on my behalf without my consent, and you don't seem to understand that."

"I want to take care of you."

"I haven't asked you to do that."

"Let's not be unpleasant again. Once you understand my motivations and accept the candor of my feelings for you, you will never feel mistreated again."

"How old are you, Delian?"

"Much older than you think."

"Oh, so in reality you are a wizened old man? How exciting!"

"Wrong. Zmay do not age. My appearance is for the sake of my current undertakings. I can look younger for you when we are alone."

"I didn't have that in mind. I was just wondering what limits your understanding of human nature. If not age and not experience, what is it then?"

"You are mistaken, Evgenia. I understand you better than you understand yourself. This is where the problem lies. I've given it some thought. I'll explain things to you—it would probably take less than forty-five minutes—and after the misgivings you have about me are cleared and your curiosity satisfied, we can do whatever you want. Does that sound good?"

"What makes you think I am curious?"

"Of course you are. You've always been." A suppressed, short-lived confusion appeared on his face and fled. "Or aren't you?"

"What is there to be curious about? I gather the myths are true. Zmay wander in the forest or chase clouds in the sky when they are not busy chasing girls. And you can do neat tricks, which so far haven't benefited me greatly but certainly are amusing to watch."

Delian laughed. "You are like a prickly pear, Evgenia, thorny outside, luscious inside. Oh, how I crave you, how I want to split you in two and suck on your inner sweetness until my thirst for you is spent." His teeth gleamed, white and sharp, and ready to sink into me.

"Hey, you are not planning to devour me, are you? Or suck my blood or other bodily fluids?" Another burst of laughter was the answer. "Where are we going, Delian?"

"You'll see. I want it to be a surprise."

We turned onto a dirt road that didn't agree much with the Maserati's suspension. After a short, bumpy ride, a house came into view. From the traditional roofline and deep eaves to the contemporary materials and glasswork, it was the house I had designed for the end-of-the-year project that had gotten me an A plus and first place in two international student competitions. Even the grounds, to the last blade of grass, to the last drop of water in the stream, were identical to the grounds I had sketched.

We crossed the wooden bridge, and Delian parked under the oaks surrounding the house. Inside it was cool and smelled faintly of mint and garden savory. An open window overlooked the stream, which seemed to meander around the house, enclosing it from at least three sides. Or the house could have been situated on a small island—I hadn't been specific about that in my drawings.

"What do you say about this trick?" Delian asked. "Neat, isn't it?"

I went around touching things, feeling the warmth of the wood, the coolness of the windowpanes, the bumpy texture of the stucco walls.

"Is this real?"

"Of course, it's real. It's just a house, Evgenia. I can make all your dreams real, haven't you realized that by now? No one else can give you what I can."

I turned to the window, strangely unsettled, angry with myself and angry with the man who could offer me my dreams but who wasn't the one I wanted. He came closer and pressed to my back, his arms encircling me. "We must live in Paris for a while, but this could be our place when you wish to spend time here."

"A house here, Paris, all arrangements already made. Us? Living together?"

He rotated me and looked at me, his eyes hard. "Evgenia, I know you are very young, but I am not one of your little boyfriends. You can't toss into the wind every effort I make to please you. You can't play games with me."

"I am not playing any games. It is your fault that you assume things."

"What about last night? You wanted me as much as I wanted you."

"But what has some fun under the sheets—or in our case in the air—got to do with suddenly talking about living together?"

"It seems I've been presuming. Humans don't place much value on sex."

"Oh, yeah, we are such monkeys, aren't we? Thinking about fornication all the time. And what are you?"

"Don't get angry at me again. I am far from deriding the ways of your species. Part of me is human after all. Let's talk, please. We need harmony, we need to start appreciating each other." Delian pointed at a crystal decanter and two glasses on a small table. "A glass of wine?"

I couldn't see why not. A glass of wine is never a bad thing. Delian let me read the label of the empty bottle next to the decanter. Wow, a '47 Cheval Blanc. He poured, calm as a maître d' in a fancy restaurant, and after I took a sip, he asked how I liked it. "Never had any better," I admitted, feeling friendlier. Not by much, only as friendly as one is friendly when offered the best glass of wine in one's life.

"I see the human part of you enjoys wine," I said after he refilled the glasses. "What is the other part? In the stories you are part reptilian as well, dragon or something."

"Your myths are more wistful than accurate. Zmay are _Ijn_ , an alien to your world matter. _Ijn_ is our true nature, over which the human and reptilian halves close like a shell."

"Most curious story. What else?"

Delian took my hand and started kissing my fingers one by one in such delicious way that all my good intentions flew out the window. "We do not have females. Once in a lifetime we mate with a human woman and have with her one male child."

I drew my hand back. "Aha, that's what you need me for. You and Gor, both."

"You are going to be mine, Evgenia. We will have a wonderful future together. Give me some time, and I will convince you."

"Gor was doing a pretty good job convincing me of the same thing before you showed up."

"You don't want to mate with Gor. He belongs to the traditionalists' faction, the Staries, that stays out of human society. Think what kind of life you'd have with him. No family, no friends, no concerts, no parties, no freedom. Year after year, alone in a forest, not seeing another human, except for Gor's mother who, by the way, has been devastated by her son's infatuation with you. She hates the mere thought of you becoming his mate."

Why would Gor's mother hate me, I wondered. She didn't know me. Maybe she had learned about what happened in Delian's hotel room, and thought me a strumpet. How old-fashioned. It didn't matter, she would come to like me once she got to know me. Everyone liked me.

Delian had dropped his thirtyish appearance, and the way he looked at me made me blush. The evils of sexual frustration Dr. Kazak was talking about had never been clearer to me than now. Oh, why couldn't I just fall in love with one or the other, preferably Gor—but only if he would give up his traditional ways, of course—and soon, as soon as possible. I must try harder. Who could have thought that falling in love was so difficult? I should have practiced.

"And you? What makes you better?" I asked my second choice of a romantic interest, I hoped in my most casual tone of voice.

"I am the eldest of the progressive group, the Novies. Most of us are distinguished scientists and artists. As you know, I am the best in my field."

"It must be of a certain advantage being a zmay, isn't it?"

"I don't see you not using your own advantages, Evgenia. And it would be a waste not to do it." He caught my irritated stare and changed the subject. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"This is enough information for one day. Thank you. If you have nothing to add, I am ready to go home."

Delian reached over, and pulled me out of my chair, swiftly, without even bumping my knees on the edge of the table, swinging me above it and onto his lap. Instinctively, I grabbed at his neck for support. He spoke so close to my ear that it felt like a kiss. "What is the rush? Let's do something together."

"Kindly let go of me, or I'll spit on you."

"I thought all was cleared up between us. I thought you accepted that you are mine. Or do you like me that little?"

"I am no one's, and I don't like sitting on your obviously hard cock while trying to think."

"Tsk, tsk. What a dirty mind. Maybe we should go somewhere in public if you find my manliness so distracting." His hands moved from my arms to my shoulders, rubbing them lightly, then around and down my back resting there with a perfect fit as if he had been holding me a lifetime. His tongue flicked out of his mouth, between words, to taste my skin. "I can take you to any event in the past and the present. There is a lovely party tonight in Monte Carlo. I can introduce you to some remarkable people."

"Monte Carlo? If you can take me into the past? You must be kidding." Suddenly, I was afraid I had misunderstood. "But, can you, really? Time travel is possible after all?"

"What I offer you is not time travel. It's a visit into my memories. The past, saved by all my predecessors in the smallest detail, is now in my possession and available for you to enjoy."

"I guess that's good enough. How far back can we go?"

"Three hundred million years, give or take a millennium."

"Can we go and see Rome in the time of Caesar?"

"Any time you wish."

"Can we do it now?"

"In the blink of your eye."

I blinked.

The familiar flutter in my stomach, which I associate with taking off, was the only suggestion of a change. We were in a large, crowded place, surrounded with togaed men. They were Roman Senators if their togas with a broad purple stripe down the right shoulder meant anything. They were listening to a man speaking from the opening in the middle of the crowd. The speaker had on a tunic striped with purple and red. On his head, he had an oak-leaf crown.

I had always wondered how men dressed in togas managed to sustain the dignified postures portrayed by the remaining statues. Did they practice, making sure to stand straight and not trip when they walked, or was it a part of their nature? Without exception, the men around us carried themselves with grace and decorum. The man in the middle did it better than anyone.

"This isn't right," I whispered to Delian. "The Roman Senate is supposed to meet in Curia Hostilia, the Senate House. And they are supposed to be seated in those posh folding chairs, curule chairs."

"It is their New Year meeting. It's going to be short, that's why they are standing. This the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and the man speaking is Gaius Julius Caesar in his double authority as a senator and pontifex maximus."

"That's him! Oh, he looks...magnificent!" I let go of Delian's hand and tried to edge closer.

"He is balding and going on forty. I thought you didn't like older men. Or are you trying to make me jealous?" Delian spoke mockingly, but lifted me in his arms so I could get a better look.

"I don't care. Age doesn't matter when it is Caesar's. Oh, I am so much in love with him."

"Do you want to know what he is saying?" Delian interrupted my excited prattle.

"Of course."

"Give me a kiss."

My hands were already around his neck, and I offered my lips willingly, with only the smallest pang of guilt.

His kiss didn't carry anything sexual. It was deep, but different. I felt my tongue tingling, then a sharp pain in my right eye and somewhere in the back of my head. I gasped and struggled, trying to get away. Delian didn't let me out of his arms. He kissed my teary eyes, speaking softly, "The pain will go away. Give it a moment."

"What did you do to me? Why—?"

"Shh...listen."

The murmur around us suddenly became comprehensible. The orator's high, clear voice came through, and I was able to understand every word.

"I can't believe this. It is so wonderful! How did you do it?"

"The way I do everything else...with _Ijn_. I'll tell you more some other time. Now enjoy the experience."

"What is the extent of it? Can I leave this building? Can I drink their wine? Can I taste their food? Can I kiss Caesar?"

"It is a wholesome experience. If you like it here, I will bring you as often as you wish. Rome was my first home. I was born in a house not far from here." Delian, no doubt, was aware of my fascination with what he was telling me. I saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes before he hid his emotions away and started humoring me. "To answer your other questions: yes, yes, yes, and no, definitely no, you shall not kiss Caesar. Kiss me."

I did, and in a blink of an eye, I was back in the country house with Delian's arms still around me. But he was already pushing me back, changing into his winged form and growing transparent.

"What's happening?" I asked, looking around, searching for the reason for his sudden transformation.

"The cyclone! I must go right now. You stay here. You'll be safe."

"How long will you be gone?" I cried at the empty space in front of me. Delian's clothes were still on their way to the floor, but not even a shimmer in the air gave any indication that there had been a man there only a moment ago.

I gathered my belongings and headed back to town. He had said it was about fifteen miles.
Chapter 14

It took three sweaty hours to get to a bus stop serving a small village on the left side of the road. In the meantime, a number of cars stopped, and each time I was offered a ride. None of the people seemed trustworthy enough for me to have accepted. There was nothing to provide shade at the bus stop, and after I waited for a half an hour under the hot afternoon sun, I went to seek shelter in the ruins of an old building about fifty feet away. The bus rolled down right then, lifting the dust from the road and dragging it behind like a bushy tail. The driver slowed down, but seeing no one at the stop, accelerated and left me shouting and waving in a cloud of blue fumes.

When a car with two young men stopped soon after, I jumped into the back seat without hesitation. The guys turned out fine. They even didn't ask if I needed to be satisfied by one or both of them as any red-blooded Balkan male would in this situation. I never hitchhiked in America, but often did here. The worst one could expect was the above mentioned inquiry, which, as an old truck driver once explained to me, was not because the men wanted to have sex with every girl on the road, or at least not only that, but because they thought that was what the girls expected, and unwilling to offend them, felt obliged to offer it. The two guys, for some reason insensitive to my needs, dropped me off at the post office and went their way.

I was walking down Main Street, five minutes away from my house and a cool shower, when a police car pulled next to me. It startled me for a second, but then I saw that the cop inside was Spas. He was almost a neighbor, an old, friendly guy who had served first in the militia and was now with the police, without making enemies with anybody. He reached and opened the door for me to get in.

"I have a message for you." he said.

He was facing me without seeing me. His eyes were unfocused as if he was looking not at me but at something in the distance. His voice, too, sounded odd, without inflection. He spoke before I had the chance to ask him if something was wrong with him.

"If you want to see Gor, go to Stork and call him. He is waiting for you."

"What?"

Spas snapped into his normal self. "Evgenia, hmm... I am sorry...I have been ordered to take you to the police station."

It was clear that he wasn't aware of being used as a recording device. I wondered who had left the message and why Gor wouldn't just show up if he was allowed to see me. And what number should I call? I had to figure out that later. Now, there was an unpleasant issue to deal with.

"Am I under arrest?" I asked.

"Of course not."

"Then I won't come."

"You better come." Spas scratched his forehead and coughed and blew his nose in a not-so-clean handkerchief. "I told him you are a local gal and your grandparents are respected people, but he wouldn't listen."

"Are you talking about Mr. Casko?"

"The same."

"Don't worry about me, Uncle Spas. He seems to have watched one too many a spy movie, that's all. Let's go and get it over with."

"He is not a good person. Mind how you deal with him."

"I will. Please don't say anything about this to my grandparents. Promise?"

"Promise. You can tell whoever asks that I was just giving you a ride."

Mr. Casko waited for me in the same room, seated behind the same desk, smoking the same cheap cigarettes. The only difference I noticed was the black paper attached with pieces of clear tape over the glass part of the door.

"Evgenia—"

"I would prefer Ms. Bolyarski."

"Well, Ms. Bolyarski, where were you last night? Or do you have a problem telling me?"

"Not at all. I was at a concert until about two in the morning. Then I went to bed."

"No one saw you going to bed."

"Who could have seen me at two in the morning?"

There was silence. It seems somebody was supposed to have seen me and failed to do so. If there had been a cop waiting around my house, Delian must have given him sweet dreams as he did with the receptionist at the hotel.

"Have you seen Mr. Dellin since then?"

"Yes, I saw him this morning."

"What did he say about the explosion at the hotel?"

"He didn't mention any explosion."

"Didn't you find that odd?"

"Why would I? I didn't know there was an explosion before you told me."

"Evgenia, you are lying to me. I know for sure that you spent at least part of the night in Dellin's room. I have proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"Your fingerprints are all over the place, mostly in the shower. I have the right to put you under arrest, and I think I will do so now."

"What if my fingerprints were there? Maybe Dr. Dellin is my lover, and I visit him often. That doesn't mean that I was there last night, and it means even less that I, or he for that matter, have anything to do with the explosions in town."

Mr. Casko left his cigarette in the ashtray—the ashtray was new to the room as well—and walked around the desk with deliberation that didn't suggest what he was going to do next. His face twisted in a half-scornful, half-excited grimace as he slapped me hard across the face. Before I had time to believe this was happening, he grabbed my hair and started shaking my head.

"You little slut... Your father's friend turned out to be your lover? Do you do all of your father's friends? Why don't you do me, then?"

His spit was flying in my face, his mouth smelled like a pit, and he was fumbling with his belt. I drew my right leg close to my chest and gave him a kick in the groin that sent him rolling on the floor. I dashed toward the door, making a wide circle around him but not wide enough, and his hand closed around my ankle, pulling me down to him. He was about to succeed. I reached over the desk, grabbed the heavy, glass ashtray and smashed it into his temple. His eyes turned back in his head, and he was still.

I checked his pulse. Rapid, but strong. The swine! What do I do now? Frantically, crawling on hands and knees, I gathered the ashes and the cigarette butts that seemed to have flown to every corner of the room. When I was sure I got them all, I put the butts into the ashtray and placed it where it was supposed to be. What else? The belt. I had to fasten his belt. I did that crouching next to him, looking for other signs that could give me away, compulsively rubbing my fingers on the carpet after I was done with his belt.

One last look around, and I started beating on the door.

"Help! Over here! Mr. Casko got hurt!"

The door flew open, and two cops rushed into the room. "What the...how did this happen?"

"He stumbled and hit his head on the edge of the desk. You should call an ambulance!"

More cops charged into the room, shouting, asking questions, contributing to the chaos. Spas was one of the last. He glanced around the room and ushered me out. When we were in the corridor, he arranged my hair to cover the left side of my face, told me to wait there, went back into the room, and returned with my backpack. The ambulance sirens could be heard approaching. Spas offered his arm and told me to hang there as if I was going to faint and to make sure that no one saw my cheek. I did as he told me, and we left the police station without anyone trying to stop us.

We got in his car, and I pulled down the visor. The bruise on my face was worse than I expected. Before Spas brought my attention to it, trying to conceal it, I wasn't even aware of it. The stress had delayed the pain, but now my whole head throbbed.

"Hold to your story whatever happens," Spas said, looking straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I'll witness that you already had the bruise when I took you in. You think of how you got it. When they ask you how he fell, you tell them he tripped on the carpet and falling down, grabbed at your hair."

"Why should I say that?"

"He had a fistful of your hair. Didn't you notice that?"

"Damn! I missed that. Uncle Spas, you are a very observant man," I said, wondering what else I had missed. "What about you? Wouldn't you get in trouble because of me?"

"If I am right about what has happened in that room, the bastard would be more than happy to confirm your story. I'll be fine. I am taking my neighbor home after a routine questioning. Half of the town has already been questioned about the explosions."

Spas ignored the no entry sign and turned onto my street. Grandma was sitting on the bench in front of our house, flanked by Aunty Minevra and Aunty Leta. A few other neighbors stood or sat around them.

Not every house had its own bench. There were three or four on each street, in front of the most influential residences. Each bench had an invariable contingent of regulars visiting in the warm evening hours. There were only a few people that drifted between benches, making sure the gossip was uniformly distributed. Grandma had assembled her group of underlings, expecting that I would step out of an expensive car, carrying a bunch of wildflowers, and looking radiant. I stepped out of the oldest police car in town, with an unseemly bruise on my face.

"What happened, Evgenia?" Aunt Leta and Aunt Minerva almost screamed with joy. "Did your boyfriend beat you up?"

I squeezed by. "How could you think that of Dr. Dellin. He is a perfect gentleman, and he is not my boyfriend."

"But what happened?" Grandma wailed as she hurried after me.

"Grandma, I need to put ice on this right away. Let's talk inside."

We went inside and found Grandfather switching the channels on the TV, which he rarely did. The news running on all of them was about the deadly cyclone raging in Southwest Indonesia. Good time to explain that the same cyclone was the reason for Delian's leaving so suddenly. His expertise as a meteorologist was needed, I couldn't remember where. The revolving door of the café got blamed for the bruise. Poor, clumsy me.

"I don't know," Grandma remarked as she fussed around me. "Something tells me that's not exactly the truth. But the story is good enough for the neighbors."

She made sure I had the packet of frozen vegetables properly placed on my face and left to enlighten the neighbors. Grandfather waited until she was gone and came to sit with me.

"Evgenia, what is going on? Every time you go out with Dellin, you come home bloody. I don't like that. I will talk to your father. I am sure he wouldn't want you to get hurt."

I sat up and hugged him. "Don't worry, Grandfather. Nothing bad could happen to me. You know I am the luckiest person on earth. Remember when my paraglide got tangled six thousand feet in the air, and I threw my parachute wrong, and it opened when I was no more than a hundred feet up?"

"What? You never told us about that. You always said that paragliding is the safest air sport. Oh, Evgenia, you are more trouble than my two boys have ever been."

Knock, knock, I heard opportunity's bony knuckles tapping on the windowpane.

"I am sorry that I've become the center of all the gossip in town lately," I said remorsefully as if this had never happened before. "Maybe I should go and spend a few days in Sofia. What do you think? I'll see some friends, visit some exhibitions, that kind of stuff."

"Sure. Go for it. I would like to see you enjoying yourself in other ways besides trying to influence the business decisions of your father's associates."
Chapter 15

Leaving the next day felt like fleeing. The morning was frantic with police sirens that had nothing to do with me, but the sound made me edgy and unfocused. Everything took more time and effort that it should. Fitting my things in the side compartments of the Aprilia was impossible. I wanted my laptop, clothes for two or three days, my hiking boots, and binoculars, which I wasn't able to explain convincingly to my grandparents, who were relieved to see me go but reluctant to let me do it on the moped. Grandma called the twins whom I had instructed the previous night to swear on their mother's milk if necessary that I was the best motorcycle rider the world had ever seen, and after listening to their enthusiastic confirmation of my readiness she asked for a ride around the block—a prim old lady in a house dress and ridiculous helmet—before finally and still reluctantly I was let go, only to have Grandma calling after me that I had forgotten my dress shoes, which I would need in case I were to go to a theater performance. I heard one of the heels breaking when I forced the shoes into the side compartment.

The uneven pavement on the road to Stork and the trees that seemed to follow my progress with wary eyes—getting paranoid again, wasn't I?—made me drive within the limits of my capabilities for about fifteen minutes. After that, it seemed pointless to be more careful on a dependable machine going uphill than I had ever been on a snowboard going downhill. But even the exhilaration of speed couldn't chase the uneasy feeling away. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood riding on a red Aprilia through the dark woods, and peril waited for me at either end.

Upon entering the village, I killed the engine, prepared to push the moped all the way up to my place in an attempt to pass through unnoticed. It proved harder than expected. Barely halfway up, my laborious breathing was making about as much noise as a 50cc machine, and my calves trembled with the effort. As I was passing by the two old men's house, trying to hold my breath, the small door opened, and a pair of oversized mustaches popped out.

The two old men didn't express any curiosity about my pushing the moped. They said they were expecting me. The gentlemen had names, of course, Radko and Bratovan, but in my mind, they were an indivisible pair of old men. They appreciated the bottle of bourbon I had brought as a present and asked for rides on the Aprilia. After that, they asked to ride it alone. I had to wait until they got into their full motorcycle gear and gave me a ride on the Zűndapp, first in the sidecar, then on the back seat. After that, we raced down to the bridge and back. They won, but promised to give me another chance when I felt ready as if my skills could even out the difference in horsepower.

In the meantime, the whole village had come to the bakery for fresh bread. The youngest person in the queue appeared to be close to seventy, the oldest could have been more than a hundred. All of them were strong and fit, and all of them carried their age with ease and contentment as if it were a basket with apples to be enjoyed.

The two old men took me over and introduced me to everybody as Lilla's great-granddaughter, their own great niece, somebody else's third cousin, etc. I lost track after a while. It seemed that I was related to most of the villagers, as they were among themselves. I answered a thousand questions, including if I was going to move into my ancestral home. The long and incoherent answer to the last question prompted the two old men to take me aside and ask in very loud voices what the problem was. I told them, aware of the close attention the queue was paying, that I wanted this house to be my get-away place, and I would prefer to keep it private. Everybody in the queue relaxed. It seemed they expected something really weird on my part. They laughed and patted my cheeks, being careful with the bruised one, and told me that even if the Pope came here looking for me, he would be sent away empty-handed. The Pope would have been sent away empty-handed from this Orthodox country in any case, but I chose to trust the villagers as most of them were kin.

The two old men kept refusing to let me go without having supper with them. "Maybe tomorrow. I need to unpack...to air out one of the rooms in my house for tonight...," I mumbled, backing up, stepping down from the curb the wrong way and almost twisting my ankle. "Tomorrow won't count," they insisted for some reason, and acting hurt, pushed a loaf of bread into my hands, which I had to balance uncomfortably in front of me on the short ride to my house.

My beautiful house! The big key for the gate was under the stone where I had left it. I unlocked, parked the moped inside—there was plenty of space—and locked the gate again, turning the key two times. I stood there, my shoulder blades pressed to the warm wood of the gate, feeling out of harm's way for the first time today. The only way SOF could find me here was through my phone, but it didn't seem likely, and I needed the phone, and they probably didn't have the technology to do it.

I took my stuff to the house and went on opening windows. The room I decided to call mine, a corner room with a view, was the best. It had the largest bed with the most elaborate carvings on the walnut headboard. The wardrobe, the mirror's frame, the writing table, and the chairs were made out of the same beautiful dark walnut. Everything in the room was handmade. The carpet and the blankets were thick and bright and wool-prickly, the sheets soft and smooth. The wardrobe was full of old-fashioned clothes, undershirts, dresses, shoes, coats. On a shelf by itself, there was a scarf festooned with tiny silver coins. I took it out, remembering where I had seen it before. In front of the mirror, I wrapped it around my head the way my great-grandmother had in the picture, and studied the effect. Looking back from the patina-speckled surface was the girl that had been loved by a zmay seventy-nine years ago. She had died before she turned twenty. If my great-uncles told the truth, her own father had put a bullet through her heart when she was accused of adultery.

"Nowadays, a girl could date whomever she wants," I assured the image and tossed the scarf back into the wardrobe.

True, I could, but how? I had expected to find if not Gor himself at least a note from him with his phone number. My only hope was that he would be checking sooner rather than later to see if I had come.

To pass the time, I decided to keep busy. There wasn't much to do but to draw water from the well. I found a zinc bucket and went out the kitchen door. On the stone ledge of the well sat a big, pimply toad. It croaked in my face when I bent to take a closer look, but didn't move. "Do you want a kiss?" I asked. It croaked again, and I was almost tempted, except, what would I do with a pimply prince? "Sorry, maybe some other time. Now, kindly, leave." I pushed the green, dough-soft body aside and opened the lid. Far down the moss-covered stones, the water shone in the darkness. I turned the wooden handle that untwined the rope and the bucket attached to it. It took a while before I heard the splash. I pulled up the bucket half empty twice before I figured out how to jiggle the rope so that it would sink. Careful not to spill it, I took it to the kitchen and poured the water into the tin reservoir above the basin. After the running water was arranged, I visited the privy. It was clean and well-ventilated, and full of hairy spiders bigger than my thumb. I quickly closed the door and squatted in the grass. A creature, a lizard or a snake, slithered away.

Done with the housework, I went up to the veranda, and searched the slopes with the binoculars. The magnification was insufficient to show much more than could be seen with the naked eye. Woods, clearings, rock outcrops—nothing that suggested even remotely a zmay's lair. I followed the dirt road that took over the pavement after my house. It cut through the trees not too far up and made a wide circle that led to pastures down by the river. What caught my attention was the flock of sheep grazing in the shade of a small grove to my left. With the patches of shabby fur hanging to the ground as if it had been torn from their bodies, they looked like the sheep from Dr. Kazak's dream.

I put on a hat and my hiking boots, left a note for Gor, and started up the dirt road. Forty-five minutes later, I was walking through the grove. The sheep were disappearing between the trees across the pasture. No shepherd was in sight. I ran after the flock, and into the twilight of the much denser trees along the river, and after making a couple of turns, I lost my sense of direction.

Never having been lost in my life, I felt giddy with the novelty of the feeling, but soon the amusement was replaced with annoyance. I knew for sure that I was on the other side of the ravine where I had seen the strange fungus; however, the ground sloped away in the wrong direction and no sound of water could be heard. The woods acquired their Brothers Grimm attributes once again, the allusion made perfect by the poisonous looking but very pretty mushrooms growing at the base of the tree trunks. I picked one. It was cool and moist, and it felt silky smooth in the palm of my hand. I held it as I would hold a bird. I loved the way it felt and looked. I wanted to press my lips to it and savor its silkiness. I wanted to taste it....

Minutes passed before I realized that my point of view had shifted. It had happened fluidly as if part of me had risen ten feet above the ground and remained floating there. It didn't seem strange at the time. With the feeling of never-before-experienced peace, I looked down at the girl with a pretty mushroom in her cupped hand, at her orange and blue summer dress, her tanned legs in hiking boots, the mosquito bites on the back of her knee, and the solemn, dazed expression on her face as she studied the mushroom with heavy, moss-green eyes. As I surrendered to the lassitude that kept the girl—oh, that was me, of course—so absorbed in her fungal treasure, a delicate, sweet scent filled the air. I smiled and saw the girl smiling too until another odor came through, fusty and sharp on the nostrils. Shaken by a violent sneeze, I lost altitude and dropped through the whole length of my body and into my boots.

A choked bleating came from behind me, and I turned to see one of the sheep I was chasing earlier. It was staring at me with big, vanquished eyes. Patches of black, filamentous hyphae hung from its fur and grew from its nostrils and ears. A rotting, alien smell took over the scent of water lilies. I looked down. The pretty mushroom was liquefying in my hand so fast, or my reactions were marked with such protracted haziness, that before I was able to throw it away, the foul smelling tar that it had turned into was already running between my fingers.

I jumped to my feet and ran without direction, without a clear thought in my head, staggering and falling, scraping my knees and the palms of my hands, and getting deeper into the woods with every step. It was darker now, the tree trunks seemed to move into my way, and their roots seemed to bulge out of the earth, catching the heels of my boots and tripping me.

"Gor, where are you," I cried in desperation. "Please come, please forgive me. I am not saying that because I am lost or because I am afraid. I am truly sorry. I don't know why I got carried away with Delian like that. I don't even like him. I like you." I was still mumbling when I ran into Gor's arms.

"What are you doing here, love? Are you hurt?"

"I am fine. I am okay."

"What a terrible bruise? Have you fallen?"

"Yes...no...doesn't matter."

"Please do not lie to me. I can tell when you do."

"Sorry."

"What is going on? Why are you here? Will you tell me?"

"It's so stupid, you wouldn't believe it. I was chasing after some odd-looking sheep, then I got lost, and then, it seems, I ate a funny mushroom and everything turned weird. You didn't see anything strange when you came, did you?"

"What do you mean by strange?"

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, how did you find me?"

"You called me. I came as soon as you did."

"Oh, Gor. It's been crazy. Why did you leave me like that? I thought I'd never see you again."

"It wasn't my choice, love. You should know that."

"How should I know? No, let's talk elsewhere. Here is so...cold."

"Of course. Forgive me. Do you want to go to your house in the village?"

I nodded and we were in the air, Gor's arms strong and very real around me.
Chapter 16

From above, this portion of the forest looked narrow and was restricted in length between the bridge and the open fields down the slope, hardly the size for one to get lost in it. All the disquiet seemed like a consequence of a bad trip, which was probably what it had been. The night air felt warm after the chill in the forest, and the village was in view.

Flying in Gor's arms made me feel weightless as if I were airborne on my own accord. I was about to ask how it worked, but he appeared distracted, and as we landed on the veranda, his face was already buried in my hair. His words came strained and full of accusations.

"I can smell him on you. Oh, I don't know how I will go on."

"Were you spying on me?"

My words sounded like a slap across the face. He drew back. I stepped away from his embrace. He moved another step back. The distance between us grew not in inches but in miles.

"Gor, I said I was sorry. I can say it again. It must have been the drinks at the show—they were pure poison."

"Evgenia, do not be naïve. Delian seducing you had nothing to do with your state of inebriation. It was his scheme to trick me, to make me do something stupid in my anger. I was a fool, and I am paying dearly now."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I caused trouble for a second time, and now I am not permitted to visit you even at night before I prove that I can control myself around humans...around you."

I finally understood. Delian had pretended to be angered by the interruption while he had planned for it to happen, the bastard. Still, things didn't add up.

"Gor, all this could have been avoided if you had shown up before he did. Why didn't you come or at least drop a note? I thought you didn't care for me any longer."

"I couldn't. Delian had the first turn, but he was busy with the cyclone."

"Do I understand this right? You are going to take turns...going on dates with me? Is that how it is?"

"Both parties agreed. Until the Summit Meet, Delian and I will enjoy equal shares of your company. _You_ wanted it that way, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean that and I won't do it. There is no need for such a long testing period. You are the one I want, Gor. Believe me."

Swiftly, as only zmay could move, Gor was at my side, his arms around me, his long hair brushing my bare shoulders, his cool lips very close but not close enough, talking, his voice full of angst. "I believe you. I do. But Delian is going to do everything in his power to have you, and I may not be able to stop him. He is a Guardian and I am not. I can't fight him even if the rest would let us fight. At the Summer Meet, a decision will be made, and it is going to be final."

"I don't understand. Isn't it my choice? Is this why the folk songs talk about a zmay loving the woman as if what she wants is of no importance?"

"Everybody wants to be loved, Evgenia. That is the human part of us. But it is not unknown to take an unwilling girl when that is the only option. The choice you will make may tip the scale toward the one of us that you love, but it won't be the deciding factor."

"No one can make me do what I don't want. If those are the rules, both of you may go and find yourselves other girls."

"There aren't other girls."

"What? I am the only one?"

"You are the last one on earth, suitable for mating. For now, and probably forever."

I've always known that I was special. Not that special, though. But why didn't this afford me any leverage in this situation? I wanted to stomp my feet, to turn my back, to declare in not uncertain words my will. I would have a choice. If they didn't accept it, I could always go back to my old life and forget about them.

Yes, I could do that. I could pretend to forget that I had met Gor or Delian and go back to the eager, hard-bodied, soft-minded, shower-gel scented college boys with tinea toes and cinnamon mouths. Or, I could play along and wait for my lucky turn. The boys won't go anywhere.

"What are you thinking?" Gor asked.

"Oh...nothing. Just wondering what has happened. With the girls?"

"We are not sure. No mates are being born anymore. It must be the pollution and all the chemicals poisoning the planet. The problem is so great that it has split us into two groups, as you may have figured out. We have had other differences over time, but nothing of this magnitude."

"Delian told me that the disagreements were minor."

"He is underrating the problem. But let's not talk about that. Things are different since you can come here." Gor turned away from me and made a gesture encompassing the veranda, the house, the yard, the village, and a large chunk of the Balkan Mountains. "I am so happy to be with you, I can't believe my good fortune. I didn't expect my turn to come so soon."

I watched the muscles on his chest move under the velvet of his skin and decided that we had had enough talking for now. He caught my stare and forgot what he was about to say next. Slowly, I traced his mouth with the tips of my fingers. He took my hand and kissed it, looking at me through long, dark eyelashes. It seemed like an invitation. I wrapped myself around him, caressing his neck, his arms and his shoulders, placing hot kisses on his velvety skin. He stood still, and I couldn't tell if he was excited until I felt his erection. Mmm...ithyphallic young men had always been my second favorite thing after flying. My lips puffed out and my nipples grew hard. I centered myself on the stiff bump and started moving my hips, swaying and drawing circles around it. Gor threw his head back, and the sound that came from his throat made all the little hairs on my body stand up. His wings spread, his hands encircled my waist, and we flew out of the veranda, above the dark woods and the sleepy houses of the village.

At first, I thought that this must be the way zmay had sex, in the air, but Gor seemed to be trying to calm down instead of trying to proceed. He maintained a windy distance between our bodies and kept his eyes closed. Flying was my first favorite thing, but still....

"What is the problem, Gor? Don't you want me?"

He kissed me so hard I tasted blood. "If you knew how badly I want you!" he said when he finally withdrew his mouth from mine. "I don't know how I'll be able to keep my word."

"What are you talking about?" I cried through the whistling air of our descent back to the veranda.

Gor eased me to the ground, holding my arms pressed to my sides, immobilizing me. "I only have permission to court you, nothing more. The same is true for Delian. Until the final decision is made, neither of us is to make love to you."

"What! I can't believe it! And Delian agreed to that, too?"

"Of course, he did. There is no other way."

"What else? Is there something else I need to know about this agreement of yours?"

"That's all. Is there a problem? You disapprove?"

"Not that I disapprove, given the circumstances, but it just sounds like a plan my grandparents would devise. They'll certainly be in favor of it. And what are we supposed to do together? Watch sports? Oh, this is too much. I am going to bed."

I turned on my heel and marched into my room through the veranda door. Gor was already inside, leaning on the wall next to the light switch. His evergreen scent mixed with the smell of roses. As I reached to turn on the light, he pulled me against him. It was impossible to stay angry in his embrace. His voice was in the lower octaves again when he kept repeating that he loved me, that he was crazy about me. Why was I such a sucker for deep male voices? I enjoyed the sound and the ring of his voice, the lovelorn words coming to me as if from a great distance. His fervor was not affecting me in the way one might have expected. I trembled but not from the meaning of his words as much as from the delightful inflection of his voice.

"I fell in love with you the moment I laid my eyes on you," he murmured. "It wasn't your beauty only, it was the way you slept on that bench, your face peaceful amidst the din around you. You'd never been here before, and you felt safe. This only comes from a pure heart."

I laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it doesn't. It comes from the fact that nothing bad has ever happened to me. I can assure you, I've fallen asleep in much more inappropriate places than a bench in the center of a small, friendly village."

"Stop turning everything into a joke, Evgenia. I love you, and I love your soul more than I love your body. I can't imagine my life without you."

"Actually, you do. If you didn't, you wouldn't have agreed to all this. You are as prepared to lose me as you are to have me."

"My love for you has nothing to do with possession. Through my entire life, I was made to believe that you were unattainable. I'll have you if I can, but if not, you won't see me looking at you from the other end of the room, you won't hear the pain in my voice when I say your name, you won't be reminded of my feelings in any way. But I'll love you all the same as long as I live."
Chapter 17

"Are you sure?" I asked, and moved the phone an inch away from my ear because Peter had the habit of shouting when excited.

"You can come back, Evgenia. The guy, Casko, is still in the hospital, but doing fine, recovering. So, when are you coming?"

"Soon. You call me if you hear something."

"We will. Ciao! Kisses!"

"Ciao! Kisses to you, too."

Gor watched me making kissing sounds with irritation, then turned his eyes away, still frowning. He had brought the tin tub into the washroom and heated the water for my bath. The tub that was big enough for two held me only, and I wished he would join me, but he wouldn't consider it even after the sweaty night we had spent in each other's arms. Fully clothed, again his idea for guarding our chastity, churning under the sheets with mad fervor, our self-inflicted deprivation grueling, unbearable, intoxicating. Presently, he was brooding around while I floated in the soapy water, making my calls.

"Brooding becomes you a lot. You should do it all the time," I said, expecting a smile, getting a frown. "This can't be about the twins, can it?"

"No, it is not. It's...I listened you telling your grandparents...untruths. You did the same to your friends, and then it turned out you almost killed somebody and now you are hiding here. Did I understand that correctly? I am sure you have an explanation. Will you please ease my concerns?"

"There we go again. I need to explain myself for things that are not even my fault, that are your fault. Yours and Delian's. All of it, lying, hiding, almost killing a person, it's your fault. You two turned my life into a mess, and I deal with it the best I can."

I pressed on the herbal compress Gor had made for my bruise, wondering if it was helping, wondering if our value systems were compatible for us to be together.

"You are blaming me? You find me unnecessarily and unjustly confrontational, and you are questioning my love for you?"

"You can read my mind?"

"Of course I can. Wait, no, I'd never do it. Your thoughts were written on your face."

"Gor, promise me something. Never ever go into my head without my consent. Okay? Maybe only if I am in great pain...I cannot stand pain. But don't do it if I am dying. I don't want to miss my own death."

"I wouldn't think of it. None of us would. Most humbly I am waiting for you to tell me whatever you deem relevant."

I told him exactly that. It wasn't much, and it wasn't exactly the truth, but I didn't lie to him, I only left out the reason for Mr. Casko's unfortunate accident and a couple of other details that didn't seem to matter.

Later on, when I had put on my prettiest dress to reward the remorseful Gor as well as to punish him—the dress was very short—peace and harmony between us was restored, and then sealed with long, smothering kisses in every one of the twelve rooms. We would have continued exchanging fervent caresses the whole day, perpetually at the point of tearing our clothes away and succumbing to our lust for each other, if not for the bell. It rang with a brash, bronze voice that seemed out of this world. It stopped for a moment, only to fool us into thinking it had been an imagined thing, then started again even more insistently.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, still pressed flat to Gor in the attic where I had taken him to see whatever is there for one to see in an attic.

"I believe it's the bell. Are you expecting visitors?"

"Quite the opposite. Who could it be?"

"Women from the village, two of them."

"How do you know?"

"I just went there to look."

"Gor, you couldn't have done that. Look, my hands are still around your waist."

"I move fast."

"Whatever. I'd better go and see myself."

I let go of him and ran down the stairs and out to the gate.

There wasn't a spy hole in the gate. I gave whoever was outside one more chance to go away, but the bell wouldn't stop ringing, so I opened the door. Two of the old women whose acquaintance I'd made last night smiled brightly at me with no more than four teeth between the two of them.

"Let's see here," they said, and started showing me what they had in the large basket one of them was carrying. "We brought you some fresh eggs, cheese, butter, all homemade, and whatever grows in the garden this time of the year. Enjoy!"

"Oh, thank you so much! I appreciate it! I am sorry I cannot invite you in at the moment—"

"The boyfriend is shy? He-he."

"Eh..."

"Well, why don't you bring him with you tonight? You can't hide him forever."

"Tonight?"

The women looked at each other in a surprised and disapproving manner.

"Didn't your great uncles tell you? Today is St. Bartolomey's Day, the village patron. We are having a feast. The men are already building the fire for the lamb roast. Don't be late. And bring the boy along."

I took the heavy basket inside, munching thoughtfully on one of the summer pears they had included in the gift. A snake, in the same grayish color as the flagstones, slithered away under my feet. I screamed, and Gor appeared next to me at once.

"What is it?"

"Just a snake. I almost stepped on it."

"Are you afraid of snakes?"

"Not at all, but it would be a nuisance to get bitten if it was a poisonous kind."

Gor took the basket out of my hands. "You should not worry about that. Nothing deadly could happen to you."

"Is fortune-telling one of zmay's capacities as well?"

"No. It's a fact. You are so precious that you have been protected since the moment of your conception."

"I've never noticed such a thing. Let's see. I broke my wrist in a poor landing once when paragliding, cracked my ribs a number of times falling from various places, and a firecracker exploded in my hands last Fourth of July. Look at the burn on my thumb."

"But you are alive, aren't you? That by itself is a miracle with your taste for dangerous amusements."

"It's called sports. But what about the protecting? I don't understand."

"Your assigned protectors are aware of your location and brain signals at all times. When something bad is about to happen to you, one of them is always there for you. I've inquired. One time, very recently, to guide a commercial aircraft's landing in a dense fog. Before that, twice, to open your parachute when you were paragliding, six times to soften your fall when skiing, another six times when snowboarding, and twenty-one times to prevent you from killing yourself with your car."

"What if somebody was trying to rape me? Or hurt me without intending to murder me?"

The basket handle broke to splinters in Gor's hand. Not sparing it a look, he moved his hand under to catch it and asked his question with a force promising violence. "Has anyone ever done such a thing to you?"

"No. Of course not. Just curious."

"I'll ask my father to bring this to the attention of the others. Can't think how such an omission could have happened."

"Nothing to worry about. It's good enough to know that I won't be dying before my time."

"That doesn't mean you should become even more reckless than you already are."

"I don't know if I could even if I wanted to. Can you cook, by the way?"

Neither of us could. But we fried eggs and made a salad. It all tasted wonderful. Nothing like the store-bought junk people eat these days. As I watched Gor washing the dishes, my belly full and my mind lazy, I surrendered to the pastoral appeal of a sudden reverie. I pictured myself living here with Gor, having sex all night, then having more sex in the morning, then working in the garden while Gor took care of the sheep and the goats. The cheese here was the best feta I've ever tasted. But how on earth do people make cheese? Or butter for that matter? How potent in bed are zmay in general and Gor in particular?

Since it was unlikely to get an immediate answer to my last question, I settled to spend the afternoon watching Gor working around the yard, which he did with the keenness he did everything else. He relocated all the snakes and spiders from my property and cut out the dead trees. There would be firewood for years to come. After that, he cleared a path to the back of the yard where a garden gate led to a creek.

The water was cool on the surface and cold in the depths of the dam, but not unbearably. In the shallows where it ran over the sun-warmed limestone bed, it was pleasant enough. An oak's branch spread above the dam, a perfect place to tie a rope for jumping in the water. Gor brought a few different kinds of rope from the barn and used a piece from the one that seemed least harsh on the hands. We splashed and played in the water for an hour. Gor had his jeans on, and I had shorts and a shirt. When I started getting cold, we went in the house to change into dry clothes. Gor didn't have an extra pair of jeans and went home.

He was back in less than a minute, dry, and bringing spare clothes, but by then I had a better idea. The wardrobes in the house were full of ancient outfits. It was so much fun dressing up and walking around the house, trying to imagine what the lives of the people that had lived here had been like. The clothes were from different time periods. Some were folk costumes typical of the region; others were city clothes from the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. I set aside a complete set of the first kind. A white, linen undershirt with embroidery down the front and around the edges, a black skirt that was shorter than the undershirt by about six inches, a colorful apron, a thin leather belt with belt buckles filigreed with silver and mother of pearl, and a pair of pig-skin slippers.

"What do you think?" I asked Gor. "It would be fun to dress like that for tonight, wouldn't it?"

"You are going to go?"

"Yes, and you are coming with me. They invited you, too."

"But I can't possibly—"

"If we don't go, people will feel insulted and I don't want that to happen. They are my only protection against the unwanted curiosity of...outsiders and such. Further, it would be a good rehearsal of your people skills. Shirt on, no wing spreading, no scales showing. It will work. They are a nice bunch, you'll see."

"I am sorry. I am not allowed among humans yet."

"What happens if you disobey? They'll punish you or what?"

"No, there is no punishment. But I'll disappoint them. My father will be displeased."

"Gor, I would displease my father any day of the week for you."

"You don't understand. Our society is not like yours, we have different obligations to each other. When my father moves on, I'll inherit not only his power but also the power that comes with three hundred million years of existence on earth. I must be worthy of it."

I hesitated between sulking and throwing a fit. I decided on sulking. It worked. Aside from my father, I've never had a man refuse me anything. Zmay or not, Gor wasn't going to be the first one. I even made him pick some wildflowers to braid into my hair.

Before we left, I called home. Grandfather picked up the phone. I told him I was going to a big party tonight and will call again the next day. Yes, I was enjoying myself very much, and I had no idea when I was coming back. Would I be so nice as to bring him some of the hard-dough donuts they made only in Sofia when I headed home? Of course, Grandfather, I won't forget. Oh, dear....

Gor laughed at me and said that I deserved that, bad girl, lying to her dear grandparents.

We filled a very large, maybe two-and-a-half-gallon, glass vial with the best grappa in the basement, and, hand in hand, we walked the cobbled street to the center of the village. Gor carried the bottle as if didn't weigh anything, and I reminded him to mind his strength. Other than that, we looked like any other young couple, or we would have if we were not such a singularly handsome pair.

Everyone from the village was out, busy with the final preparations for the feast. The tables from the tavern were lined up on the cobblestones, with a few more added at each end to make one long table stretching between the tavern and the well. The well's lid was open, the lock hanging on one of the panels. A lamb was roasting on the open fire built not far from the well. A few feet away burned another fire. Over it hung a cauldron big enough to bathe babies in. A man I hadn't met yet stood next to the fire and stirred the cauldron's contents with a long wooden ladle. He was the first one to detect our arrival. He turned his face in our direction, and I saw his eyes. They were milky-white, claimed by cataracts.

The rest of the people were going back and forth, still not noticing us, the women arranging big round loaves of bread on the table, the men carrying flacons and jugs with wine and grappa. Very few of the bowls and the plates on the table were from the same set. The tablecloths and the chairs didn't match either. The people were dressed in the usual dark-colored garb of the elderly in the villages, but everybody had a small posy tucked behind ear, into the women's scarves or the men's lamb-fur caps.

When we approached, the people abandoned what they were doing and made a dense circle around us. There was a lot of laughter, shaking of hands, patting on the shoulders for Gor, and on the cheeks for me. My bruise was almost gone.

"Doesn't she look like a picture?" one of the old women said to the rest of the congregation as if I were not there. "She looks just like Lilla," another one said. "She'll burn men's hearts with those green eyes of hers, mind what I am saying." There was a short, reflective silence, and, "Oh, why am I not young again," an ancient fellow said wistfully. "May my heart burn!"

My great uncles made space for Gor and me to sit between them, and the rest of the folks took their places around the table. Two of the younger women, each no older than seventy-five, started serving the soup, hurrying with bowls in their hands to the cauldron where the blind man filled them up, and then back to the table to exchange the full with the empty ones. The men poured the grappa. The first toast was for St. Bartolomey. The second toast was for me, with the hope that this village would not die out when the last one of them was dead. None had any living descendants. All they had was each other, and now they had me. Even my great uncles seemed affected by the general mood. They assured Gor that, despite my unfortunate ancestry, I had turned out a decent girl, and if he kept an eye on me he should not have many problems. "I'll do that. Thank you for your advice," Gor said in all seriousness, and I stopped listening, at ease that he had figured out how to keep them happy.

The old people knew how to eat and drink and be merry. The grappa glasses were refilled three times during the first serving of the lamb soup, and two more times during the second. Men and women alike drained their glasses, smacking their lips, and shouting 'To your health!' and 'Cheers!' with every refill. It was still light when we got to the roasted lamb and the wine, dark like blood and strong like hate.

"Now, Marco, come on, boy, where is your bagpipe?" someone hollered. At the other end of the table, Marco brought out a bagpipe, wiped his mustache, and started blowing into it. His face grew apoplectic red. The bagpipe expanded, bigger and bigger and wanted to float away, up the green slopes of the mountain, but Marco wouldn't let it. He squeezed it under one arm while still biting onto the mouthpiece. The bagpipe screamed like a stricken animal. The sound lingered and stretched to the mountain hills and back. "Eeeeeeee... eeho!" A man on my left yelled. He stepped away from the table, took his cap and slammed it to the ground. "Heavy Is My Heart, Beloved," he commanded, and Marco started the slow, forlorn melody.

The man waited, his expression turning inward, every muscle of his old body bringing the memory of the dance he had been dancing for more than eighty years, and when he finally made his first step, he didn't look old anymore. His feet hit the ground with such a force as if to say 'I am still above you. You may have me later, but now I shall dance!'

One by one, people started joining him, clasping hands and forming a line. A woman took the blind man there, and the confidence of his movements suggested he didn't need his sight for this. Fifteen old men and twenty-two old women moved as if they were each a part of one body. The bagpipe wailed, the line curved and spiraled, and went where the first man led it, and the white handkerchief in his right hand shone into the falling night like a bird's wing.

In the middle of the song, the lead man gave a signal with another loud holler, counted a number of steps, and everyone stopped, feet together, hands down. Immediately, Marco started a merrier tune. "Come on, Evgenia!" somebody called to me, and others joined him, urging me to try. I watched the steps for a while and when I thought I had them, I kissed Gor on the cheek and ran to join the dance between my great uncles.

Dance after dance followed, people shouted their requests to Marco, the right to lead the line passed from person to person. Gor watched all this from the table and smiled at me when our eyes met. When I thought my feet could not endure any more pounding on the cobbles, I left the line. I assumed they would continue without me, as I had seen it happening previously when one or another would take a break for a sip of wine and go back to take his place when done, but the woman leading saw that I sat next to Gor without showing an intention of returning, and gave the signal ending the dance. Gor and I stood up and thanked everybody for the beautiful evening. "Young people like to go early to bed," a woman remarked and everybody laughed. "Yeah, you two go. Good night. Come on, Marco, play "The Lost Lovers." Eeeeee...eeho!"
Chapter 18

Grandma Radoina, my neighbor down the street, had told me the previous night that I was welcome to some of her cow's fresh milk. She said she does the milking at five in the morning, and I may stop by any time after that. When she answered her door to let me in, it was nine-thirty.

"Sleeping late, ah?" she said, looking at me with something between curiosity and incomprehension. "But still sleeping like a brother and sister, aren't you?"

My face grew hot. "How did you guess?"

"I'm not guessing. I know it. I haven't lived for eighty-two summers for nothing. You seem to be in love with each other. What are you waiting for?"

"For him," I muttered, and taking the jug of milk, I rushed back home.

Gor had taken his bath in the creek and was sitting on the steps in front of the kitchen. His jeans were dry, so he had taken them off this time, but his hair was wet, and drops of water shone all over his chest and arms.

"Gor, the whole village knows that we are not having sex," I informed him.

"Are you saying that we should make love only to satisfy other people's expectations?"

I squeezed around him into the kitchen. Through the open door leading to the washroom, I saw that he had already filled the tin tub for me. I left the jug of milk on the table, took my clothes off, and slid into the warm water. Gor didn't follow me until he was sure that the soap bubbles hid my nudity sufficiently.

"Evgenia, please don't make this more difficult for me than it is now. I am dying to make love to you, but where would it lead us? Delian will want the same. Whatever happens in the future, I don't want to share you with him now. I can't stand the thought of it. Will you want to make me suffer that?"

"You have misunderstood me. I didn't have that in mind."

"Why do you keep bringing up the subject of sex as if it is the most important thing?"

"It is. Sex is the most important thing in a relationship between a man and a woman. Why do you think we need each other?"

I was crying, big abundant tears falling into the bath water, and that made me laugh, thinking what it looked like—a desperate girl bawling for sex—but that wasn't why I was crying, and Gor knew it. I wasn't planning to talk about it, and here I was, pouring my heart out in front of this young man who could do nothing to help me, and who was going to be more distressed than I was.

"Sorry, Gor. I feel so...belittled. I've never felt like this before. I've always believed that my life was my making, and now it turns out that it was what others had made for me or allowed me to have. I thought I was brave, but my courage has been for nothing. I thought I was smart, but it wouldn't make any difference if I were not. All my efforts have been pointless. Even my good looks don't matter—I am the only girl, am I not? How am I supposed to live like this?"

At the first sound of my anxious words, Gor had jumped onto the edge of the tub, crouching there with his arms rested on his knees, the way I had seen him for the first time. He listened to me with a stunned expression on his face. He opened his hands, looked at them, saw that he had nothing to offer me if he wanted to stay honest, and let them drop back to his knees.

"You are strong, and you are brave," he said. "And beautiful. My feelings for you could not be any different were there millions of available mates. My love for you makes you exclusive, not the fact that there are no other girls."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have agreed to all this bullshit."

"I didn't have a choice."

"You have one now." I grabbed his hand almost pulling him into the water. "Make love to me, Gor."

He slipped away from my fingers like a silk scarf.

"I can't do that. I won't break my word. I am sorry, love. Stop torturing me. Stop thinking wrong thoughts."

"I don't know what else to think. I don't understand you. Your word, your honor, your everything. What about me? What about us?"

Gor snatched me out of the tub and held me close, whispering promises that sounded sweet and reassuring until he ruined the effect by telling me he had to leave for about an hour to have a word with his mother. By her request. I wasn't invited. And he had to leave immediately.

Does love mean anything, I wondered. Delian didn't claim to love me, but he tried to please me all the time. He made me feel exclusive, made me feel wanted. Gor's love, in comparison, appeared cinematic. As if he were playing a romantic role from which he would snap out every time his parents wanted something from him. I was suddenly very much okay with the agreement I had so despised until a moment ago. I needed time to figure things out. Who loved me, and in what way, and whom I should love.

One hour didn't seem like enough time to bother thinking what I could do while waiting for Gor to come back and explain to me why I wasn't welcome in his parents' house. I got dressed, made a few phone calls, and with the last fifteen minutes of the hour ticking away, started breakfast. The few summer pears left from yesterday were going to spoil, so they had to be included. I took them to the sink and turned on the faucet. A single drop of water squeezed out and clung there, so small that it could resist gravity. I took the zinc bucket and hurried to the well, leaving the kitchen door open.

The window above the sink was open too, otherwise the glare would have prevented me from noticing the man who was just entering through the garden gate. I set the bucket down, lowered myself and crawled back to the window. One look was enough. The man with sunglasses and an oversized holster over his white shirt was an SOF agent. I backed out of the kitchen, my first thought being to run to the front gate and out in the street where the whole village would witness the encounter. The door was locked, however, and the key sometimes wouldn't turn easily.

The man was approaching. I couldn't see him anymore, but I estimated that I had a minute before he would turn up around the corner. My eyes fell on the well, whose lid I had forgotten to close last night. Still doubled in two, I ran to it, and looked over the edge. The water was far, far down. This's crazy, I thought, mounting the bucket and lowering myself into the well. The jingling of the ropes and the screeching of the reel sounded unbearably loud in my head.

I had hoped to make my descent smooth by holding on to the walls, but they were slippery and I lost hold almost immediately, plummeting down, hitting the water surface with a splash, and sinking to my waist. The noise must have been earsplitting, but I couldn't hear anything aside from my heart beating wildly against my ribs. The water temperature was in the low thirties at best. My teeth started chattering. I tried to pull myself up, out of the water. My hands kept slipping off the rope and my feet were unable to find firm support on the wet stones.

A voice sounded from above.

"Her things are here, but she is not in the house. No. I asked around the village. No one has seen her."

The small circle of light above my head dimmed. I looked up. The man, holding a phone to his ear, looked down. I waited for his triumphant laughter. Would he pull me out at once, or would he choose to amuse himself, making me beg first? What if he closed the lid? I started hyperventilating, my hands losing grip on the rope, my eyes locked on the silhouette above me, as I was sliding farther down. The man pushed his glasses up and looked at his wristwatch, then somewhere to the side. He hadn't seen me. His sunglasses had prevented it.

"There is nowhere she could've hidden. I searched." The man spoke again into his phone. "She is probably hiking. I could wait for about an hour, but not much longer. I may need to come tomorrow again. Yeah. Take care."

I wasn't sure I'd survive another hour in the freezing water. The man above cleared his throat and spat into the well, the bastard. My well.

"You fucker!" I cried before I could stop myself.

The man bent over, squinting. I clasped my hand over my mouth, shocked at my stupidity. The man grabbed the rope and shook it. It was taut like a string.

"There is no one down there," I heard somebody speaking in a youthful but suggestive voice. "Yes, that's right. No one. You go now. Not this way, the way you came. Good boy."

The man obeyed the command, turning to go with marionette jerks of shoulders and neck. Another face appeared above me, smiling. A mere boy, with hair so blond and so light that it made a halo around his head.

"What are you doing down there, Evgenia?" he asked

"Just chilling out," I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

"Do you want me to help you out?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," the boy said. He rose a few feet above the opening, then dropped in the well so suddenly I was afraid he would crush me, but he came to a halt just short of touching the water with his feet, bent, and taking me into his arms, flew out in the same competent manner.

The sun blinded me after the darkness of the well. I felt the warmth of the flagstones under my feet, the boy's hands supporting me, turning me around, squeezing the water out my hair, leading me to the bench next to the kitchen door. I was warming up already but my body wouldn't stop shaking. The boy left me for a second, went inside, came back with one of the prickly blankets, and tried to wrap me into it.

"What do you think you are doing?" I cried. "It's ninety degrees here."

"You don't want to catch a cold, do you?" he asked, and handling me like a child would with her doll, wrapped me tightly in the blanket, and set me back on the bench. I wasn't able to move. My arms were inside the cocoon. He saw my efforts to toss my hair away from my eyes and helped me with expert fingers. I took a better look at him. He wasn't exactly a boy. His body was young and lean, but the body of a grown man. It was the constant smile that never left his eyes even when it left his lips that made him look boyish. The designer label blue jeans didn't help either. One could start thinking that blue jeans were the favored attire for the males of all clothes-wearing species in the universe.

Meanwhile, he was looking at me with the same curiosity I was studying him. He reached carefully and touched the bruise on my face.

"One small imperfection, and it brings out your beauty in such a dramatic way," he said. His smile canceled any suggestion of flirting and made it sound like teasing.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Maybe it could be arranged. I could fall on my face once weekly or something."

He laughed, showing a bigger number of white teeth than seemed allowable for one person. "I was about to introduce myself, but Gor will do it for me in a moment." He pointed up. "Now!"

A shimmer in the air, and Gor was in front of me. "Evgenia, please meet Kiro, a good friend of mine," he recited in a hurry before taking me into his arms and crushing me breathless, asking what had happened.

"Gor, please unwrap me first, I'm dying in here. Your friend is impossible. So immature! Oh, I look terrible." I did look terrible. My dress clung to my body, and my still bluish skin was covered with loose threads of wool from the blanket. "Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I need to change. Come into the kitchen if you wish."

I didn't wait for a response and ran inside and up to my room. There wasn't time to do much above the minimum required to get presentable. Brushing the wool from my skin as well as I could, I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and hustled down the stairs. Gor and his friend were still outside. They were facing each other, silently. They didn't appear unfriendly, only focused.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I understand Kiro had to send away an SOF agent, from whom you had chosen to hide inside the well where you couldn't get out without help. How could you do something so careless?"

"Thank you for making me look like a fool, Kiro. But I still appreciate your arranging our rendezvous." Kiro laughed with gusto, almost to the point of jumping for joy. I glared. "How old are you by the way? Fourteen?"

"I'll be one hundred in January," he said. "And I am known for throwing the most extravagant parties since the Romans. You and Gor are invited to attend. In lieu of presents, I accept lap dances."

"Kiro!" Gor said. "Stop it already." His tone of voice was playful, but I could tell that his mood was dark.

"Kiro, thank you for the invitation and everything," I said, "but I have a problem I need to take care of."

"No. You don't," Kiro said. "The guy won't even remember he's been here."

"Kiro! Nice meeting you, thanks again for your help, and please, feel free to stop by some other time. I'd like to talk to Gor in private."

Ignoring the hint, Kiro moved a few steps away as if I didn't know about the exceptional hearing zmay enjoyed. "He is such a goofball," I said to Gor, without lowering my voice. "And he doesn't think straight. The agent called somebody from here. Even if he doesn't remember being here, the other person will. Could you go to him and, like, steal his phone so that we know whom he was talking to? I have a suspicion, but I want to be certain. After that, maybe you could make it so that no one remembers about me anymore."

Gor was looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes.

"Please, Gor, do it. I'll explain later, but hurry now. He must be halfway to Kirpich already."

I must have become more sensitive to his swift moves because this time I think I felt the miniscule gap between his departure and his return. The expression on his face had turned flinty.

"He is dead," he said. "Here is his phone."

I looked at the small object he was handing to me. It was smeared with blood. I tried to tell myself that it was a tasteless design the agent had chosen for his phone, but there were small droplets of blood on Gor's fingers, too. I was quivering again, the chill from the well having crept back. Gor was speaking urgently in my face, holding in his outstretched hand the bloody phone. I was unable to understand him. I was backing away from him, his murderous hands, his cold mind that didn't consider human life worth a second thought. He wasn't a good-looking demon from a Russian painting anymore, he was a creature out of this world, an alien thing. He could kill me. If he didn't, the other one would.

I must have cried out loud some of the thoughts rushing through my head, or the terror I felt must have shown on my face, or maybe they just read my mind, but Kiro started shaking me. Gor kept away from me, waiting for me to calm down.

"I didn't kill him," he said in a low, distressed voice. "I've never killed anyone. I would never do anything to harm you. Your fear hurts me."

The pain in his voice and expression looked real. I wasn't convinced.

"How did he die? Was he in an accident?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

"I don't want you to see that."

"Show me."

With an unhappy sigh, Gor encircled my waist. Next, the three of us were at the same spot in the road where my uncle and I had engine trouble. The ferns on one side of the road were crushed flat. Ten feet away, a single car wheel caught on something was still spinning. The rest of the car must be down the ravine.

"Oh, Gor...I was being absurd. Will you forgive me?"

"You should forgive me, love. I need to learn to communicate better."

"We both should," I murmured, red faced, and changed the subject. "How could this have happened? The road is straight here. Gor, are you sure the man is dead? Maybe we should call for an ambulance."

"He is very dead. That's the reason I didn't want you to see him. I would've saved his life if I could, but he was broken beyond repair."

Broken beyond repair! I took a step toward the gully, and for a moment, I felt as if I had stepped on ice. My feet went opposite ways, my arms flailed in the air. Gor caught me and moved me to firm ground while Kiro, already kneeling, studied a large black, oily spot on the asphalt.

"Damn it!" he murmured, and so fast that I couldn't stop him, he turned his back to me and spewed fire, I imagine from his mouth, burning the asphalt clean. Then, he turned back, grinning and brushing his hands like after a job well done.

"Kiro, would you stop trying to be helpful?" I said. "Don't you think it was important to see what that was?"

"I saw it. It was just some fungal growth."

"I was afraid it was. Gor, please help me down to the car."

"Why?"

"Because the first time I tried to get there, I ended up on my back. The fungus is too slippery."

"I realize that. I was asking why you want to go there."

"I want to show it to you. It's very odd."

If Gor had any doubts about the suitability of my request, they must have vanished the moment he saw the car. Not much remained of it or its driver. Black fungus was eating through the metal parts with speed that was both unnatural and improbable. The body was completely covered with it. From time to time it would jerk as if it were being electrocuted, as if it could feel the pain from the destruction. The smell was horrific.

Gor and Kiro walked around to get a better view. I stood where I was, hugging a tree for support and for comfort, trying not to look at the nightmarish scene. The fungus, they both agreed, was strange, and they were going to bring its existence to the attention of the rest of the Guardians.

It seemed to me that Kiro knew more than he admitted to. The thought was disturbing, but I would have let it pass if not for the distant bleating of sheep. They sounded weak and tortured. The poor creatures. Suddenly, I was sure something was amiss. I was so sure I didn't even need to look at my watch, but I did and saw the numbers change as the watch synchronized with the atomic clock in Sofia. It was supposed to do that at midnight or when it became inaccurate by more than ten seconds.

By now, the car and the body were reduced to a puddle of black tar.

Kiro turned to me as if nothing had happened, but that wasn't the case with Gor. The instant his eyes met mine, he realized that I was aware of the time-out. He looked guilty and confused.

"Evgenia, I am sorry to have excluded you from the conversation," Kiro said at once. I wasn't sure if he was going to mention it anyhow or that he saw Gor's reaction. "I just wanted to tell Gor not to concern himself with anything but your wonderful self. I will clear the area. I will take care of your flock. I will make sure your Mr. Casco doesn't remember sending his sidekick here. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful, thank you," I said with my most sincere smile, which I lost as soon I was alone with Gor, flying to my house.

"Gor, you have promised to communicate better," I said. "Now is your chance to give it a try."
Chapter 19

We didn't land. Suspended in midflight, Gor hesitated as if trying to choose his words. "Kiro is my single ally. I owe him," he finally said.

Were we not hundreds of feet in the air, I would have pulled out of his embrace.

"Gor, you have already shown me that for you I am second to your parents. Am I second to your friends as well?"

"You are the first and only one, Evgenia. You are interpreting things the wrong way. Let me show you something. It will cheer you up."

"I don't care to be cheered up," I said, but we had already landed in a place that for sure wasn't my house. It was too dark to see where we were. "I don't want to see anything," I protested, holding on to Gor with the hope that he would take me home.

"You must, Evgenia," Gor said in a suddenly changed voice. "Love cannot survive that many secrets."

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I looked around. We were in a dark cave of immense dimensions. I was curious how such a big cavity self-supports, but my curiosity about that lasted only until faint illumination revealed a globe hanging in midair just in front of us. It had glassy, dark green surface. It was about forty feet in diameter, so it wasn't clear why it needed such a huge space, but it managed to give the impression that a lesser space wouldn't do. Gor stepped closer to it and touched its surface.

Humming like a thousand beehives, the globe came to life. Not starting slow to gather momentum as would be natural, but at once, it began to rotate at a steady speed around a vertical axes. The substance that it held changed color, turning lighter green, then red, then orange, until it became a swirl of all existing colors.

"Gor, what is this?" I asked, not being able to make even the wildest guess.

"This is the Globe of Life. A bank of all life forms that have ever existed on earth."

"As genetic material?"

"No, as actual plants and animals that can be examined or brought back to life. Do you want to see a sample? A dinosaur, maybe?"

"Why not? The biggest one that has ever lived, please."

Apparently, Gor was trying to distract me, but I wouldn't want to miss the fun just because I was angry at him.

Under Gor's touch, the globe expanded to the size of a multistory building, the colors within whirled, and a beast appeared. There was nothing, it seemed, to separate it from us. Only when it swiped its tail, did the globe surface reveal itself as an elastic bubble that swelled and moved to accommodate the dinosaur's movements. The beast stopped chewing whatever it had been chewing on and stared at us with the same curiosity I stared at it.

"Do you want to see anything else?" Gor said, and touching the globe, sent the still-bewildered beast back to storage. The globe shrank to its previous size.

"Gor, I am sure you are not showing this to me for the sake of entertainment. What is this really about?"

"It's about the fungus." Gor's touch filled the globe with a black, greasy-looking substance. "Kiro has taken it out of here for his purposes, and he wants us to keep it a secret. Please, don't mention it to anyone."

"But I already have. I gave a sample to my uncle, and I am sure he had sent it to the lab."

Gor appeared so relieved to hear it that I felt sure my uncle and a lab tech were soon due a memory cleansing.

"It seems Kiro is more concerned about zmay finding out," I said. "Isn't that so?"

"It is, but we cannot discuss that aspect of it. Is this agreeable?"

"Is this going to be a danger to people? Is Kiro really capable of cleaning it up?"

"He is. Don't be misled by his youth and appearance—he is a Guardian after all."

"He is a Guardian? I could never tell. In that case, why is he wasting his time helping us while the rest of the Guardians fight the cyclone?"

"Kiro has a special status. He is the Balancer. He does whatever he wants without the need to explain himself to the others. You see, he helps me against both parties' wishes. I even suspect his help stretches further than the obvious. By not helping up there, maybe he assures that the rest are too busy to bother us."

The globe was still a showcase for the fungus. It offended my senses, my emotions, my entire being. It didn't belong to my earth, and what Gor was telling me didn't make sense.

"If Kiro is not accountable, why does he want us to keep a secret?"

Gor took my face in his large, beautiful hands, and looked deeply into my eyes. "Evgenia, the fungus is not that important. I brought you here because I want to tell you something else. In this place, no one, Kiro included, could eavesdrop. Keep in mind there is no other such place."

"What is that you want to tell me that requires such secrecy?"

"When you were asleep on that bench in Stork, Kiro brought me to you."

"So? Nice of him."

"You don't understand. He made me believe you were a different girl. If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have even wanted to look at you."

"Why not?"

"I had promised my mother that I wouldn't lay eyes on you until and unless you became a part of our society."

"I knew it. Delian was right. She hates me. What have I done to deserve that?"

Gor placed the gentlest, most endearing kiss on my lips to quiet me down. "She doesn't hate you. She only wanted to spare me from heartbreak. Now everything is different. I love you. There is no one, foe or friend, who is not aware of that. But they underestimate the power of my love for you. My determination to keep you safe. Need be, I will turn against them all in order to protect you."

"Gor, what is happening? Why should I need your protection?"

"I hope you won't. I just want to tell you something of great importance. This is not a mere love triangle as you seem to think. Pay attention to what's happening around you. Do not trust anyone, even Kiro."

"Gor, you are scaring me. Let's go back."

"I am scared too, love." He pulled me close and held me tight, kissing the top of my head, whispering in my hair, "The cyclone is under control. We have to go back, and we are to part soon. Do not forget what I have told you."

I checked my watch. It was six already.

"How soon, Gor? How much time do we have?"

"None, I am afraid."

As soon as we landed on my veranda, I heard the easily distinguishable sound of another landing behind me. Gor froze, his arms still around me. I turned around, not leaving his embrace.

Delian was folding his wings four feet away from us. He was relaxed, even magnificent in his nudity as if he were togate. He caught my stare at the one part of him I really didn't want to get caught staring at.

"You like it, don't you?" he said, his penis filling with blood and growing bigger. "Just wait until you see it in its reptilian shape. It has all kinds of entertaining features you'll appreciate."

I took a step back, pressing into Gor's rigid body. Delian made a beckoning sign in our direction and said, "Gor, your father summons you. You are to come with me right now. Evgenia, you go home. Get some rest. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

"This is my home. You are not telling me what to do."

Delian, who had turned to go, expecting to be obeyed by both Gor and me, stopped. He turned and looked mockingly at me, then at Gor. "Do you want to hear it from Gor as well? Gor, tell her."

"This is in line with the agreement," Gor said, avoiding my eyes, and in a blink, both of them were gone.
Chapter 20

Even in my sleep, I was aware that something had gone wrong in my life. It was an unhappy feeling with rusty mechanical wings that screeched and moaned when I ignored it. I held on to my dreams for as long as I could, trying to postpone the moment when I'd wake up and find out what had happened. Long after I was fully awake, I kept my eyes closed. I had remembered, and the subject of my apprehension was in my room. I could feel it.

"Evgenia, you can't pretend you are asleep forever."

Just try me, I thought.

"You have no reason to be angry with me. I realize that I was rude earlier, but you must understand how I felt. Please accept my apologies. Now open your eyes."

I didn't.

"What do you expect me to do?" Delian raised his voice.

"Please keep your voice down," I said.

"But really?" he continued in a hissing whisper. "Do you expect me to stay with you in the house you share with Gor? Are you going to assign me another room so that we can live like one happy family?"

I sprung up in my bed.

"What do you expect _me_ to do? Accept your orders and pretend I like that?"

"The situation is wildly in your advantage. You are being courted by two men."

"Why do you even bother? Gor told me that my choice didn't matter."

Delian stood up from his chair, walked to the veranda door, briskly, as if leaving, but he didn't. He leaned on the frame, and spoke with care as if making sure his words were convincing.

"That's not precisely the truth, Evgenia. Your choice is very important, at least to me. I am determined to make you choose me. All I want from you is to give me a chance."

"But you don't even love me. Why should I choose you?"

"When the time comes, Evgenia, my love for you will make Gor's love look like a drop of rain in the desert of your need. And your love for me will be strong enough to match mine."

"Ha, Delian, the poet, who could have known?"

He looked at me with such consternation that, if I was not careful, I could have taken it for something more than his need for reproduction in a world where there was no other choice but me.

"I am leaving now. I cannot stand to be in this room any longer. Please go back to your grandparents' house. I'll be waiting for you there."

"What if I don't?"

"You won't see Gor before you spend the same amount of time with me."

How much he hated to say that. He must have hated me for making him say it, and I couldn't blame him.

Even after he left, out of pure obduracy, I remained in bed. I reached for my laptop and turned it on. The net was full of news about the cyclone. Last night, a forty-one foot surge had hit the shores of Sumatra. The death toll was expected to be the highest in recorded history.

Dying people, natural disasters, flesh-eating fungus, what would be next? I clicked on My Music, found an appropriate album, and uplifting heavy metal filled the room, making it impossible to stay in bed a minute longer. The music was polyrhythmic, with aggressive solos and lovely distortions. Some people would ruin a planet out of greed, others would play their guitars while the apocalypse raged on. I was glad we were not to go down in silence.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon. I wandered around the house for a while, closing doors and windows, tidying up, gathering my things. After fifteen minutes, there wasn't anything left to be done. I took my backpack and walked to the front where the Aprilia waited for me.

On the seat was a white paper bag, which I mistook for a seagull at first. The bag contained a dozen hard-dough doughnuts. I had forgotten my promise. Gor hadn't. But this wasn't enough to repair the damage. I wasn't sure anything would have been. 'This is in line with the agreement' wasn't something I cared to hear ever again. If Gor wanted it that way, he would it have that way, and let's see who was going to be sorry. I took out a doughnut and bit into it. The salty taste disguised the taste of tears.

By two-thirty I was home, hugging my grandparents and lying about my time in Sofia in a clumsy, incoherent way. But I had brought the doughnuts, and the inconsistencies in my story were accepted as minor ones.

After Grandfather disappeared behind his newspaper, Grandma handed me an envelope. She had obviously already opened it. (She reads my mail all the time. She opens the envelopes carefully, and after she is done reading, she uses some stinky brown glue to reseal them, and not very precisely at that, so it leaks in and out of the envelope glue line. Then, she hands them back to me with the most innocent expression on earth.) I could only sigh.

The note was from Delian. He was asking me to give him a call when I was ready to see him. I took a long bath, pondering when I wanted to see Delian. I wasn't sure how they calculated the time. I had spent three days and two nights with Gor. Did the nights count? Was I supposed to sleep in the house Delian had built in the country, or would I need to spend with him five days instead? I drew hot water twice to keep warm, but even so, it couldn't have been more than an hour and a half when Grandma knocked to tell me that there was a police car waiting for me outside.

I asked Grandfather if he knew a good lawyer. He didn't. The town's petty feuds did not attract good lawyers. He saw no connection between my question and the police car, but Grandma did and started wringing her hands. Grandfather panicked only after I asked him to go outside and ask the cops if they had a warrant for my arrest. He was back in a few minutes, visibly having calmed down, with the news that they needed me as an important witness in the investigation. His calm lasted until I said that I wouldn't go unless he came with me and never let me out of his sight while there.

"Is there something we need to know?" he asked. "What happened the last time you were there?"

"Remember? The guy had a stroke right in front of me. I was so frightened!"

"This is not like you at all. You've never been faint of heart."

"He made a funny face when he fell."

"Don't be silly."

"No, Grandfather. I am not going without you."

Grandfather sighed, then changed his shirt and followed me to the police car, around which the neighbors were already gathering.

The agent who met us at the police station introduced himself as Mr. Dukov. Blue-suited and elegant, good skin, no sunglasses. He explained that Mr. Casko had been taken off the investigation and that he would be replacing him. He suggested that Grandfather wait for me outside and asked if either of us wanted water.

"I don't have secrets from my grandfather," I said. "I want him with us in the room."

"Ms. Bolyarski, I am afraid I might need to ask you questions that could make you uncomfortable to answer in front of your grandfather."

"Then I won't answer them."

"I think I have a solution," Mr. Dukov said a bit too readily as if he had prepared for this and any other obstacle that might present itself. "We could go to the large conference room, and your grandfather can sit in the back so that you can talk without reservations. Is that agreeable?"

It was. We went to a rather large room and left Grandfather sitting close to the door while we sat at the corners of the long conference table.

"Ms. Bolyarski, I am sorry if you have experienced something in this institution that makes you uncomfortable to come here alone. If you wish to press charges against Casko, we will support your decision."

He waited for my response, not patiently, not impatiently, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, a man on a job. Did he believe I would be so stupid to admit that anything had happened?

"Please do not concern yourself. I have no reason to complain."

"Very well" Mr. Dukov leaned back. "This was the major reason I wanted to talk to you. If it eases your worries, Ms. Bolyarski, I must tell you that I don't believe you had anything to do with the strange explosions. I am inclined to believe that you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." I was beginning to relax, when he continued. "Twice. And who else was there with you? One Mr. Dellin, a French national of Bulgarian origin, a scientist renowned in his field, and a very wealthy man."

I turned around to see what Grandfather was doing. "I can't hear a word, Evgenia," he called. "You can speak freely."

"Mr. Dellin attended a convention sponsored by the Bulgarian Scientific Society," I said. "Now, he is vacationing. He is not a spy or a bomber, or whatever you think he might be."

"I didn't think for a moment he was," Mr. Dukov said. "I think that somebody may be trying to kill him, and you should keep away from him."

"Who would want to kill a meteorologist?"

"That's what I would like to know," Mr. Dukov said, and I knew that he had caught something in my expression that intrigued him. He stood up, and ignoring my involuntary flinch, reached to shake my hand. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Bolyarski. The car is waiting to take you home."

Grandfather and I refused the offer. It would take us fifteen minutes to walk, and I didn't want people to see me riding in a police car all the time. It was already five o'clock, and the streets and the cafés were filling with people.

The amber light drenching the east facades and the ringing of the tower clock stirred memories from long ago. When I was little, Grandfather used to take me about this time of the day to one pastry shop or another and buy me a treat. He hadn't done that for years. These days, on the rare occasions we went out, he bought me a beer or a small brandy.

The way Grandfather slowed his step when we passed by the first pastry shop told me he was craving the comfort of the sweets, or the past, as much as I was. We passed by the second one, and in a silent agreement, entered the third one, just trying the idea out. We looked at each other and then at the glass counter where the pastries called with sugary voices from their trays. They were neither as colorful nor as abundant as I remembered them from my childhood. What was happening? Was I growing old?

"Which one would you like, dear?" the shopkeeper asked.

I pointed. "This one, this one, two of those, and, eh, this one."

"They don't have sweets like that in America, do they?" the shopkeeper wanted to know.

"They don't," I said to her satisfaction and carried the loaded tray to a window table.

Grandfather chose to have his favorite tartlet with raspberry filling, and ate it slowly watching me devour my sweets with a concerned expression, which I was sure had nothing to do with my sugar intake.

"Good?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. I feel better. I feel like your little girl again."

"You'll always be my little girl. That's why I am so worried about you. I couldn't hear what you were talking about with the policeman."

"He is not a policeman. He is from Special Operations Forces."

"I know. That makes it even worse. I watched him. He expected something from you that you didn't give him. He is not going to leave you alone. What could the SOF want from you? Please tell me if you know."

"I don't know. I think they are wasting my and their time."

He didn't believe me. He looked sad and disappointed, a little older than he had been only a moment ago, and a half-an-inch less in height, a loss he regained at once when we got home and he saw the car.

It was Delian's Maserati, parked in front of our house. The kids seemed to have lost interest in it, and surprisingly, there was no one on the street. Grandfather stopped and turned me around to look into my eyes.

"Does he have something to do with your problems with the police? Just tell me, and I'll ask him not to bother you again."

"As little as I like it, Delian may be the only one who can help me with this mess."

This time, Grandfather seemed to believe me. He greeted Delian without obvious hostility, giving Grandma only a cursory look of disapproval. She seemed to have predicted Delian's visit if her dress and hairdo were any indication. She had also shaved her mustache.

"Dr. Dellin," Grandfather said, "I'll be as forthright with you as I wish you were with us. My granddaughter is being harassed by the police and by the SOF for something she could not possibly have anything to do with. You were with her when the explosion or whatever it was happened. It doesn't seem to me that you are being bothered by the police the same way she is. I would appreciate an explanation."

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Bolyarski, but I have no explanation for you. The police questioned me as well. They seemed satisfied with my answers. It may be good for Evgenia to get out of town for a while, don't you think? As it happens, that's what I am here for today. I came to ask your permission to take her on a few days' hike."

"I don't know," Grandfather started, but Delian interrupted him.

"I hope you are not implying that I could be anything less than a gentleman. Evgenia will be safer with me than she is here."

I was about to say something like the usual 'no one is telling me what to do,' when a paper airplane flew through the open window and landed on Grandma's lap. She took it and smoothed it on the table. There was writing in big, bold letters. 'FOR EVGENIA. VERY IMPORTANT!!!' Grandma turned the sheet around, but I snatched it away before she could read it. The message said, 'We have to see you right away. Mind every word you say. We will write what we have to tell you. Act natural.'

I was already rushing out of the door when I heard Grandma clearing her throat, so I turned around.

"Would you please excuse me for a moment? The twins are waiting for me outside."

"You tell them you have a visitor," Grandma urged.

I took the sheet of paper and pointed to the big letters of 'very important.' She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, just above the china cabinet, where she usually sought God's witnessing her exasperations. Someday, I expect to see him or her there, eight inches tall, sitting on the edge of the of the china cabinet, dangling his or her feet, and nodding to Grandma in sympathy.

"Don't stand there like a statue. Hurry up," Grandma said to me and turned to Delian. "May I offer you some tea, Dr. Dellin?"

"I'd love some, Mrs. Bolyarski. You are too kind."

I stepped outside, making a barfing sound, for which, were it not for Delian's presence, Grandma would have slapped me. She pretended not to hear.

The twins were waiting at the gate. Both of them put a finger in front of pursed lips and turned a pad toward me. On the first page was written: ' _Try to talk nonsense with one of us while reading._ ' Paul turned to the second page. There was a prompt. _'Greet us and invite us in.'_

"Paul, Peter. What a nice surprise," I cried for the deaf to hear. "Please come in. Let's sit in the garden. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks," Peter said. "Your presence is refreshing enough."

"You are such a teaser. Well, what's up with you two?"

Peter started something long and boring. Paul turned the next page of the pad. _'We are spying on you. The watches are radios.'_ Both pointed to the similar watches on their wrists.

There was a pause. Peter was done telling me what's up. I was too shocked to think of anything to say.

"Have you seen Annie lately?" I asked finally, and took the pad from Paul. _'Why are you doing this?'_ I wrote.

Peter took it back and wrote. _'They are paying us handsomely. Besides, wouldn't you prefer friends spying on you rather than strangers?_ '

Paul stopped blabbing about Annie and made a sign for us to wait. He positioned his watch down his side, lifted his butt cheek, and gave a vociferous fart.

"Paul!" I cried. I had never heard anything like that in my life.

"Stay back," Paul said, and topped his previous achievement with a double cannon fire.

_'It took three cans of beans to do that,'_ Peter wrote in the pad, and I had to clasp my hand hard over my mouth not to scream with laughter.

"Oh, that feels better," Paul said with a sigh of relief. "You know what happened last night at the rock club?" He started another boring story.

_'Who pays you to spy on me?'_ I wrote.

_'A guy,'_ Peter wrote.

_'Some Mr. Dukov?'_ I wrote.

_'He gave us another name,'_ Peter wrote. _'But I swear I could hear a Russian accent in his speech. We are supposed to ask you about the scientist. We'll do that now. Careful what you answer.'_

"So, would you like to come with us tonight?" Paul asked.

"Sorry, probably not." I said. "I feel a bit tired."

"Come on, Evgenia. Would you rather spend time with the old scientist? What is he to you anyway?"

"Just a friend of my father. Don't you worry, you two are still first and second to me."

The twins asked many more questions about Delian, faking jealousy, or maybe not faking it, and I gave them some long-winded answers that meant nothing. I kissed both of them a tender goodbye and went inside.

Delian and Grandma were conversing in French again. Grandma was flushed with pleasure. Grandfather had his eyes on the clock. He glanced in my direction once and resumed staring at the clock.

"Delian," I said. "I am coming with you. Give me a few minutes to pack."

It seemed that in my absence Delian had managed to ease my grandparents' reservations. They both looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and anxiety, but didn't say a word. I packed whatever clean clothes I had and in fifteen minutes I was in Delian's car, waving at Grandma, who was standing at the gate to send me off.

"It seems the Russian FSB is after you as well," Delian said when we were around the corner.

"Have you been eavesdropping?"

"I couldn't help it, I have a very sharp hearing, Also, I took a moment from the pleasant conversation I was having with your grandmother and searched the area. There are two FSB agents in town, registered at the hotel under Bulgarian names. I am surprised that your friends caught the accent, I would say it's unnoticeable for a human ear. The interesting part is that the watches they gave your friends are not equipped with radios."

"That is weird, isn't it?"

"Not if you think about it. These days the intelligence services employ more sophisticated techniques than that. If they wanted to listen to your conversation, they wouldn't need the twins with or without watches. It appears that they are trying to attract somebody's attention, and I am not sure whose."

"Can't you do something about that?" I asked, feeling like a beggar. "Can't you make them forget why they are here?"

"They both are afflicted with a mild brain infection. I don't know what would happen should I choose to manipulate their minds. Don't worry. You have nothing to fear, you are with me now."

"My great-grandmother got killed probably soon after her zmay lover assured her she had nothing to fear."

As it seemed, there was a subject that could make Delian uncomfortable. A shadow passed over his face and darkened the blue of his eyes.

"That was a tragic story. Lilla wanted to die. It was her solution for her internal conflict. Her baby daughter, her husband, her family, it was too hard for her to abandon all of them. You wouldn't understand. She had morals. I...we couldn't save her. She didn't want to be saved."

"She had morals? I wouldn't understand? Clearly, you don't have a better opinion of me than I have of you."

"I like you as you are."

"Not that I care if you like me or not, but just so you know, I have morals, only I am not stagnant about them. What is the point in having rigid principles in a changeable world?"

"What indeed? We are soul mates, Evgenia. Only you are too stubborn to admit it."
Chapter 21

Delian had transformed the country house into a love nest, ignoring the sketches of the interior I had done for my project. I had in mind something modern and sophisticated, a look that said, 'we listen to Wagner here, and read Kierkegaard.' The new look said, 'we have a lot of sex here, and in every possible spot.' The floors were covered with deep Persian rugs. Pillows littered the floor and the sofas. Two rooms had been joined to allow space for a king-size bed. Bang & Olufsen stereo systems were installed both in the bedroom and the living room. One wall in the bedroom was covered with racks of vinyl records. The opposite wall was turned into a picture window overlooking the stream outside. The bathroom had a Jacuzzi, and it was stocked with the personal hygiene products I favored.

"I hope you like what I've done here," Delian said, "but if you want something different, just say so."

"I don't care," I said, looking through the LPs. All my favorite bands were included with complete collections of their work. When did they put out LPs, I wondered. It had been only a recent comeback. Another of Delian's tricks for sure, this time a really good one. Trying to ignore my delight, I added, "I won't sleep in the same bed with you even if you have live bands for me on the lawn every night."

Before I was done speaking, Delian had taken me in his arms and flown me to the bed where we found ourselves lying on our sides, facing each other.

"You've slept in a much smaller bed with Gor," he said. "I'll behave. I promised your grandparents. They seem very old-fashioned about premarital sex. Either that, or they cannot stand the thought of a sweaty male on top of their little girl?"

"They are afraid I could get pregnant, that's all. I know it is a matter of contraception, but I am not going to argue with the people that raised me and...and I won't let you talk about them like that! They are so much better than you'll ever be."

"They sure are. By the way, do they know that you've had sex fourteen times with three different young men so far?"

"If you are digging into my mind, you might find other things you won't like."

"I'd never do that without your permission. Your sex life is a part of the record."

"Wonderful! What else?"

"You had to pleasure yourself afterwards on twelve occasions out of fourteen. The two exceptions were when you were drunk and high and didn't need much from them."

"Oh, my...that's disgusting."

"I'll make you very happy in bed," Delian said, and I felt his erection swelling. The memory of the beautiful animal residing between his legs made me shudder. An almost violent surge washed over me and made me feel like I was sinking. Delian grinned like a cat. "See, we are made for each other. We are peas from a pod. Stop denying it."

I closed my eyes, but it made things worse. I was sinking and sinking, and I knew what would happen when I reached the bottom of this quagmire of lust. Only falling in love could cure me, but the only people I've ever loved were my grandparents and my uncle, and yes, Mazurko, the tomcat I used to have as a child. I felt Delian lift me out of the bed and place me on my feet. I swayed and opened my eyes.

"You had fun showing your world to Gor. Let me now show you my world. You'll see how much more fun this is going to be."

He took my hand and led me to the wardrobe across the room. My size clothes of all kinds hung on hangers, crowded the shelves, and erupted from drawers. "Choose something nice to wear. We are going to the opera tonight. After that, a cocktail party in my apartment in Paris. It's time I introduce you to some of my friends."

"I don't like opera."

"Because you've never given it a chance. You'll like it this time, I assure you. You should see the cast list—the best performers of our time."

Delian started taking out dresses. "All these are single models. You won't run into a woman in the same dress. Pick carefully which shoes to wear. You are not used to high heels, and it's going to be a long evening."

Looking at the extravagant display of fine materials and pretty shoes, I was shocked into silence. How was it possible for the man who knew every little detail about my life, all my preferences and desires, who knew that I loved analog recordings with the real or imaginary belief that digital records killed the flavor of music; how could that same man try to impress me with clothes and jewelry, and material opulence? Was I that shallow without even knowing it? What else was I deceiving myself about? I wish I knew. I even considered asking Delian, but I already knew his opinion of me, which wasn't flattering anyway. Instead, I asked the most stupid question.

"How much did all this cost?"

"What a rude enquiry, Evgenia. But since you've already asked, I'll answer. Not including the jewelry, one million, nine hundred fifty thousand dollars and twenty cents. Not only are the dresses single models, but they have also been made to your measurements, especially for you. The lingerie, too. My girl deserves nothing less."

"So, it's not me who deserves something, but your girl. Why don't you keep this junk until you have one?"

"I agree this is junk, my sweet poisonous thing. It's only for when we socialize with humans. Just wait to see what I'll have for you to wear to the Summer Meet. You will outshine them all."

I shrugged. "I always do."

"No lack of confidence. But I must warn you. You will find yourself among the most sophisticated women on earth. They've had many hundreds of years to polish their skills."

"I thought you were referring to the zmay wives. My understanding was that you choose mates with whom to procreate—or is it replicate?—not for their intellect. Besides, humans don't live hundreds of years."

"What did you think? That we would let our mates grow old and die after they had given us sons? How silly of you. They stay with us through the rest of our life on earth, and with only a single exception so far, they follow us when we move on. That is a very long time to spend with someone with inferior intellect."

"Oh, so when I mate with one of you, I'll need to live with the guy forever? This is a more serious commitment than I was prepared for."

"You are not going to mate with one of us, Evgenia. You are going to mate with me. Don't forget it for a minute. Hurry up, now. We are running late."

Palais Garnier would be something to talk about in my architecture class next year, so I tried to memorize my first impressions of it. I'd never cared much for neo-baroque, and one look at the gilded walls overflowing with gypsum ornaments only confirmed my opinion. There was a lingering smell, a mixture of stale cigarette smoke, dust, leather, musty perfumes. People in evening clothes streamed around Delian and me. Parisians were known to overdress. They would do it even for a rock concert. I'd seen that last year when I came to the two KC's shows in Le Palais des Congrès de Paris. What I was seeing tonight was more than men in tails and women in gowns. It was an extravaganza of fashionably dressed people, every one trying to outdo the other. If all these jewels were real, these people were not millionaires, they were billionaires.

I had chosen a floor-length gown that left my shoulders and most of my back bare. Delian had helped me put my hair up. I had refused to wear the jewelry he wanted me to and had only a small golden locket to draw attention away from my breasts, which didn't seem to work, judging from the looks I was getting.

"I think this dress is not cut right," I told Delian. "In the front."

"I've noticed the delectable bounce. The hard nipples, I dare hope, are because of my proximity. Or is it because of all these men staring at you and salivating?"

"Most of them are old. Do you see anyone younger than forty? Aside from the women, of course. See how many of them are much younger than their husbands. These oldsters must be full of money. I didn't know there were so many rich people in Paris."

"There aren't that many rich people in Paris, but there are in the world. This is not a regular performance. If you cared about opera, you'd know that the season is over. This is an anniversary present from Sheik Seleidin to his wife Almira. The old men ogling you are the ones that rule the human world."

"Hmm, do you think they serve drinks here? I would like a martini, or gin and tonic, or something."

"I would ask you to curb your drinking tonight. For the humans here, I am Professor Dellin, a man of splendid reputation and significant wealth. You are my future wife, so behave accordingly."

"Screw that," I said and stopped in my heels. "Either you get me a drink, or I won't take another step."

"Oh, Evgenia. When are you going to grow up?"

"Whenever it is, it's not happening tonight. If you think I am not worthy of your company you are free to take me home."

Delian lifted my hand and kissed my fingers. "I'll get you a drink. Just remember that you'll be seeing these people in the future. Don't embarrass yourself."

"I can drink like a fish, and I need to drink a lot if I want to feel as much as a buzz. When have I ever embarrassed myself because of a few drinks?"

"What about your behavior at the last Lollapalooza in Denver? You were riding on the shoulders of your then-boyfriend and flaunting your breasts in your wet t-shirt. The same breasts you are suddenly so self-conscious about."

"I won't need to do anything like that now. You've made sure that my dress shows it all. As do the rest of the clothes you've bought for me. You...you don't care about me. You just want to wear me like a carnation in the lapel of your expensive jacket."

"Don't be angry with me, pet. Listen now. I have a box, but we are not going to be alone. We are all going to have champagne, so you can have some, too. Don't ask for it, I'll refill your glass when I consider it apt."

"You promised we are going to have some fun. Now you are turning the evening into a business affair. I feel like I am at one of my father's parties. Why did you even bring me to an event I could care less about? To show me off?"

I felt the sulkiness in my voice, the effrontery of my behavior, and it suddenly didn't feel right. Delian had dropped his mocking expression and was looking at me studiously, with marked disappointment.

"I like opera, Evgenia," he said. "I have been looking forward to this evening."

I stood shamefaced in front of this impenetrable man to whom I so foolishly had assigned the most base of natures. The only solace I could find was that the fault was his as much as it was mine. He had presented me with a façade of condescension to which my response had been uncouthness and resentment. He must want it that way. He must have reasons to welcome or even create this abhorrent tension between us on purpose, but why? To subjugate me if he couldn't win me?

There was no chance to speak my mind. The evening turned into a flow of insincere smiles, sweaty hands, and lusty eyes. I must have been introduced to hundreds of people. There was a constant stream of individuals who wanted to meet me even after we were seated in Delian's box.

The overture provided a much-appreciated relief.

It was Puccini's La Boheme, which I found an interesting choice for an anniversary celebration for a happily married couple. As far as I remembered, it was a love story with a bad ending. The music interrupted my musings. It was so beautiful it was hard to believe that this was the same music I had already heard and ignored on the radio or on CDs. I tried to analyze the role of the superb acoustics and the surround-sound effect achieved without sound amplification, to find the rationale for the clarity with which each note hung in the air without the slightest distortion. After a while, I gave up and I surrendered to the music, enticed and becalmed.

I should have tried to cultivate an appreciation for opera a long time ago, I thought. What else was I missing, I worried with the greediness of a spoiled child, when Delian stood up and turned to face a newcomer who had just entered the box.

"Lord Kiro," Delian said. "Are you here in your capacity as a Balancer?"

"No."

"I don't recall inviting you."

"I just thought I would stop by. May I stay for the performance?"

"You may not."

Both spoke in normal volume, and even though I knew that the other patrons could not hear them, I still felt uncomfortable and hoped that Kiro would leave. Instead, he yawned, showing all his teeth.

"Pretty boring, anyway. Don't you agree, Evgenia?"

"Actually, it is not that bad," I said.

"Lord Kiro, please leave," Delian said. "You are trying my patience."

Kiro didn't pay any attention to Delian, who was clearly very angry. "Yes, it is not that bad," he said to me. "But just think that only a few miles from here _Death by Virtue_ is driving through the roof more than three thousand fans."

Damn! _Death by Virtue_ was one of my favorite bands, and I had missed their last show. I so wished I were there, not here, and I knew that both Delian and Kiro realized that much.

"Kiro," I said in a hurry, afraid that Delian would just toss him down into the orchestra. "This is low even for you. Why don't you leave us to enjoy the opera?"

"As you command, my dear. You stay and be bored if you wish. I'll go to the rock show so that I can take you there some other time."

Kiro turned to leave, but to my surprise, Delian stopped him. "I have a better idea. Gor will take Evgenia to the rock show. I will stay here so that I could take her to this performance should she so desire in the future. You, Lord Kiro, will stay completely out of it."

"No, Delian. There is no need to do that," I said. I couldn't understand why Kiro was acting this way. It was in such poor taste. I understood even less why Delian was going for it.

"I insist, Evgenia. Go and have fun. No making out with Gor, however. Don't forget that this is on my time." Delian's anger was gone. He seemed to enjoy a secret revelation the nature of which I couldn't guess.

Kiro must have had his doubts as well. "Lord Delian, let's forget about it."

"Do not back down, Lord Kiro, it was your idea. I do not require anything from you. Just do not interfere at the rock show as you have done here. I want Evgenia back at midnight."

"I can't go dressed like this," I protested.

"Here is your concert garb." Delian pushed a bag into my hands. He must have picked my clothes from home in the short time I spoke. "You can change right here. No one will notice."

Kiro dropped me in front of Le Grand Rex, pointing in the direction of Gor. "Look at him," Kiro said, and I looked.

Under the fluorescent lights, Gor seemed immersed in daylight. He stood apart, he radiated health and purity like sheen, he was flawless, and he was beautiful. The crowd of young people around him was dimmed by his presence. They looked like a background for a studio photograph in which the only real person was Gor.

Why didn't anyone stare? Why didn't anyone try to get close and touch him?

I wondered if I paled next to him like the rest of them. I searched for my reflection in the glass walls but couldn't find it, and Gor was already next to me, taking my hands and leaning for a kiss.

Engulfed in his evergreen scent, I surrendered to the bliss of his kiss, satisfied for a moment; the next, already thinking how badly I wished Delian to disappear, right now, along with the opera house, the best cast of opera singers, the orchestra, and all the jerks packed in there so that Gor and I could be left in peace.

I felt polluted by my thoughts, ashamed. Without hoping for it, I had gained two hours with Gor, but instead of enjoying the stolen time, I felt deprived. Just as always, I wanted it all.

"Why are you upset, love?" Gor asked with concern that redirected my anger at him.

"I don't know what is going on," I said. "It is unexpected, and it is not in line with the agreement, is it?"

"I see that you still feel hurt by my poor choice of words. Will you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," I lied, feigning insouciance and feeling cheered by it. "All is good. We have two hours together, the band is awesome, and from what I've heard, the venue is one of the best in Paris."

The venue, a famous Art Deco building, was indeed worth its reputation. As we walked in, I couldn't take my eyes away from the architectural details, the fountains, the star-sprinkled overhead. The only issue I noticed was that they hadn't removed the seats. Who would sit at a heavy metal concert? Of course, no one did. The crowd was either standing by or on top of their seats.

An attendant led us to our places, which were up in front where a good sized mosh pit had formed in the space between the first row and the stage. The sound was perfect, and Mike, the lead guitar player, had just started one of his virtuous solos. Gor encircled me in his arms, and I forgot all my cares.

Between songs, I turned to see if Gor was having fun. Judging by his pained expression, he most definitely wasn't.

"What is wrong? Don't you like the music?"

"I don't know. It is too loud. But I am happy to be here with you."

That almost killed the fun for me, too. The irony didn't escape me. While Delian had merely bored me with his choice of entertainment, I was torturing Gor with mine. There must be a lesson to be learned from this, but I wasn't sure what it was.

"Gor, will you get me a drink, please?" I said. "We don't need to stay. Just a couple more songs and we can leave."

"Of course we will stay. I can filter the music. How does one get drinks here?"

"You go to the bar, ask for a Guinness and a shot of Jameson for me, and whatever you want for yourself. Don't forget to tip the bartender."

"I don't have whatever is their currency. Will they take gold?"

"Gor, take the drinks and make the bartender forget about you," I said, and turned my attention to the band.

By now, I believed that I had understood Delian's motives for letting me come here with Gor. He must have wanted to show me how unfit Gor was for human society. As if I couldn't teach him everything that he would ever need to know. On the other hand, I couldn't understand what Kiro had to gain from it.

Gor was taking his time. Probably waiting in line while other people pushed in front of him, or maybe trying to persuade the bartender to accept a gold coin for payment. I was losing patience when Gor, white-faced and trembling, pushed the drinks into my hands and disappeared in the crowd without a word. I ran after him, trying not to spill my beer, wondering what had disturbed him so.

The music seemed louder now, but it couldn't muffle the crash and the screams that came from the direction of the balcony. Just when I looked up, I saw a whole seat flying in the air and landing in the crowd. The screams of agony and fear grew louder. Another seat followed the first one a moment later. Then, all hell broke loose. Bottles, half-eaten sandwiches, and an array of random, unrecognizable items flew in all directions. Fights started at so many places that the security, not being able to stop them, ran around gathering the heaviest objects that people were throwing at one another, trying to prevent reuse. They didn't have much success. Some people started breaking the furniture when they ran out of bottles and glasses. A large piece of wood hit a girl three feet away from me. Blood ran into her eyes, blinding her. She was screaming and no one was paying attention to her.

The band was still playing.

What is happening, I thought. This is a mad house. Where is Gor?

Abruptly the music stopped, and Mike shouted into the microphone, "Please, stop the melee! This is not right. Please, people..." A bottle caught him in the face.

Some of the young men that were not fighting were hauling their girlfriends toward the exits. I followed, my drinks still in my hands until it occurred to me to toss them under a chair. The floor was already slippery with spilled drinks. Pushed from all sides, I was on the verge of losing my balance, picturing myself on the filthy floor, tramped to death.

"Gor!" I cried, and Gor was already above me, taking me in his arms and flying with me high above the crowd. "Gor, where have you been? I almost got killed."

"Seven people have already died. Five from trauma, two from self-inflicted poisoning. I was able to save only one." Gor looked down where the fights and chaos continued. "I don't think I care about human society at all. The Staries are right—humans are not worth it."

"Don't say that. Let's get out of here. I will explain."

"Explain what, Evgenia? The woman who died from drugs was three months pregnant. The man who ripped out the seats and threw them into the crowd felt proud of his strength. This is not war. This is supposed to be recreation. I don't understand."

I put my hand over his mouth. He was right, but I had to try. I checked my watch. It was eleven thirty. I had half an hour to persuade Gor that humans are not monsters. I wish I knew how.

We sat on a curb not far from the venue, cuddling, and watching the ambulances and the police cars piling around all exits. The wailing sirens, the blinking lights, the chaos and commotion made my eyes and ears hurt. My head thumped, amplifying my heartbeat. I couldn't think of anything to say that would undo the damage. Gor's face was dark and unhappy even as he held me in his arms with his usual tenderness.

"I've been to so many rock concerts," I lamented. "This has never happened before. True, I've seen people OD, and on occasion, there has been a food fight, but nothing like this. Do you think Delian might have anything to do with this? He was pretty mad at Kiro for ruining his evening."

Gor's look made me shiver.

"Evgenia, how could you even think that? Have they corrupted you, too? How I wish to take you away from these...savages."

"What are you saying? I cannot live like that. I would die of boredom and solitude."

"You find this entertaining? You want to live like this?" Gor pointed at the ambulances speeding away, the bloody people waiting to be treated, the cops using their batons on mere boys who were trying to flee the scene. Gor stood up, pulling me to my feet, and in a moment we were in front of a large, brightly lit house, at which Gor pointed with even greater distaste. "Or is this what you can't do without?"

"What is this, Gor? Where have you taken me?"

"This is Delian's Parisian palace," Gor said, his voice bitter, almost unrecognizable. "It's midnight, and you have to go back to him."

Before I could even think of what to say, Gor let go of me, and with a heavy heart, I had to walk the few steps to Delian's door where he was already waiting for me.

In a last act of desperation I turned around and shouted in the darkness, "Gor! Visit St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna. Listen to some Bach. Go and see the paintings in the Hermitage. Remember how kind to you the old people in Stork were. Gor, please!"
Chapter 22

At the threshold of Delian's house, I studied his face, trying to detect deceit or at least insincerity while he was trying to assure me how sorry he was. How he would have never let it happened if he knew that things would turn out so badly at the show. How he had only wanted me to see that Gor's youth didn't make him a better fit for me, and that had been the extent of his intentions. He finished and waited for my response, and only after I nodded my understanding, his expression relaxed and the end of his lips moved ever so slightly, almost in a smile. His upper lip was a little fuller at the sides than in the middle. I noticed this particularity for the first time. It gave his smile sweetness that contradicted the cold, blue stare of his eyes.

"You are tired," he said. "You are more than tired, you are exhausted." He stroked my shoulders. His touch was light, barely there. He let his hands slide down my back, and that brought him even closer. His mouth felt warm on mine, and lingered there for a long, indulgent kiss, spreading _Ijn_ into my whole body, restoring my energy.

"Thank you. I wasn't sure if I could stand meeting more people tonight."

"They are not random people. The people you'll meet now are the closest I have to a family. They are my friends, and I want them to meet my precious girl at last."

"When are your friends coming?"

"They are already here."

Delian led me in. At least twenty men and women were standing around the large room. They seemed to have just arrived because they were smiling and greeting each other. Again formal wear. Most of the women were better dressed than I thought was possible. The materials of which their gowns were made sparkled or reflected the light in ways no material I've heard of ever did.

All eyes turned in my direction with palpable curiosity.

"Dear friends," Delian said. "You all know Evgenia. You've been following her development, and many of you helped keep her safe, for which I thank you. Please welcome her and make her feel at home."

Refreshed as I felt, I still didn't have any desire to meet another twenty or thirty people who knew more about me than my grandparents probably did. But everybody smiled, so I smiled back and took a deep breath. Oh, my! Did I stink! I could feel the smell of distress and stale beer engulfing me like a cloud. Not to mention my clothes. I was in my rock concert attire—torn jeans, scratched boots, and a stained black tank top. My face felt hot as if from sunburn. It must be just as red, I imagined. I looked down almost blind with embarrassment, not because of my trashy clothes and offensive smell, but because of my loss of composure.

"What were you thinking, Delian?" I heard a melodious female voice and looked up to see a smiling, friendly face. "I am Lady Mariella," she said. "Come with me, Evgenia. I will help you freshen up."

I followed her out of the hall to the back of the place and into a room that seemed to be a guest bedroom with an adjacent bath. When I came back from the shower, there was an evening gown laid out on the bed, and Lady Mariella was in the midst of comparing two pairs of equally pretty shoes. To my surprise, the gown was to my taste, not one of the overly revealing dresses that Delian favored but something that I would choose to wear if I had the means to acquire such a costly item.

The lady asked me to sit in front of a dressing table, and with one barely noticeable waft of _Ijn_ dried my hair. She divided it into eight sections and asked me to start braiding the right four while she was working on the left ones. I was about to mention that this was too folksy for the occasion when she cleverly pulled all the braids back, twisted them and arranged them on top of my head, fastening the elaborate hairdo with a tortoiseshell comb.

I shook my head. The creation seemed stable. "Lady Mariella, thank you for your help. Sorry to have been a nuisance."

"I would do anything for you, dear. Any of us would. We are one big family. You'll see."

I wasn't sure I cared to see, but she didn't detect my lack of enthusiasm and continued. "The people here are Delian's closest friends and associates, and of course, the core part of the Novies. The rest you'll meet gradually so that it doesn't become overwhelming for you. My son is looking forward to meeting you. All the sons are waiting to meet you most eagerly. We were thinking of organizing a gala reception before the Summer Meet, but the problems with the weather kept everybody very busy."

Lady Mariella leaned over my shoulder, and patted her own hair. The reflection of her face in the mirror, next to mine, made me doubt her words. She didn't look much older than I did.

"How old is your son?"

"He is four hundred."

"Four hundred! How old are you?"

"I had my son when I was four hundred and two. You do the math. Why so surprised? Didn't Delian tell you anything?"

"He's told me very little. I don't understand how your procreation...I mean, relationships work."

"You'll understand with time. We form very close unions." Lady Mariella smiled. "I can tell that you'll be very happy with Delian. He is crazy about you, and the way you look at him...simply adorable. It is very unfortunate that you have to go through this ordeal with Gor."

"Let's not pretend, Lady Mariella. There is no love between Delian and me. I don't love him, and he doesn't even try to pretend that he loves me. He is an arrogant, jaded old man who is used getting what he wants. That's all."

"You cannot be more wrong, dear. Delian really cares for you. I don't know what will happen if he loses you. What will happen to all of us...."

"What do you mean? What do I have to do with the rest of you?"

"We are taking too long," the lady said and stood up. "Let's go."

"Before we go, answer my question, please."

The beautiful woman leaned closer, so close that I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she whispered in my ear, her breath fragrant with orange blossoms. "You cannot know the answer until you join us. But if you could, you would not care to see Gor ever again, you would be trying to win Delian's affection as if your life depended on it. Which it may."

I looked at her sincere face. She believed in what she was telling me.

"Anything is possible, I guess. But if you, or Delian, or any of you knew the future that well, I wouldn't have ended up in the melee tonight."

"Thank Lord Kiro for that when you see him next. While at it, you could also ask him why he is trying so hard to ruin your life."

"Please, stop. That's enough," I said, trying to conceal my irritation. "You are all talking in riddles. How do I know whom to believe? Why should I believe anyone?"

"Soon you will know more than you have ever wished for. Trust me, not all is going to be good news. Until then, how do you want it, Evgenia? Do you want to accept with good will the little I can share with you, or would you rather be kept in complete darkness?"

I didn't answer. What could I say? Sometimes complete darkness was better. It hid the monsters that you could see in half-light, didn't it? I felt tired again, more tired I have ever been.

"What do you think, Evgenia?" the lady asked.

"Nothing. I think nothing at all. Let's go back to the party and have it over with."

Lady Mariella smiled as if she meant it. "Good. Let's go. I'll introduce you to my husband. His name is Hristophor. Imagine, he flies a hang glider. He is the one looking after you when you paraglide."

"Why would he want to hang glide? He can do all the flying he cares for with his wings or however they do it."

"Tell me about it! He says he likes the challenge. I wish he would find another hobby."

A remark like this one could be heard from all pilots' spouses. I bit my lip so as not to laugh and followed Lady Mariella back to the hall, feeling a little better.

It turned out that I had been unnecessarily hostile. It was easy to talk to Lord Hristophor, my fellow pilot. Lady Kaia, the genetic biologist, had some very interesting stories to tell about her latest success in cloning. Lord Alexey seemed to know much about the matter, despite being a pediatrician, my own pediatrician, known to the world as Dr. A. Zink. Lord Sean teased me about my love for rock music until it turned out he liked some of my favorite bands, which prompted his wife to declare that he was insufferable at times. I had the chance to talk to everybody at least once. I had to admit that it felt good to be surrounded by these genial, friendly people, who seemed to like me and to approve of me, not as peers but as indulging superiors. It was good in the way family reunions feel good. One enjoys one's old aunts, then gets bored and wants to join the younger crowd. I took a glass of wine and sat in a quiet corner, out of the way.

Soon, my eyelids grew heavy. I thought that I should get moving, but kept postponing it. The sofa was overstuffed and much too comfortable. I wanted to close my eyes for two minutes only, then I'd get up and see if the crowd was heading out the door, finally.

The struggle to stay awake had put me in a foggy state between sleep and wakefulness, and I didn't seem to be able to move in either direction. Someone took the glass from my hand and placed a pillow behind my head, inhaling deeply when his or her face came close to mine. I felt others coming and sniffing at my shoulders and face, fingers touching me lightly like butterfly wings, lips pressing to mine. Murmuring voices talked about 'ripe' and 'ready.' It was frightening and it lasted forever. I wanted so badly to wake up that I screamed. No sound came from my throat. I tried and tried until the effort woke me up. I ran toward the door, but people were in my way and I couldn't reach it. The faces around me were not friendly nor were they human anymore. Reptilian-looking monsters started advancing on me, their split tongues flicking in and out of their bloody-red muzzles. I found myself back on the sofa, still screaming and trying to wake up, a sharp claw at the back of my head holding me in place.

At last, I realized that I was having one of those night terrors that used to bother me when I was younger. I would scream and run, convinced that I had awakened, only to find myself in bed again, unable to move a muscle. The fact that I knew what was happening never made it less scary, and it didn't now. I was stuck in my dream and couldn't do anything to stop the zmay from devouring me.

"Wake up, Evgenia," Delian whispered, shaking my shoulders gently. He took me in his arms, and finally I woke up, but the terror was still with me. I couldn't stop crying, desperately, as if I would never be able to stop. I pointed to my head trying to make him understand that I had been hurt.

Delian's hand searched the back of my head and removed the tortoiseshell comb that had made me so uncomfortable that I thought it was a claw. I shook my head and the braids came down free.

Delian's expression changed so suddenly and in such a peculiar way that I stopped sniffling at once. He took one of the braids and slid his hand along its length with tenderness and wonder as if he had never seen anything like it before. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, smoothing every hair that was out of place. Absorbed and distracted at the same time, he seemed to have forgotten about me. When he snapped out of his reverie, he turned his attention to me with his usual intensity and focus.

"Very pretty," he said. "Was it your idea or Mariella's?"

"Hers, of course. I wouldn't have bothered."

"Clever Lady Mariella," Delian said.

"Very clever, indeed. You should have seen how hard she was trying on your behalf. Now, let go of me. You are suffocating me."

Delian didn't let go. He seemed lost in thought, not paying attention to my attempts to free myself.

"Evgenia, I understand your frustration, and believe me, mine is a hundred times worse. What I need and what I want have been jeopardized, and not for the first time. But I haven't been fair, punishing you for my mistakes and for the deeds of others. I would like to make amends. I offer you a truce. Let's be friends until the Summer Meet. A bit more trusting, a bit more open with each other. Or, we could resume our love-hate relationship if you find it more entertaining." He paused to give me time to think. "Which one do you choose?"

"Friends," I said at last, not sure if I had been tricked, but even if I had, it wouldn't be for that long. After the Summer Meet, whatever would happen would happen.
Chapter 23

Coffee, croissants, soft-boiled eggs, toast, three kinds of jam. My first breakfast in bed brought to me by a man, a friend. I had just learned that zmay don't dream and was trying to explain to Delian what a wonderful thing they were deprived of. "Dreaming is better than drugs," I told him. "Drugs may entertain you by distorting reality. Dreams take you to a different one, richer, brighter, more dimensional. Dreams talk to you and tell you things even if you don't want to know. They are wonderful, scary, funny, whatever. They make you wake up laughing or with tears in your eyes. You don't know what you are missing."

"Don't speak with your mouth full, you might choke," Delian said. He sat at the end of the bed, wearing an emerald-green dressing gown, looking gorgeous and aware of it. In a friendly way. I threw an egg at him, which he caught effortlessly and started tossing from hand to hand.

"You don't want to hear about it because you are jealous."

"I am not. We are denied dreaming, but spared nightmares. It seems a fair trade."

"Dreaming is worth the occasional nightmare."

"I've seen people's dreams. I wasn't impressed. Do you want to take me into one of yours? One that you think may help you prove your point?"

"Hmm, let me think. All my favorite dreams involve flying, which won't be a novelty to you, but this one you might enjoy. One night last spring, I dreamt that I was very small, maybe half an inch tall. I was in an orchard with apple trees in bloom. The blossoms looked pure white on the foreground of a brilliant blue sky. I flew between them, and their fragrance was making me dizzy. The blossoms seemed to occupy space with more than only three dimensions...."

Delian put aside my breakfast tray. He moved closer and touched my eyelids with a light finger. After a moment of disorientation, I found myself flying among the same apple blossoms with the same feeling of relaxation and contentment, only now I had a companion. Delian was next to me, his expression making me smile. I took his hand and showed him the way through my dream.

When it was over, he still had a look of surprise and wonder on his face.

"I've never seen anything like that. I believe you can really open an extra dimension in your dreams. That was extraordinary. There was more to it, I cannot even start to comprehend what it was. The sky, for example. So vivid, so deep, so luminous. It looked like...like it would fill with angels any moment." Delian looked into my eyes with anticipation as if angels would come out of them at this instant. "I can't wait to become one with you. I hope this won't be my last invitation into your dreams until then."

"Hey, I thought you were going to entertain me, not the other way around. Just so you know, meeting hundreds of people in one evening is not my idea of fun."

"Get ready then. I have a better idea. We are going shopping."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"You like shopping, no?"

"I hate shopping."

"You do? What kind of a girl hates shopping?"

"But we are in Paris. There are more interesting things to do than that."

"I wasn't talking about shopping in Paris. I had in mind the shops around the Roman Forum, circa 60 A.D."

"Teasing me like that! For a moment, I thought you were going to drag me from store to store, as my stepmother does whenever she feels the urge to spend quality time with me."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"It is awful. Not only I have to suffer through the ordeal but I also have to feign appreciation. After seven years of that, any mention of shopping fills me with dread."

"I know, pet. That's why I do all the shopping for you, don't I?"

In my mind, ancient Rome had always been a monochromatic world. White houses, white togas, even people's skin having the transparent depth of a marble statue. The real Forum burst with color, it almost hurt the eyes. The shops lining Via Nova spilled their contents into street displays. Carpets, materials, fruits and vegetables, pottery, and jewelry competed for my attention. And the people! I've never seen so many fit, graceful, handsome people of all ages in one place.

Delian led me through the crowd, stopping here and there to show me something of interest. We didn't pass through people as I was afraid we would. Either Delian knew where to walk or the people somehow avoided us.

"Evgenia, look. Do you see that young man over there? The one walking next to the woman in the green tunic?"

"I do. Who is he?"

"He is my nineteen-year-old self, Delius. That used to be my name back then. The woman is my mother. Let's follow them. They are going home."

They were easy to follow. The young Delian was lankier than his older version but had reached his full height. His mother was almost as tall as me, and the two of them made an imposing couple. I pulled on Delian's hand. "Hurry up. I want to see their faces."

"Patience. My young self is hungry. When they get home, he'll have lunch, and Mother will keep him company. You'll have plenty of time to look at them. Any moment now. The white house with the red border is ours."

A slave walking a few steps after Delius and his mother rushed ahead and banged on the door. At once, the door opened and we walked in after them, through a large atrium, then through a few smaller reception rooms and into a beautifully landscaped courtyard. Low boxwood hedges formed geometrical spaces filled with blooming flowers. A fountain in the middle cooled the air. Cages with exotic birds hung from the eaves of the portico. A table had been set close to the fountain, under a large fig tree.

Delius helped his mother to her seat, and she lifted her face to thank him. She was not beautiful by any standard. The straight Roman features that made Delian look like an ancient god were too large for her face. Her best feature was her mouth. It was precisely cut like Delian's, her upper lip fuller at the sides than in the middle. Delius sat across from her and I finally saw his face. It was Delian's face, and yet it wasn't. Delian was an overly attractive man, but as a young man, he had been strikingly handsome. It wasn't the perfection of his features or the ideal proportions of his body—which were the same as Delian's—that made the younger version so attractive. It was something else.

I sat on a stone bench a few feet away from the table, facing him, wishing to understand what was the precious, beautiful thing Delian had lost in his two millennia of living.

It didn't take long to find the missing ingredient. It was joy. Delian had lost his joy of life. His young self was vibrant with it. He ate whatever was placed in front of him, tossing grapes in the air and catching them in his mouth, breaking off pieces of bread for the fish in the fountain, offering tasty morsels to his mother, sipping from a silver cup, talking and laughing all the time. Curious to see what he was drinking, I stepped behind him to take a look. It was plain water! When was I going to taste the famous wines if people didn't drink them?

All of a sudden, Delius looked over his shoulder and straight into my face. I jumped back and would have fallen in the fountain if Delian hadn't caught me.

"He cannot see you, pet. No need to get jumpy. You wouldn't get wet if you had stumbled in the fountain, but it'll feel as if you were wet, which doesn't make much difference, does it?"

"But he looked straight at me. Didn't you see that? Where is he going now?"

"He is going to his room to write a letter. If you wish, follow him and see what it was like to write letters back then. If you don't mind, I'll sit with Mother for a minute."

I looked at the water in the fountain that can make you feel wet without actually being wet, and searched around for other signs of unreality. I found them everywhere. They made themselves clear in the absence of candy wrappers, old newspapers, empty plastic cups. They demonstrated themselves in the whiffs of smoke mixing with the warm air that made me think of forest fires, but it was just the smell of the cooking fires, which could burn you in a non-burning manner, I imagined. There was no reason to be afraid here. This world was as safe as a motion picture.

"Sure, I'll go," I said to Delian. "I would like to see the house." I took some grapes from the table and rushed to catch up with Delius. The grapes came along, yet the same bunch remained on the plate. I put one in my mouth, not expecting to taste anything, but I was wrong. It tasted sweet and very real.

Inside, I slowed down, gawking like a tourist at the furnishings, which were sparse, and at the decorations on the walls, which were excessive. Throughout the house, the floors were covered with mosaics depicting scenes from the _Iliad_. Niches in the walls contained Greek vases and sculptures. Making a note to ask about the obvious Greek influence, I followed Delius to his room. He sat in a backless chair behind a desk made of light colored wood with pinkish overtones, took a roll of parchment out of the basket next to the desk, and removed the inkwell lid.

I leaned over to watch him write, placing one hand on his shoulder for support. I felt the material of his tunic and the warmth of his body under it. It all appeared so realistic. The beautiful line of Delius' chin was only inches away. What would happen if I placed my lips there, just for a moment? I leaned closer.

Delius' hand holding the stylus froze in midair. A large drop of ink splashed on the parchment. His body started losing solidity and his true nature pellucidated with a pearl sheen. I stepped back until I hit the wall behind me. Delius turned and stood up and was in front of me in the same instant.

"Delian!" I screamed, and my voice was still echoing in my head when Delian appeared next to me, snatched me, and we were back on the bed in his apartment.

"He saw me! He was coming to get me!"

"Easy now—"

"Didn't you see his face?"

"Calm down. Here, have some tea." Delian pushed a cup of lukewarm tea left from my breakfast into my hands and made me take a few sips. I choked and coughed it down the front of my dress. Absentmindedly, as if this was to be expected, he said, "Now change and come downstairs. I ought to talk with some of my friends."

"Do you need to see them right this minute?"

"I do. What has just happened is without precedent. Memories could be observed, not interfered with. I had to call them right away. Let's go. They are waiting for us."

Two of the lords I met the previous evening and one I wasn't familiar with were expecting us in Delian's study. They looked alarmed and acted that way, shimmering between shapes.

"What happened, Delian?"

"I took Evgenia into my memories. We were visiting my childhood home in Rome. Evgenia was alone with my younger self when I heard her crying my name. I took her away the moment Delius was reaching for her. He sensed her presence."

The three lords leaned their heads toward Delian's, the look on their faces changing from disbelief to wonder.

"That is not all, and it is not the worst," Delian continued. "My memories have changed. I remember now the unsettling feeling of someone's presence in my room. I must admit that I am shocked."

Lord Alexey gestured toward the round table in the middle of the study. "Let's sit down. Evgenia, tell us all about the incident."

"I was leaning to look over Delian's...I mean Delius' shoulder. He seemed to feel the touch of my hand. He was still for a moment, and I stepped back. Then, he was right in front of me, reaching for me. I don't think he saw me, but he knew I was there."

"That's exactly right," Delian confirmed.

"I believe that he suspected something from the beginning. Remember how he turned to look where I stood while we were still outside?"

"I felt something like a movement of air then, but it seemed natural enough." Delian said. "What do you think we should do, Lords? This episode challenges our understanding of the world and of our own nature."

"I suggest," the unfamiliar lord said, "we keep it quiet until we know more. Can we be sure that Evgenia won't tell anyone?"

"Evgenia, this is Lord Maxim," Delian said, and Lord Maxim nodded at the belated introduction. "As you know you enjoy a special privilege. None of us would invade your mind without your permission—"

"Really? I don't believe you. You know everything about me. How could this be?"

"I've been a part of your life since you were born. We all have."

"So, whom of you should I hate most? Who of you was around when my cat was hit by a car and didn't lift his finger to save it? To spare me years of grief?"

"Sorry, pet. I would have saved it if I knew you would be so heartbroken over it."

"Delian," Lord Maxim said, "please keep focused on the problem we have at the moment."

"I don't have a problem," I said. "What is it to me that recorded information can feel my presence?"

"My apologies for being inconsiderate," Lord Maxim said, "but this has a lot to do with you. I tend to believe that you caused it to happen."

Everybody looked at me with an intensity that could shatter me if I were glass. I shrugged. "So what am I supposed to do about it? I didn't do it on purpose."

"Of course, you didn't," Lord Daniel, who hadn't spoken until now, said. "The question is how you did it, and what the full range of consequences is. Let me ask you one more time. Will you keep this a secret at least until the Summer Meet?"

"Keep it a secret from whom? You don't suppose I'd tell my grandmother. She would call an ambulance if I did."

"No, Evgenia. We don't suppose that." Lord Daniel said. "We want you to keep it a secret from Gor and from any of the Staries. Will you do that?"

"Whatever. Would you please excuse me for a moment? My phone hasn't stopped ringing for ten minutes. It may be an emergency."

The phone was silent when I reached the bedroom. I looked at the screen. There were eight missed calls, all from the same unfamiliar number. I called it, wondering who it might be. My grandfather answered after the first ring. His voice was choked and barely recognizable. "Evgenia, your uncle is dying. If you want to say goodbye, you must come immediately. He keeps asking for you."

"Is he in the hospital?" I asked when the shock finally freed my voice.

"Yes, second floor, Intensive Care, room 203."

"I'll be right there."

I rushed down, taking two and three steps at a time. "...you should go back, with two or more of us to keep everything under control," someone was saying when I dashed into the study.

"Delian, please take me to the hospital. My uncle is dying." I waved my phone at him as if it were the evidence he needed to believe me.

He didn't say a word to his visitors, at least not that I could hear. He darted out of his chair, took my free hand, and next, we were in the corridor of the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital. The women at the nurse's station looked at us with a short-lived surprise and went back to their work, oblivious to the fact that two people had just materialized from thin air in front of them.

Delian walked into room 203 first. By the time I entered, my grandparents were sitting stiff in their chairs, with unfocused, unblinking eyes. Between them, my uncle lay in his white bed, his face lost in an oxygen mask. If not for the quiet beeping of the machines he was connected to, I would have thought he was dead. One of his hands was smeared with dried blood from the IV needle stuck in his vein. I pressed my lips to it and felt the flakes of blood, grinding and papery. Someone's wails echoed around the room, and it was not before Delian pulled me back and started shaking me that I realized they were coming from me.

"Calm down. He will be fine. I'll help him."

I pressed my hand over my mouth and didn't dare move or make a sound lest I make things worse by distracting Delian. He bent over Uncle and touched his forehead. "Heart failure, kidney failure, obstructed lungs, diabetes, emphysema, calcified aorta," he said. "You should make him give up the cigarettes and slow down on the drinking. And cut down on the fat in his diet. Some exercise would—"

"Delian, please, hurry."

"Don't worry. He has about twenty more minutes to live. All I need is a fraction of a second. I am designing a specific _Ijn_ that will fix his ailments. Done."

Delian took away the oxygen mask and placed his face above Uncle's. A shiny flow that looked like specs of dust hit by sunlight poured from Delian's mouth into Uncle's mouth. Nothing else happened. Uncle's face was still white, and his eyes closed, deep in the black circles around them.

"It isn't working, is it?" I asked, the anguish closing in on me again.

"It's working. Look at his face."

A faint hint of color was creeping up Uncle's face. His breathing stabilized and became stronger, his eyelids started quivering, his eyes opened, and he looked around. He didn't seem dizzy or confused. He pushed himself a bit higher on his pillows and smiled at me. The next moment, I was crying and kissing him, tears running down my cheeks and my nose. He patted my back for a while, then gently pushed me away and pointed to the box of tissues on the side table. While I was drying my face and blowing my nose, Uncle made a sign for Delian, who had stepped aside to give us some privacy, to come closer.

"I believe that you've just saved my life. I don't know how you did it, and I don't care. Thank you."

"You are welcome," Delian said, and shook the offered hand. "I'll leave you to your family now. Evgenia, I'll collect you from your grandparents' house in a couple of hours if it's okay with you."

Delian left, and I started shaking Grandma awake, then Grandfather. "Uncle is fine. He is not dying. He'll live to be a hundred," I babbled on, looking at Uncle every half-a-minute to make sure he really wasn't dying.

Two hours later, we all sat around the dining table with Delian as the guest of honor. Uncle was next to him, unshaven but in a fresh shirt. The doctors were unable to keep him in the hospital, and they didn't have any good reason to do so. He looked better than he had in a long time.

Grandma had ordered lunch from the fanciest restaurant in town, and she was serving it to the company, barely sitting down herself. She hurried back and forth to bring more bread or to take something back to the kitchen with a spring in her step. The smile left her face only to give way to some sudden but short spell of tears. Grandfather laughed in full voice over Uncle's jokes, which involved mostly the funny aspects of the afterlife. He said that forty virgins had met him at heaven's gate and that was what made him change his mind and come back.

"But, Uncle, what were you doing in the Muslim paradise?" I asked. "What would Father Ohnufrii say if he knew?"

"Not my fault. I must have been misdirected. Pass the ham."

Every now and then, my grandparents would remember that they owed Uncle's recovery to Delian and would shower him with attention. No one brought up the question of exactly what he had done at the hospital. They accepted it and were thankful for their good fortune. I overheard Grandfather asking Delian to forgive him for the cold reception he had given him, to which Delian said that he had never noticed any such thing.

We finished with lunch, and Grandma brought a pot of coffee. When she started pouring, I noticed for the first time how badly her hands were shaking. I took the pot from her to finish the job, and she started crying again. "Excuse me... my nerves...what an ordeal..."

"Mama, what nerves? We are having a celebration. That's not enough for you? Let's make a bigger celebration then. All of us...and Delian, of course. How about a trip to the Black Sea?"

We all stared without saying a word, thinking of a reason to refuse without belittling Uncle's gesture. The expense would diminish his savings and move the car he wanted four models in the future.

"Only the best for us. A three-star hotel, restaurants with a sea view and a real orchestra.... Do you think we can all fit in the Lada?"

Uncle looked suddenly ashamed to have offered such a lousy ride to his parents and his savior. He must have remembered the Maserati. He patted his pocket where his cigarettes were getting crumpled, and laughed a little guilty laugh while we all stared disapprovingly.

The scene around me froze as Delian took the two of us outside of the flow of time.

"Your uncle can't afford it, can he?"

"Hardly."

"I can make them forget."

"I don't want you to turn them into puppets. What would be the purpose of that?"

"I can offer to pay for their trip. Do you think they would leave us out of it?"

"Do not insult them."

"What do you want?"

"I thank you for saving my uncle's life. I'll be eternally grateful to you for it. I wish you would accept his offer and pretend to enjoy his company and the accommodations he can pay for."

Delian lifted my hand and placed a kiss next to the smear of chocolate that the dessert bowl had left on it. My family resumed animation, and plans were made.
Chapter 24

For Delian and me, the drive back from the seaside ended at the country house. The Lada Samara with my uncle and grandparents was somewhere on the road, two hours behind, the last two hours remaining of my time with Delian. We sat on the front porch, enjoying another bottle of the '47 Chival Blanc, immersed in twilight that seemed greenish the way light seeped through the trees.

Delian seemed distracted. I tried to read his expression, failed, and turned my thoughts to the trip. Uncle had been so happy. He could hardly believe what a wonderful time everybody was having and how little everything cost. Without Uncle suspecting it, Delian had not only arranged reduced bills, but he had also tinkered with people and nature alike to make these two days unforgettable. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm, the conversations charming, and Uncle's opinions about the fall of the Roman Empire had never been appreciated so readily. Nor by somebody who had actually witnessed it.

"That was very generous of you," I said, thinking not of the expense—we were just having a thirty-five-thousand-dollar bottle of wine—but the time that he devoted to my family, more so because it cut into the limited time he could spend with me.

Delian took my hand and placed a kiss on the tips of my fingers. "Do not mention it. It was a pleasure to do something for you. Did you enjoy it?"

"I did. Thank you," I said, trying to hide my confusion. I had thought that I outsmarted him with this arrangement, but I felt outsmarted now. I was sure Delian would ask me to choose him for saving my uncle's life, but he never did, and he never, even once, showed any displeasure at being with my family. He seemed to be keeping his promise, being a friend. Had I misjudged his character or his intelligence?

"I'll think of something more interesting for us to do when I see you next."

"I don't like going back and forth like a ball between the two of you," I murmured.

"It would never have come to that if the Novies were the stronger party, but this will change soon. We expect some of the undecided to join us before the Meet."

"I don't understand. How could a girl become a political issue?"

"Women have created political issues since the beginning of time, and none of them have been half as special as you are, my pet." All of sudden, the softness went out of his voice, and his hand squeezed mine painfully. "Shhh... there is someone back there. Don't move. I won't take long."

Not making a sound, Delian left his glass on the step of the porch and disappeared from view. I thought I heard a choked scream, but then it was quiet, so I finished my wine and reached for the bottle.

Another scream pierced the air, then another.

I ran inside to the bedroom. The picture window's clear glass allowed me to see every drop of the blood spraying from the decapitated body Delian still held upright. He sensed my presence and turned around. His face, covered in blood, didn't look like his own, didn't look human. He lifted the severed head at his feet by the little hair it had, and I recognized Casko's features, distorted in a grotesque plaster of horror and pain. Delian let the head drop and started toward the house, shaking the blood off his hands.

I bent over and threw up all over the carpet. I kept retching long after there was nothing left in my stomach, and my head was ringing with the effort.

"Relax. It's over," Delian's voice came from somewhere far away. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't coming anywhere close to me. He was behind me, naked and dripping wet. Somewhere in the house, the shower was still running. He picked me up, and next, I was with him in the shower, and he was peeling off my wet, heavy clothes.

He held me close, washing my face and pulling back strings of hair, his naked erection rubbing against my belly. I felt disgusted, sickened, and oddly aroused. I tried to chase the feeling away but couldn't. The cool water running over me didn't do anything to smother the fire spreading through my body. I wanted to climb up and slide over his magnificent manhood and to feel it move inside me. The muscles in my loins were already contracting in anticipation. I wasn't able to stop myself. My body was arching to fit his, pushing closer...

"No, pet," Delian groaned in my ear. "The adrenalin rush is making you excited. You don't want to do this now, believe me."

He turned the water off and reached over for towels. Wrapped in a bundle, he brought me to the bed and left me there until he got dressed. His wet towels went over the mess I had made in front of the window. I felt I might be sick again. Delian was right. I didn't want anything to do with him.

"You should not feel this way," he said when he saw my expression. "You should not let that miserable creature's death spoil our relationship."

I swallowed with an effort. My mouth was so dry it hurt.

"I know what this man has tried to do to you. Kiro doesn't seem to comprehend the line between ordinary human experience and a potential disaster. I've made sure he has a better understanding now."

"Sure, I hated it, but I was perfectly capable of defending myself. Did you need to kill him, and in such a horrible way?"

"Please forgive me. You shouldn't have had to witness it."

"It is not about sparing my feelings; it is about murdering another human being."

"Evgenia, I didn't kill this human if you could call him that, for what he did to you. I killed him for what he was planning to do to you if you fell into his hands again. He was going to torture and rape you. He was going to kill you after he had his way with you. And he wasn't going to be nice about it. How could I let him live?"

"He wanted to kill me? But why? What have I done to him? The rotten bastard!"

"He has done it before. Twice. One of his victims was ten years old."

I couldn't speak, I was outraged?...ashamed? I felt ugly as if just hearing this made me a part of it, left its mark on me. There was a hand mirror on the table. I took and studied my face. It was splotched with red, and my eyes were blood-shot. "Disgusting!" I muttered and slapped the mirror upside down on the pillow. "I am so sick of all this. I have the feeling someone is going out of his way to prove that humans are monsters."

"Some are. I am worried about your safety and well-being every moment I am away from you. Kiro is not doing a good enough job. I will provide more protection."

"Forget about it. Perverts like Casko are one in what, a million?"

Delian took his time before continuing on the subject. He tidied the room. He brought the wine from the porch and refilled our glasses. I had braved a glance through the window while he was gone and saw only a thin trail of smoke where Casko's body had been.

Delian seemed ready to wait for however long it would take me to calm down as if I were going to fret forever over the sorry SOB who had just been cremated in the back yard. While, in fact, I wished that his mother had smothered him in the cradle.

"I am less concerned about SOF and the perverts they employ," Delian said when he felt I was ready to move on. "I am more worried about the FSB agents that keep popping up when least expected. For example, just this morning before we left."

"You knew about that? Why didn't you say something?"

"What should I have said? Evgenia, I leave you alone for a minute and you start collecting phone numbers?"

"This doesn't sound like you. You either waited to see if I'd mention it or who knows what."

"And why didn't you mention it?"

"I simply forgot about it. They came to me when I was waiting in the hotel lobby for you, and my grandparents were still in their room, and Uncle was outside trying to start his car. One of them handed me a piece of paper with a phone number on it and said that he was an FSB agent and I should call him. I threw it in the trash the moment they turned their backs on me."

Delian conjured up a piece of paper and gave it to me. "Is this it?"

"But there is nothing written on it. What is this, a joke?"

"The phone number was written with disappearing ink. That's why the agent wanted you to memorize it. You never listen to people that want to help you, do you?"

"Very funny. Will you finally tell me what this is about?"

"That's the problem. I am not sure. None of us can figure out how the two agents make contact with their agency or who gives them orders or what made them interested in you."

"I thought you could read their minds."

"We have trouble going into the minds of mentally damaged people. The brains of those two have the electromagnetic signature of people suffering from the worst mental maladies known to men. Furthermore, they have the same type of brain infection as the ones in Kirpich, but they all seem perfectly functional. Very interesting. Very. I was going to ask for your cooperation if you don't mind."

"I do mind. You should've seen this guy. His teeth were green as if he had seaweed or mildew growing in his mouth."

"I am not asking you to kiss him. Just call him."

"Well, his phone number disappeared, didn't it?'

Delian handed the piece of paper back to me. Ten digits appeared on it as I watched.

I wanted to tell Delian how exhausting it was just being around him. How it didn't make any difference if he was a friend or a foe. But I remembered to whom I owed my uncle's life and took the piece of paper without further remonstrations.
Chapter 25

My head was still heavy from the valerian tea Grandma made for me last night. If I didn't feel a little sickened by it, I would have taken some more and slept the morning away, avoiding the complications ahead. Instead, I decided to start a journal. In the bottom drawer of my old school desk, there was a pretty notebook where I had written my thoughts for three consecutive days after my eleventh birthday, before abandoning the idea. I looked at the three short paragraphs, the last one of which said 'I wish it would always be summer,' and felt that I had nothing else to add. Still, I persisted. I turned a new page. I wrote the date in the upper left corner. I started a wide, artful loop. Instead of words, under my pen appeared a row of tulips. After an hour of blue-ink assortment of shapes and scribbles, I threw the notebook against the wall and left to seek solace elsewhere.

The twins were still in bed when I called, but they agreed to meet me at the café and were there before me, disheveled and crusty-eyed. I breathed in the stale air around them, looked at their pillow-marked, dear faces, and felt soothed by the familiarity of their company. They planned to go swimming in the afternoon—which had made the morning shower unnecessary—and asked if I would join them. I so surprised them with my eager acceptance and enthusiasm that they thought they had finally found what pleases me most.

I didn't discourage the idea. Nothing seemed better than swimming in the river, all bothering thoughts washed out of my head and carried away with the green waters, first to the great Danube and then all the way to the Black Sea. I was in a better mood when we kissed goodbye and split to our homes for lunch.

July had a hold on the town. The ochre and yellow stucco houses hiding behind the greenery of the street trees created a languid ambience upset only when the sudden breeze rushed to lift the skirts of the girls walking on the sidewalks. I was one of them, and I felt at one with them. We laughed at the ogling boys and the disapproving old ladies with long somber dresses, and moved on, delighted by the rustle we heard coming from the old men's bones when they turned to look at us. Shadowless under the noon sun, we smiled at one another, aware of the exclusiveness of the moment, a moment that was presently coming to an end, shattered to pieces by the uproar and smoke approaching in the distance.

My great-uncles were coming to town.

They rode their motorcycle down the street with the bearing of triumphators riding a gilded carriage through Rome. The impression wasn't spoiled by the fact that the son in the sidecar was crowded with purchases in plastic bags, and the father had a sheet of yellowed newspaper sticking to his leg. Both of them had their attention on the road, looking straight ahead. With the presbyopic vision of old age, they must have seen me from afar. A block away, the son spread his arm perpendicular to his body, and the motorcycle came to a full stop next to me.

"Good day, great-uncles," I said. "What are you doing here?"

They took their time to fluff their mustaches, arrange the plastic bags, shake off the newspaper, etc., and gave me two different answers. "The monthly shopping trip," the father said, pointing to the pile of purchases. "We were looking for you all over town," the son said, flinching under the scornful stare of his father.

"Did you stop by my grandparents' house?"

"We were going to do that as a last resort," the father said. "You are not answering your phone, and we need you to come to Stork right away."

"What is wrong?"

"I'll tell you what is wrong," the father boomed, redirecting his scorn at me. "Your lover has been breaking his back working on your house, and you are not even there to offer him a glass of water. Shame on you!"

"Please, keep your voice down," I said, looking about to see who was eavesdropping. Naturally, everybody was.

"I have nothing more to say," the father said, firing the engine. "I will tell Gor you are coming before tonight."

They left, and a blue cloud of fumes remained in the air as the only reminder of their irrefutable order. On my way home, I called the twins and I begged off the afternoon swim, then constructed a lie for my grandparents. Going with Delian to another climate conference sounded plausible enough.

It was a Friday, and the farmers market near my house was full of people. It had outgrown the space assigned to it, and these days it spilled out into the street, taking up the three blocks down to our street. I made my way through the crowd, at first in haste, then slowing down, wondering if Grandma had seen the peaches and apricots this morning and if she had bought some. I reached the end and turned back for another look. The market burst with color—the women's dresses, the fruit and vegetables in the stalls, the flowers in their zinc buckets. It was a pretty scene, but it bothered my mind with its excess and something else I wasn't quite able to pin down, an unpleasant association or a deja vu.

The people in front of me parted to let somebody walking against the flow pass. Dr. Kazak came into view, strolling through the market in his usual solitary manner as if there wasn't anybody else around. He carried an out-of-character plastic bag and an expression on his face that was more abstract than usual. He was about to cross the street but saw me and stopped at the curb to wait for me. I walked over, remaining on the asphalt to compensate for the difference in height, but I still had to bend a little when he spoke, not sure if I had heard him well the first time.

"What are you doing in my dream, Evgenia?" he repeated, his eyes wandering and his mouth wobbly.

"I just wanted to buy some peaches," I said, sure that I had misunderstood him.

"I'd go home if I were you. It's going to get really scary any moment now."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you remember? I told you about this dream when you came to see me. It's the one about my mother being dead for nine months."

"I remember your dream, but this isn't a dream, and your mother is alive. I saw her sweeping the sidewalk in front of your house earlier this morning."

"This is the same dream, Evgenia. You must have forgotten. It went like this: I dreamt that Mother had been dead for almost nine months. I knew it, and it filled me the sadness of recent loss. It was an early afternoon, and I was strolling through the farmer's market. There was a lot of color around—the women's dresses, the fruit and vegetables in the stalls, the flowers in their zinc buckets. Suddenly, I saw my mother coming toward me. At first, I felt happy to see her, but then she came closer. Oh, the terror! It wasn't her, it was her corpse, a nine-month-old corpse. You know what a nine-month-old corpse looks like, you've seen all those zombie movies. So, I am horrified to the bottom of my heart and want to run away, but she is opening her arms for a hug and asking me how I've been, and I can't refuse her. I hug her, trying not to look at her disintegrated face, but I still can see the boils on her skin and how one of her eyes is hanging out of its socket."

This was the same narrative he had used when he told me of his dream in the hospital, and it was this dormant memory that had made me uneasy earlier. As I stood there not knowing what to expect next, he glanced over my shoulder and his eyes widened. "Look. Here she comes." He pointed somewhere behind me. Dr. Kazak's mother, her white hair wild around her head, her flesh splotched and loose, her eye hanging from its socket on a red twisted string, was slowly making her way through the crowd. The stench drifting from her, putrid and sweet, made me clasp my hand over my nose and mouth.

"This isn't right, Dr. Kazak! This cannot be happening!"

"It's just a dream. It has nothing to do with you. I told you to go home."

"But the smell!"

Dr. Kazak had stopped listening to me. He was waiting to hug his rotting mother with the compliance of a dutiful son. I looked around. No one met my eyes. Dr. Kazak pushed his bag into my hands and took a step to the side, preparing for his terrifying encounter. The flimsy plastic broke open and a handful of mushrooms spilled out and down to our feet. The smell became unbearable.

"Where did you get the mushrooms? Show me!" I cried.

"Over there," he pointed to the side without taking his eyes off the corpse of his mother.

I gathered the fallen mushrooms back into the bag and pushed through the crowd in the direction he had indicated.

The mushroom vendor was an ungainly man, crouching in front of two baskets. 'Wild! Organix!' the sign on one of the baskets said. The vendor was just finishing a transaction, handing a bag to a tall, young man. The customer asked something I didn't hear, took a mushroom from the bag, and sniffed it with exaggerated delight. The vendor laughed. He was laughing when black tendrils started cracking the younger man's skin open and was still laughing while the fungus consumed its victim, reducing him to a small pile of dust on the ground. The woman tending the next stall took out a dustpan and a broom, and expertly swept up the dust. She dumped it into a trash bin two stalls away and took her place behind the vegetables she was selling.

"Aren't you glad?" she said to me, sounding as if she was under hypnosis. "One less FSB agent to worry about."

I crammed the plastic bag I was still holding into one of the baskets, grabbed them both, and ignoring the vendor's cries, emptied them into the trash bin. "Stay away or I'll hit you!" I cried back to the man who was trying to scoop his wares out of the trash.

"They are good. I know mushrooms. They aren't poisonous," he kept muttering even after I pulled a bill from my pocket and threw it at him. It was probably too much, and since I'd overpaid, I helped myself to the newspaper folded in his pocket, which he must have already read, and stuffed it atop the mushrooms. The vendor had calmed down and didn't seem to mind my asking him for a lighter when I couldn't find mine. Under the mildly curious stares of the people around, I set the contents of the trash bin on fire and hurried back to Dr. Kazak.

He stood at the curb, his dazed expression unchanged, his arms still open for a hug. The mother was nowhere in sight.

"Let's go, Dr. Kazak." I tugged on his hand. He gave me a distracted glance and turned to stare in the distance. "We need to move. We are in everybody's way," I shouted in his face, and he finally looked at me.

"Where are my mushrooms?"

"I...lost them. I am sorry."

"Those were inky caps. They are very tasty, but one should not drink spirits for a few days after eating them. I guess I'll have a double kirsch instead. Goodbye, Evgenia."

"Goodbye, Dr. Kazak," I said, and walked the two blocks to my house, trying to concentrate on the lie for my grandparents. Hallucinogenic mushrooms that repeatedly produced bad trips and smelled like hell were annoying but dispensable. Good that I had the right connections. I'd ask Delian to clear the area, and that should be the end of it. The town should thank me. Last I heard, the fungus was ruining the vineyards. I felt that my promise to Kiro had been invalidated by his failure to keep his own.

An old, gnarled acacia at the corner provided shade and some privacy. I took my phone out, wishing that I still had the FSB agent's phone number so that I could call him before I called Delian. That way, it would look like favor for a favor. Against any reasonable hope, I searched my bag, and sure enough, the piece of paper with the phone number was there. I dialed it, somewhat curious, prepared to hear another offer for protection. Instead, a surprisingly pleasant voice made the following declaration: "Since you don't like mushrooms, you are on your own."

To say I was dumbfounded would be a gross understatement. I stared at my phone as if I had never seen it before and probably would have continued doing that for a period of time if Kiro's distinctive laughter had not brought me back to my senses.

Kiro, dressed like a panhandler, came around the tree trunk, bent over with mirth.

"Evgenia, I haven't had that much fun since the last roadshow went out of business."

"I am glad you find this entertaining," I said with sourness I didn't suspect I had in me.

"Don't you?"

"Not at all! Because of your silly antics, poor Dr. Kazak may lose whatever was left of his sanity. What were you trying to achieve, anyway? I am going to call Delian right now and tell him about your stupid experiments."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You are not me."

I wished I had Delian's number on speed dial, or at least had it memorized. The only way to reach him was to go through the caller's list. I scrolled down, not finding it, and a sudden realization hit me—Delian had never called me on my cell phone. On the few occasions that he had contacted me by phone, he had called my grandparents' land line. I wondered if I could call Delian just by crying out his name. I was still considering it when Kiro put his finger across his lips with a shushing sound.

"Stop reading my mind, you terrible, awful—"

"Evgenia, be still. Nothing has happened that is not to some extent to your benefit, and most definitely to Dr. Kazak's benefit. At this moment, having finally gathered the courage, he is asking his mother to invite a certain young lady to tea. I don't want to start gossip, but I'll give you a hint—she has very large feet."

Kiro laughed, and it sounded as if he was laughing at me. Of course, he was, and he had the right to do so. I had been so absorbed in my pathetic matters of the heart that I had become stupid and blind to everything else. It could not be by chance that I had come across Kiro's secret. Had he not wished it so, it would never have happened. He had been trying to tell me something for a long time now, and I wasn't clever enough to understand his message.

"Kiro, I am sorry, but I am not as perceptive as you may have hoped."

Suddenly serious, Kiro took my phone, dropped it in my bag, and turned me in the direction of my house. "Relax, Evgenia. Go and lie to your grandparents as you had planned. Gor is waiting for you."

His words sounded final, but his hands were still on my shoulders, keeping me in place. It didn't seem that he was trying to dismiss me as I had first thought. I felt sure that he had turned me around in order to make me look at something. There was nothing unusual to be seen. There were a few people using my street to reach or leave the market, two kids playing ball, and a man I didn't know was resting on the bench in front of my house.

"You see four adult strangers and two children that you know by name," Kiro said. "Do you want to see the same picture through my eyes?"

I nodded, and Kiro's hands covered my eyes. Instead of being blinded, I saw and experienced with all my senses a picture that was brilliant and all-inclusive. Every little detail, no matter how far away, was on focus. Every leaf on the trees, every pebble on the street or insect in the air stood out with equal clarity. I was so besotted with the perfection of it all that it took me a while to turn my attention to the people. The woman walking with a slight limp was worried that she had been cheated at the market. The man behind her thought that she looked tolerable despite her limp. I wasn't reading their thoughts. Their individuality and their most upfront feelings had become as easy for me to read as if I had been familiar with them my whole life. I realized that not only did I know all people on the street in the same manner, but I could also sense the people inside their homes. My grandmother was cooking, my grandfather was having a nap, and Vasilla, next door, had just pricked her finger on a needle and was sucking on it. I could smell her blood.

"Pay attention now," Kiro said, and turned me to my left, his hands still covering my eyes. I faced the market where hundreds of people were conducting their business. Hundreds of people became instantly familiar. Except for one. A young man who was standing by the honey stand. Next to the clear emissions from the others, he was like dead, like an empty space, like nothing. He smiled, and I saw his green-tinted teeth.

I got it, at last. Kiro had taken real FSB agents, or created fake ones, and infecting them with the fungus, had made them unreadable to the rest of zmay. Why did he want me to know that? What conclusion was I supposed to reach? I still didn't understand.

"Trust is more important than understanding," Kiro said.

He let go of me, and when I turned to face him, he was gone. I was at the crossroads in a world that had suddenly become duller, darker, and devoid of human presence. People turned into strangers again, and the chilling effect of so much alienation made me shiver.

I hurried home to the warmth of my grandmother's embrace.
Chapter 26

Very rarely did the feeling of self-righteousness leave me as it did now. Like any reasonably decent person, I did only things that I believed were right. For the first time in my life, I questioned the purity of my intentions and the rectitude of my behavior. I liked Gor, I liked him very much indeed, but if he even hinted again at the flaws of the human race, he was going to regret it. How odd that I found Gor's low opinion of my entire species more hurtful that Delian's low opinion of my persona. I must be species sensitive. In any case, I was not even willing to consider leaving society for Gor. A friendly Delian seemed the better choice next to a sullen Gor and his hateful mother.

As soon as this thought passed through my head, I realized how wrong it was, how alien to my soul. When had I ever cared for friendly? There must be millions of people in this world that would be friendly to me given the chance. Delian could be as friendly as he thought served his purposes, but what was that to me? I had been played for the fool, and if I were not careful, I could make a mistake I would regret for the rest of my life. I ought to make Gor understand. We were both being manipulated by meddlers who wanted us apart.

Thinking about my problems, I rode the Aprilia up the road to Stork, unaware of my surroundings and the passing time. It took me by surprise when the village came into view. I crossed the bridge, the tolling of the tower clock rolling down to meet me. It rang four times. Time for the fresh bread.

It would be impossible to pass through the village unnoticed.

The queue in front of the bakery included every single inhabitant of Stork. The old people, having familiarized themselves with themselves a long time ago, having lost the necessity of juxtaposition with the outside world, were attuned to the feelings of others to the point where any attempt to deceive them would have been an insult. I didn't even think of trying. I listened humbly to thirty-seven variations of what a wonderful young man Gor was, and what a lucky girl I was, and how I should take a better care of him. It seemed that Gor not only had overcome his difficulties being among humans, but he had also managed to make friends with a whole village of them. They wouldn't tell me the specifics of Gor's industriousness. They all rolled their eyes at my questions like people do when they don't want to spoil a great surprise.

"I better hurry on," I said, and was about to hop on the Aprilia when a very young girl squeezed through the crowd.

She was dressed in a floral print summer dress and matching slippers. Her hair, which she wore loose, was shining as if just washed and conditioned by a loving grandmother. With her heart-shaped face and enormous violet eyes, she looked like a princess from a fairy tale. She was carrying two loaves of bread, just like a child would, one under each arm.

The old people resumed the conversation they had abandoned upon my arrival, forgetting about me, and not noticing the young girl with the bread.

The clock on the tower emitted a low, lingering sound.

"So, who might you be, and what do you want?" I asked, not hiding my hostility. Zmay playing with humans as if we were half-witted children was one thing, but their wives doing it, it was just tacky.

"Excuse me," the girl said. "I wanted to meet you, and I thought that you might enjoy some fresh-baked bread. If I may, I will walk with you for a while."

"Will you tell me who you are?"

"Oh, of course. I am Gor's mother Keraza. Pleased to meet you." The girl offered a small hand, a gesture made awkward by her need to hold the bread pressed under her arm.

I took her hand and looked at her face, trying to find any resemblance to Gor there might be, but there was none.

"Gor takes after his father," she said. "From my side of the family, he has inherited his straight eyebrows, just like my father's, and his gentle heart."

"Please forgive me for being so cross," I said, trying to reconcile the image of the thin-lipped, unpleasant woman I had created for Gor's mother with the shy girl that looked younger than I.

Pushing the moped uphill was not fun, but I got on with it, curious to hear what she had to say. As soon as we passed the church, the tower clock's buzzing stopped, and I felt better about the dear old people that had been manipulated so inconsiderately.

Gor's mother walked next to me in silence, absentmindedly breaking small pieces of bread, once in a while placing one in her mouth, but most of the time throwing the crumbs to the pigeons. The birds that usually loitered around the bakery were happy to follow the bread trail behind us.

She spoke after it had begun to seem that she never would, or at least not before she had reduced the whole loaf to crumbs. "I wanted to invite you for a visit," she said, "but Gor had been expecting you since yesterday. I promised that I wouldn't hold you long."

"You are welcome to come to my house," I said. "I could give you a ride." The steepest portion of the road lay ahead, and I wasn't looking forward to pushing up over a hundred kilos of a machine all the way to my house.

"Thank you, but Gor has a surprise for you, and I don't want to spoil it. Do you mind if I offer you some tea here?"

I agreed and rested the moped on its side stand, not expecting actual tea—she had nowhere to produce it from. But, of course, she had. A small, round table with a lace tablecloth and two Viennese chairs appeared on the sidewalk. The fine china tea-serving set had a rosebud and pale green leaf design on it that matched her dress and shoes, and the vase at the center held real pink roses.

She must have noticed the look on my face. She blushed prettily and changed the tea set to pure white.

"I overdid it again, didn't I," she said, inviting me to have a seat and placing the loaves of bread on the table.

Sitting across from her, I noticed for the first time how sad her expression was. Sadness that was not like a temporary emotion born from my presence or actions, but sadness that had been with her for a very long time.

"Could I beg a favor of you?" she said.

"It depends. What kind of favor?"

"A very, very small favor. I have a message for you, which I would like you to consult when the time comes."

"Why don't you just tell me whatever you want to tell me? I know you don't think I am good enough for Gor—"

"No dear, how wrong you are. I think you are absolutely perfect for Gor. That, however, is not only irrelevant but tragic as well. It is useless to talk to you right now. You won't understand. Please, as another human being, I beg you to accept my message."

Gor's mother was on the verge of tears. Her hand was shaking, and tea was spilling and staining the pretty tablecloth.

"I will take it," I said, and offered my hand, palm up.

A tiny envelope appeared next to the vase with roses. She took it and pressed it into my hand. When I looked at it, it was gone.

"When you are ready for it, just clap your hands."

She took the bread, handed me the loaf that wasn't broken, and we stood up. The table with everything on it disappeared, making flapping sounds like a bird taking off.

"Do not do it without a good reason or out of curiosity," she said, "only when the time is right. Best of luck, Evgenia. I trust you will do the right thing."

"But how will I know when is the right time?"

"Don't worry. You will. Just do not make any important decisions before you've seen it."

Gor's mother touched my hand in a most gentle and loving way and turned to go. I watched her, walking away with her loaf of bread, the pigeons following her but not getting any crumbs this time.

I started the moped, and feeling even more confused than before, rode to my house where Gor should be expecting me.

He was. As soon as I parked the moped inside the gate, he was there, lifting me in the air and twirling me around in circles as if I were a child. I looked at his smiling face and couldn't help but smile back. If Gor had caught a glimpse of the gloomy expression I arrived with, he didn't mention it.

"I've been waiting to tell you something," he said, as he eased me down. "But first see if you approve of my work."

How could I not approve? The brambles were cleared away, the grass was cut, the suckers around the fruit trees were gone. The yard looked like an English park, begging me to walk around in a white, lacy dress. And the swing! It was tied on the tallest branch of an old oak tree that I don't remember being in the yard before. I imagined myself going high, higher than I have ever had gone on a swing, and my heart sped with pleasure. One glance at Gor made it clear that he had a rather different picture in mind—me sitting demurely on the swing while he pushed me back and forth, his beautiful white shirt and my lacy dress billowing around us. How Victorian of him.

Distracted by the swing, I looked at the house last. It took me a moment to realize why it looked so different, so festive, and at the same time so like the rest of the houses in the village. It was the flower boxes lining the whole length of the veranda. At least three dozen of them, overflowing with fiery red geraniums.

I froze in place, smitten with the opulence of the gesture. I understood the meaning of it—Gor had changed his mind. He was willing to share my life the way I wanted it, among the rest of humanity. I didn't need to explain to him the obvious; he had come to the same conclusion on his own.

"The ladies from the village gave me the plants. I only made the boxes. They gave me some rose bushes, too. I planted them under your bedroom windows."

"Will they survive the transplant in this heat?" I asked, still half in a daze.

"I dug them out with two feet of soil around them. Your great-uncles helped me to bring them here one by one. I rode behind the father, supporting the bushes in the sidecar. Of course, I didn't need the help, but it seemed the proper thing to do. Why are you upset, my love? Did I do something wrong?"

"You did everything right. It is so beautiful...so beautiful...." I couldn't say anything further. Yes, it was beautiful, and I was very pleased, as pleased as I had always been when I got what I wanted. But I wasn't misty-eyed, and I wasn't trembling or whatever the girls in love did in such situations.

"So glad you like it," Gor continued with a revived enthusiasm. "I think I have a knack for it, and I enjoy it. I'll build a house for you, Evgenia, in every corner of the world, and each of them will have gardens more marvelous than the garden Nebuchadnezzar built for Queen Amytis. We will be so happy."

I couldn't stand it any longer. I might be spoiled, I might be selfish, and a shameless opportunist when convenient, but I didn't want to be those things for Gor.

"I cannot make you happy, Gor, not in the long run. I can try to become a better person, to match your integrity and your kindness, but I cannot return your love. Not the way you would want me to. I...I don't have a heart."

"Don't say that, don't even think it. You have a loving heart, and soon it will be mine. I am sure of it."

"How could you be sure? Something is wrong with me, can't you tell?"

"Nothing is wrong with you. We must be meant for each other, that's why they have locked your heart's capacity for romantic love."

"They? Delian and company? I have always thought it was because of my mother...or that I had taken after my father....Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I didn't know."

"Kiro told you, didn't he?"

"He did, and I am grateful. It eased my pain and gave me hope."

"Why doesn't Kiro remove whatever this blockage is? Let's call him right now. He can do it, yes?"

"He can, and he offered to do it, but I refused."

"But why? You said you were sure I would fall in love with you. I _know_ I will. Call Kiro, please."

"No, love. I will not allow it. Not until you are mine."

Oh, the pain words can cause. Gor looked at me, his eyes huge and dark, and I knew at that moment all there was to know about love. It hurt. And Gor didn't want me to know this kind of pain should we be parted.

"Gor, my dearest, they are not going to win. I will choose you. I can do it now. Hey, is anybody listening? I want to be with Gor!"

With a staggering, argentic glimmer in the air, two lords materialized in front of us. One of them was Lord Alexey, the other was a stranger. Lord Alexey looked at me sharply, destroying the brief hope that they had come to tell me I was free to stay with whomever I wanted.

"This is Lord Marek. He is with me to confirm that we have reached an agreement with the Staries to take Evgenia," Lord Alexey said. "The matter is urgent but won't take more than an hour. In return, you can spend twice as much time together afterward. A total of six days and five nights."

"I don't agree," Gor said.

"It is not up to you. Your own people gave the permission."

"We thought this arrangement would be to your advantage, Gor," Lord Marek said. "Why should you object?"

"I have a bad feeling about it. Please reconsider."

"We won't do that. Evgenia, nice to have met you at last. You will go with Lord Alexey now."

"Give us a minute," I said, and since they were still there, I had to encourage them. "Kindly, get out of here. Right now. And no eavesdropping."

The two lords nodded at each other and faded away, but I was sure that before long, Lord Alexey would be back to take me to Delian.

"What are you so worried about?" I asked Gor. "Think of the six days we will spend together, and the five nights. I would love that, sleeping on your shoulder, feeling your breath on my face, your arms around me."

"It's a trick. Let me take you away, my love. Let's go and hide until this madness is over. They must come to their senses sooner or later."

"Where could we hide? And for how long?"

Gor didn't speak but sent an image to my mind, an image that chilled my blood. I saw us embraced, but immobile and unseeing, floating aimlessly inside the Globe of Life. A year or a thousand of years would not matter there. My world would be lost for me, and I would not even have the chance to say goodbye to my grandparents and my uncle. We could leave the solar system to the same effect.

I stepped back. "No, Gor. I cannot do that. Don't even mention it again. It scares me so."

"There is no other way, Evgenia. I feel you slipping away from me. I feel you going away and never coming back. Don't you feel it too?"

"I don't. Please, don't worry, Gor, my dearest. I'll be back in one hour. We'll watch the evenfall from the veranda, and I'll tire you with kisses."
Chapter 27

"I am only glad it's not me in love with you," Lord Alexey said in the short nothingness of the flight. He didn't sound disapproving of me, he sounded glad for himself. I expected he would say something along this line to Delian but he didn't, maybe because the atmosphere in Delian's study wasn't inviting frivolous remarks. Our arrival had interrupted something that Delian and Lord Maxim were discussing with grave expressions, which they didn't try to conceal from me.

"Evgenia," Delian said. "We brought the incident to the attention of the Novies, and the majority was in favor of an experiment."

"Couldn't this have waited three days?"

"Some of us don't trust Gor. He is young and not very stable. He might decide to violate the privacy of your mind and if that happened, he would know about the incident before we are ready to discuss it with the Staries."

"You seem to have very little respect for him, don't you? You who had turned my heart into a stone, you rotten bastard! So you know for future reference—you are no friend of mine. I may be incapable of love, but I can hate just fine. I will hate you forever."

"I'll be a moment," Delian said to the other lords and snatched me with such brute force that I was left out of breath. In his room, he pushed me onto the bed and moved back and away from me as if I was a poisonous snake about to bite him.

The hatred in his stare was as clear as his rage. He looked around as if he was looking for something to break, something to throw against a wall, something else so it wouldn't have to be me.

"Don't you ever mention love to me," he hissed. "You selfish, stupid, fickle girl. Hate me if you wish, see if I care."

"You hate me, too," I said in wonder. "You hate me more than I hate you. What have I done to you?"

"I don't hate you, Evgenia. I just cannot love you, no matter how hard I try. I've lost everything I had ever wanted so that you could be born. I've lost my true mate. How could I love you?"

"Why don't you let me be then?"

"I can't. If I did, my sacrifice would have been for naught. Everything I believe in, a lifetime of work, it all would be destroyed."

"I am sorry, but how is this my fault?" My voice trembled and tears gushed out of my eyes despite my attempt to hold them back. I didn't feel hurt or insulted. I felt only the heaviness of this new knowledge and the despair born out of it. A despair that threatened to shrivel my soul.

Delian's expression softened. He sighed, sat at the edge of the bed, and looked at me with a mixture of pity and sorrow.

"Oh, Evgenia, what have I done to you? You were such a happy, easy-going girl. Now the tears have no time to dry on your face. I wish fate had been kinder to you. To both of us."

"I don't understand any of this. I feel I am standing on the edge and could fall any moment to a dark, deep bottom. Why are you torturing me so, Delian?"

"I never meant to torture you. Even when I locked your heart, it was with the best of intentions. I thought it was the greatest gift I could ever give you. At least you will never know this kind of pain and pine for another when you have no other choice but being with me."

"How can you think like that? This is so wrong. Will you choose to have never loved the woman that you've lost? Or to have never known her?"

Very slowly, as if making a decision and regretting it with every step, Delian walked to an armoire at the corner of the room. He took out a small bundle of papers and tossed it in my lap.

"I will go ask my friends to be patient. Please look at this while I am gone."

He left me with his secrets, and I was afraid to look at them, to find out what had bound me to his misery. With trembling fingers, I untied the cord and spread the contents of the bundle on the bed. There were hundreds of letters. There was one old but well preserved photograph. I didn't need to see who had signed the letters. From the picture, a girl who could have been me stared back with bright, thick-lashed eyes. My great-grandmother, Lilla, younger than I was now, smiled at the camera, her eight braids spread around her shoulders as if she had just tossed her head gaily.

Delian was back, at the foot of the bed, looking at me as I slowly arranged the letters and the picture and tied the cord around them.

"Lilla was the last girl, Evgenia, not you. She was the queen of my heart. Still, I agreed to wait until she had a daughter by her human husband before I made her mine. This caused me as much grief as it did her. She loved me. We loved each other."

"How could you let her die?"

"It was the baby girl or her. I couldn't save both. I gave up the love of my life in order to save her daughter. I knew she would have never forgiven me had I done otherwise." Delian came to me and took my hand. "Do you want to know who arranged her murder?"

I was sure I didn't want to know. I was sure it would be bad news, and it was.

"Lord Lava caused my beloved's death, and now he wants you for his son. I won't allow it."

"Does Gor know this?"

"No, but his mother does. It has been her undoing. You saw her, you know what I mean."

"Why would Gor's father do something so horrible? To you, to his own wife, to Lilla?"

"This you will know soon enough. For now, all you need to know is this—you will be mine, Evgenia, it cannot be any other way. I hope you understand."

"It sounds like incest to me."

"Don't begrudge me a few kisses, Evgenia. That's all I had with Lilla."

Delian looked so flustered, so unhappy, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him, yet I could not see how my unhappiness would redeem his own or make up for his poor choices and his bad luck. He stared at me with intense eagerness—what more could he want from me—and I was prepared to refuse whatever it might be, but I couldn't. His request was not anything I could have anticipated.

"If you have a chance to talk to my young-self," he said, "will you tell him to take good care of Lilla? To keep her safe. To watch out for the murderers?"

"You are not afraid, are you?" Lord Maxim asked when we went downstairs, ready to resume the experiment.

"Should I be?" I asked, almost absentmindedly. I couldn't wait for this to be over, to go back to Gor and away from this broken man who looked at me as his redemption.

"Of course not," Lord Maxim said. "With the three of us, you have nothing to worry about. I only asked because you look upset. Take off your watch. We are going now."

As soon as I dropped my watch on the table, I found myself in Delius' room at the exact moment of my narrow escape last time. My back was to the wall, and Delius was advancing upon me. My heart skipped, and I tried to hold onto Delian, but he stepped aside, joining the two lords who had appeared around us at the same time. I wanted to say that I didn't feel comfortable with this experiment anymore, that all of a sudden I was feeling unwell.

It was too late. Faster than I could see the motion, Delius seized my arm hard, just short of breaking it. I screamed with pain and fear. It was not just Delius' iron grip causing the pain. I felt very sick, sicker than I had ever been in my life. I was lightheaded and disoriented, with pains in my joints and muscles. An almost blinding headache filled my head with shrill cymbal sounds.

Delius didn't seem to notice my discomfort. He kept me pinned to the wall without easing his hold on me.

"Who are you? Speak or I'll kill you!"

"Delian!" I tried to scream, but my voice came out muffled. Overcoming the pain and the dizziness, I looked over Delius' shoulder where Delian was supposed to be, but he wasn't there.

None of the lords were in the room.

Delius turned to see whom I was calling, swinging me over along with him. I lost my balance and would have fallen if not for his hold on my arm. Sharp new pain hit me. I couldn't take a breath. Tears sprang from my eyes. "Let go of me," I whimpered. "Please! You are hurting me."

Delius grabbed my other arm and steadied me on my feet. His grasp was just as firm but less painful.

"Quiet!" he commanded, his eyes searching around. When he made sure no one else was in the room, he looked down at me. "Speak now."

"Please let me go," I said in a small voice, hoping that if I got free of Delius' touch, Delian would reappear and take me away.

"You are not going anywhere until I am satisfied with your explanation."

"This was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be here. Please let me go."

Delius' face was a few inches above mine. His nostrils were wide open, and he was looking at me with a new awareness. I knew what he had smelled on me—my ability to mate with him. I lowered my eyes lest he see my own awareness of it and question it.

"I won't let you go before I get some answers from you," he said. "Look at me! You are in my house uninvited. Even if you didn't mean harm, I want to know who are you and where you came from. How did you get here?"

"My arm really hurts, and I am feeling faint."

Delius pushed me into a chair and finally let go of my arm. I took a deep breath and looked frantically around. No one was in the room. No one came to my rescue. The lords had either abandoned me for the sake of their experiment or they were not able to help me. If the last was true, there was no hope. What was going to become of me? My body started shaking harder than before, and I couldn't control myself any longer. I started crying with an open mouth like a child, choking and gagging and smearing the tears and the secretion dripping from my nose all over my face.

"You expected to be able to leave," Delius said. "It didn't happen. So now what?"

"I don't want to stay here," I wailed. "This is not my place."

"Where will you go? You are almost naked. Wipe your face and stop crying. Your tears don't move me."

I had nothing to wipe my face with. My sundress didn't have pockets. Aside from it, all I had on was a skimpy pair of panties and my sandals. No bra. I started to grasp the true despondency of my situation. My dress came to the middle of my thighs and left my shoulders bare. By ancient Rome's standards, I was worse than naked; I was dressed like a barbarian girl for sale.

"I didn't mean I want to go outside," I said. "I want to go to where I came from."

"That's what I want to know. Where did you come from?"

"I am not sure...I am confused."

"You are lying. I would not advise that." Delius grabbed at my arms again and lifted me out of the chair.

It was clear that he barely restrained himself from hurting me. I couldn't understand the source of such great hostility.

"I don't want to lie to you," I said at length. "But I cannot tell you the truth because I don't know what it is."

Delius gritted his teeth. The sound was terrifying. I wanted to scream again but didn't dare. He held me close, and I could feel lust mixing with the rage he cast with his stare and body language. His hands went up to touch the bare skin of my shoulders. He bent his face over and sniffed my neck. Again came the chilling sound. I became limp in his arms, afraid of what he might do next, but he pulled away from me, pushed me back into the chair and looked aside, trying to get hold of himself.

"Delius," I said, instantly realizing the mistake of addressing him by name. "I see you are very upset, but please don't hurt me!" The last words I almost screamed because he was reaching for me again. "I'll explain! Don't hurt me!"

To my enormous relief, the door opened then, and Delius' mother rushed into the room. She took a step back when she saw me and looked at Delius with a mixture of alarm and disbelief.

"Delius! What are you doing to this girl?"

"I am doing nothing to her."

"She is crying. And she is hurt. Did you do this to her arm? What did you do with her clothes? I never expected you would do something like this!"

Delius went to close the door and came back to stand between his mother and me.

"It's not what it seems, Mother. This girl, almost naked as she is, appeared in my room as if from thin air. I admit I was taken by surprise and was a little rough with her."

"She couldn't have appeared from thin air. You should know better than that." Delius' mother came close to me and touched my face. "Did he scare you, my dear?"

"Lady, please make him stop hurting me. He is asking me questions I cannot answer, and that makes him very angry."

"What is your name?"

"Evgenia."

"Evgenia, I am Veronica Ptelea. You are not going to get hurt in my house as long as you can prove the innocence of your intent. How did you get into the house?"

"I cannot explain it. I am sorry to have intruded."

"She seemed to expect someone to come and rescue her," Delius said. "I don't like that. What should we do with her, Mother?"

"We shall wait for our paterfamilias to decide," Lady Veronica said. "Until then, Evgenia, you are welcome to stay with us."

"Thank you, Domina. I appreciate your kindness."

"Come with me. You need to wash your face." She took me by the hand, and a feeling of safety and warmth came over me. My head cleared, the strange wave of sickness and pain dissolved as suddenly as it had come, and I felt light, almost euphoric. I felt purged from something evil, an infection that have never made me sick but never left me entirely well, or a sin I had forgotten about but the guilt had never stopped polluting my soul.

I couldn't even remember why I had been so frightened.

"I don't want her out of my sight," Delius said, sounding pompous and very young. "Quintus can bring a basin of water here."

"I believe it would be more appropriate if she came to my rooms. You may come as well."

Lady Veronica didn't wait for his response and led me through the atrium into another set of rooms. Large rooms with high ceilings, rooms where the fabrics and the carpets were brighter colors than in the rest of the house, and many beautiful objects were spread throughout in niches in the walls and on the surfaces of tables and cupboards. There was a half open door leading to a bedroom and another door leading to what happened to be a bathroom. It was three times as big as any bathroom I had ever seen. The walls were plastered and covered with frescos of nymphs and satyrs, a round polished metal mirror gleamed on its stand, a tall tub stood in the middle, and a table with a bronze jug and basin took the length of a wall.

Lady Veronica poured some water into the basin. I looked around for soap and not seeing any asked her what to use besides water. She pointed to a bowl with some pasty mixture. It smelled like apricots and had a slightly abrasive quality. There were other unfamiliar-looking toiletries on the table, which I would have liked to take a look at were I not in this inopportune situation. The one thing I couldn't ignore even now was the floor. Opus sectile, the term for that kind of a floor, with marble pieces set in concrete to make it waterproof, came to mind. I guessed it could be one of the suspended floors for hypocaust, under-floor heating, but decided to keep my questions for later, when and if somebody would be more disposed to answer them.

We went back to Lady Veronica's sitting room where she had two sofas set at an angle from each other. She invited me to sit, and when I took my place on one sofa, she and Delius sat on the other.

As I suspected, partly pressed by his mother and partly feeling genuinely sorry, Delius apologized at length. He admitted he had treated me in a most ungentlemanly manner and promised to never behave like that again. His only excuse was that he had never felt that distressed in his whole life. I accepted his apology, admitting that I had been just as unnerved. After that, none of us seemed to know what to say.

I didn't mind the silence. It gave me some time to think about my situation. I wasn't afraid anymore, and I wasn't in a rush to go home. Not just yet, anyway. With the inevitable reasoning of a habitual long-distance traveler, I thought that a day or two, or even three, would not be unwelcomed. I had been enduring the discomforts of a 10,000 mile trip twice a year for the last seven years. It wasn't any different now. The shock and the pain had been endured, and an immediate departure would make it pointless. I just hoped that Delius' father was not as short-tempered as his son.

"Who is your father, by the way?" I asked. "What does he do?"

"My father is the bravest and most capable living general, and the most illustrious of Romans. But don't expect him to be pleased by your presence, and keep in mind that he could be most severe if someone displeases him."

"Oh, that is too bad! Thinking that I wanted to stay here for a few days! I would even skip dinner if I could now, and I am starving."

"You wanted to stay? After the way I treated you?" Delius asked, appearing shocked. "I must admit, I've never been in a stranger company."

I was about to tell him that my ability to be surprised by anything was on its last leg, but Lady Veronica excused herself and returned shortly after followed by an old man with Germanic features and a noble expression. He carried a blanket for me and a tray of food, which he placed on the table and left.

The different aromas coming from the food made my head swirl. I barely waited for another invitation. I was careful to follow my hosts' manners and use of utensils since there were no forks. Some of the things were similar to what I knew, but most of the dishes had unfamiliar flavors and contents. The meat sauces were very spicy, and there was nothing but water on the table. Well, maybe tomorrow they'll bring out the wine.

"You look disappointed. What did you expect to find in your cup?" Delius asked.

"Wine," I admitted. "I've heard a lot about the quality of your wines. And it would go well with the food."

Both Delius and his mother laughed.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to sound demanding."

"Oh, my father will love that," Delius said after another burst of laughter. "The little scared girl not only eats for three, but she also asks for wine on top of that."

"Delius," his mother said. "Mind your manners. And you, dear," she turned to me. "Don't pay attention to him. Eat until you are full. I'll ask Quintus to bring wine for you. Is it customary for girls to drink wine where you come from? You need to tell me more about your home. It sounds like a very exotic place."

"I imagine you would think so. I find Rome very exotic. When I was a child, I used to wish to have been born in Rome and lived my life here."

"Do all your wishes come true, Evgenia?" Delius asked. He looked at me with a changed expression, thoughtful, perturbed, as if wondering what I'd wish for next.
Chapter 28

"So this is the girl?" I heard someone speak in a hushed voice. Delius explained something inaudible. "Yes, she sure is," the first speaker said. "You think this is a coincidence? With girls like her becoming a rarity, it's unlikely. She will tell us now. She is awake."

There was no reason to delay the encounter, so I opened my eyes.

A stately Roman gentleman sat in his chair straight, left foot a bit behind the right one, one hand resting on his knee. He looked at me with an amused smile on his lips.

"For someone that insists she came from elsewhere," he said in a light tone of voice, "you seem to know quite a lot, and your Latin is perfect I've been told. Explain, please."

I held my answer back for as long as it seemed acceptable, trying to think of something plausible and not far from the truth. Delius' father was a zmay, of course. I didn't stand a chance trying to outsmart him and even less of one to deceive him.

"I was interested in seeing Rome. I wanted to see how people lived, and Delius and Lady Veronica attracted my attention. I was only going to take a look around the house. I didn't mean to steal or do any other harm. You must believe me."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I am at your mercy. I have nowhere to go, and I don't know how to get back home. I'll not survive in Rome on my own."

"For a girl claiming to be in such a desperate situation, to fall asleep while waiting for her fate to be decided is odd, to say the least. I find it admirable, but this won't help you if you don't tell me everything right now. There are too many coincidences in your uninvited appearance to assume you were snooping. And even so, I very much despise snooping." The man's posture didn't change nor did his smile dwindle, but I could sense his apprehension. It was improbable he felt threatened by me. He probably had already seen in my mind everything to be seen there but might have thought me delusional or schizophrenic. He wanted to hear my explanation, nevertheless. He would not kill me at least out of curiosity.

"Don't be mistaken," he said. "I'll kill you if I have to."

"You can read my thoughts. Why do you keep asking me questions?"

There was silence. The only sound in the room was a fly buzzing above the food on the table. Delius reached leisurely and caught it in mid-flight as if it were a dead thing glued in space.

"Girl," Delius' father spoke. "You need to be very careful. Your life hangs by a thread. One wrong answer and you will die. Now tell me. What makes you think I can read your mind?"

"You just did. I was thinking that you would not kill me."

"Do you know what enables me to do such things like reading your thoughts?"

"I believe you are—" I was about to say 'superhuman' but it sounded unconvincing even to me. I wished I could remember what superstitions existed at this time in history. "I just believe you could."

"Elucidate."

It wasn't clear why he wasn't reaching into my mind. Whatever the reason was, I could not tell him that he was nothing but a figment of his son's memory. That everything around was only that and nothing more. This would just make him think I was crazy, or, if he chose to believe it, would bring unforeseeable consequences. Sweat trickled down my spine and between my breasts. I pushed the blanket aside.

"Seduction doesn't work on me," he said. "Don't waste my time."

"I wouldn't think of that," I said, covering myself again with the blanket. "I was hot. My clothes are common for what young women wear in my world. If I knew I would get lost in yours, I would have dressed appropriately. As you see, I am dealing poorly with the situation. I have not been prepared. This should prove—"

"This proves nothing I care about. Get to the point."

"You must be a god. You sure look like one. You and Delius, as well. He moves faster than a mere human could."

"You should stop telling half-truths. I am starting to lose patience. If you knew what Delius was when you followed him, this excludes the possibility of a random choice. You are here on purpose, and I want to know what it is."

"Just curiosity, I swear," I said, chilled again by the coldness in his voice. "Please don't hurt me. I cannot tell you any different even to save my life. You are so powerful, what could I do to you?"

At the same moment, or at least as it appeared in my perception, Delius and his father got hold of my arms and pulled me off the sofa and between them, my feet barely touching the floor. The grip on my arms was so painful, I thought they were going to tear me in half. I looked at Lady Veronica, but she avoided my eyes.

"I don't have time to deal with her," Delius' father said. "I'll take her to Verdan. He can make her talk."

"Please don't do that," I cried.

"And why not?"

"Here is where I came first. I may not be able to leave from another location. Please let me stay."

"That is not my concern. I don't want you to leave before you satisfy my curiosity, anyway, and Verdan can be very efficient in extracting answers from the unwilling."

"Father," Delius said. "Verdan will ruin her if you leave her with him. Why don't you bring him here? I will guard her in the meantime."

"Your son is right, Marcus Licinius," Lady Veronica said. "I don't think Evgenia means harm. She seems to have very strong reasons for her silence."

I looked at Lady Veronica with gratitude. This time she looked back. My eyes hurt from all the crying, and the oil lamps didn't give strong enough illumination, but I could clearly read the sympathy in Lady Veronica's eyes. Whatever goodness there was in Delian, he must have inherited it from his mother.

While Marcus Licinius considered, neither he nor Delius let go of my arms, but they lowered me to the floor, and their hold on me loosened. Marcus Licinius was the first to move away from me.

"Delius, take her to your old bedroom and keep an eye on her. Are you sure you can do that?"

"I am sure, Father."

Marcus Licinius left with one last thoughtful look at me. He didn't vanish from his place. He used the door to leave the room like any human would, but I was sure that were I to open that door, I wouldn't see him there.

"You will be perfectly safe with my son," Lady Veronica said. "Try to get some rest while waiting. Lord Verdan could be very intense."

Delius took one of the lamps and made a sign for me to follow him. He took me to a small room with a narrow, high bed. The room didn't have windows.

"Delius, I cannot stay in this room," I said, trying to keep the rising panic at bay.

"You will have to. We need to follow my father's orders."

"But the room has no windows."

"It does not, so what?"

"I told you I have nowhere to go, and I cannot sleep in a windowless room. I'd suffocate."

"Of course, you won't. I used to sleep in this room when I was younger."

Delius tried to usher me into the room, but I held to the doorframe with nails and fingers. "Please. Please don't make me go in there."

He finally understood. "You are claustrophobic?"

"I guess I am. A little. I always sleep with a window open, even in the winter."

"What if I leave the door open? Will that help?"

I stepped hesitantly into the room. The Roman beds were so high that one had to use a stool to get in. I climbed into mine, not daring to complain anymore. The bed wasn't comfortable, and it was only about two and a half feet wide.

"If you hear noise," I told Delius, "don't be surprised. It will be me hitting the floor. This bed is a peril."

He turned on his heels, ignoring my feeble attempt at a joke. The light from his lamp went out and darkness closed over me like a blanket, sticky and heavy with fear. I didn't hear him closing the door, but I wasn't sure that he hadn't. The air seemed to be becoming sparser. Time passed. Finally, I was able to distinguish the slightly less dark rectangle where the door must be. I took a deep breath and tried to relax the muscles in my shoulders and neck that were starting to hurt. It almost worked until another thought went through my mind and an uncontrollable spasm locked up all my muscles again. What if he closed the door after I fell asleep? Or it closed by itself? I stopped breathing and listened. There wasn't a sound from the other room.

The only object in the room I remembered having seen aside from the bed was the stepping stool. I slipped out of the covers and down to the floor, feeling around for the stool. It was sufficiently heavy. I picked it up, held it to my chest with my right hand, and started slowly toward the gray rectangle of the door, my left hand feeling the air for obstacles.

The force that yanked my arm felt strong enough to sever it from my body. I collided with Delius, the stool grinding into my ribs and pushing the air out of my lungs.

"What do you think you are doing?" Delius growled in my ear. "Speak!"

I couldn't speak. The pain was unbearable. The pressure on my chest was crushing. "You are killing me," I breathed.

He threw the stool to the side, and I collapsed in his arms, my head lolling back. He must be going through a transformation. His breath was burning hot when he bent over me. A set of teeth, much sharper than human's and set much wider apart, closed on my throat. I shut my eyes. Delius threw his head back. I wished I would pass out before he sank his teeth into me, but I didn't. I was moaning with terror, and he was coming at my throat again. He didn't tear my arteries open as I feared he would. As if he was going to kiss me, he pressed his mouth, human again, to my skin and kept it there.

"You promised you wouldn't hurt me again," I whispered.

"You were trying to get away," he said, his lips quivering at my neck. Suddenly enraged again, he pushed me back. "I was mistaken. I cannot deal with you. I am calling Father."

"Don't do that, Delius. This was a misunderstanding. I thought we could be friends."

"With you? What are you, Evgenia? Are you a human? Are you a demon? Have you come here to ruin me? To punish me for something I haven't done yet."

I flinched. This sounded too close to the truth.

"I guessed right? This is a punishment?"

"No, I am not your punishment, and you aren't mine. And I wasn't trying to get away, I only wanted to make sure the door stays open. You can read my mind, Delius. You should know I am not lying to you."

Delius' expression didn't change. He looked at me with the same resentful eyes for such a long time, I started to lose hope.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" I insisted. "I don't mind, really. You must have already seen all my thoughts."

"Don't you get it?" Delius said in rapid whisper, his expression lethal. "I cannot read your mind. I cannot. You are a closed book to me."

"You can't?"

"How many times do you need to hear it? I can't."

"What about Marcus Licinius?"

"My father can't either. That's why your presence is so upsetting to us. It's impossible to know what you are planning, what you would do next."

"I'll tell you if you ask."

"Right!"

"I beg you to trust me."

"I don't know how to trust you."

"How do you think people trust one another? We cannot read each other's thoughts. We just use our best judgment. It's easy. You should try it."

He wouldn't say anything. "I understand how you feel," I said. "It must be hard for you. I am not angry with you. If the little stool wasn't between us, this wouldn't—"

"You act as if you have the upper hand in this situation, as if the knowledge you are not sharing with me is deadlier than the power I have over you."

"That is not how I look at it. You shouldn't either."

"I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'll explain to my father that I almost crushed you to death for just getting out of bed."

"Stop fretting, Delius. There is no need to explain anything to anyone. I hurt myself falling from the bed. Didn't I say this bed was a peril?"

"That would be a lie. You talk about trust and readily lie."

"It's different. Those are social lies. How do you think society would operate if we told one another all unnecessary, hurtful truths? You must have friends. Don't they ever lie to you? 'Yes, Delius, you look splendid in that pink tunic,' stuff like that?"

"Yes, it happens, but I know what their motivations are. With you it's another matter."

"But you understand it, don't you?"

"I don't. Please never lie to me. More importantly, do not lie to the lords. That would be disastrous."

"Where are they? What is taking them so long? I cannot wait for this to be over. I am just dying to do some sightseeing. Are you willing to show me around Rome?"

"You demand a tour of Rome now? Oh, Evgenia, you are so...extraordinary. I've never thought I would meet a girl like you."

By now, the lamp had burned out, and the morning was coming. I was ready for some sleep.

"The birds are so loud," I said almost to myself. "Good night, Delius. Please keep the door open."
Chapter 29

Muffled steps sounded from the atrium, something fell with a blunt noise, and an unfamiliar voice swore. The door opened, and Marcus Licinius was there, looking at me with a frown that made me shudder.

"The people I wanted to see you are here." He allowed into the room two others and introduced us. "Lord Verdan, Lord Darius, this is Evgenia."

Quintus brought chairs, and the three lords sat down, surrounding the bed. Delius stood, leaning on the door. Lord Darius, holding one of my sandals for some reason, sat at my right. He wasn't wearing a toga. I wasn't able to place the origins of his colorful robes. Lord Verdan, who took a chair on my left, was dressed even more curiously. Like I imagined barbarians would dress. His features and his scowl didn't edit out the impression his clothes gave.

"Ave, Lords," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Ha ha ha," Lord Verdan thundered, not sounding amused. He reached over and pinched my chin. "What a polite little girl."

What an ill-mannered old man, I wanted to say, but bit my tongue.

"I've heard you have been very secretive," Lord Verdan continued. "And that is not polite. Let's hear it now. Where did you come from?"

"As I explained already," I started with the speech I had prepared earlier, "my appearance here is an aberration. I dare not say much more lest my words make it worse."

"That is not for you to decide," Lord Verdan said. "Marcus Licinius has been soft with you. I am not going to be. You will tell me what I want to know, and you will do it willingly or else."

"It seems you would rather have your world fall apart than leave things be?" I asked.

"Are you threatening me, girl?" Lord Verdan bent over me and appeared ready to strike me.

"Verdan!" the other two lords called. "Easy, as we have discussed."

"I am not in a position to threaten you," I said. "What I am trying to convey is that one aberration may lead to another, catastrophic one. I am afraid not only for your world but for my life as well. At the moment, I am an inhabitant of this world, and if something happens to it, it will happen to me as well."

"There is logic in that, Verdan," Lord Darius said. "You may be able to make her talk, but what the consequences could be, no one can predict."

Lord Verdan's hand came at me in a blur. I felt sharp pain in my neck, heard some commotion in the room, and in a second I was in Delius' arms, and Lord Verdan was sniffing and licking my blood from his fingers. I didn't have time to get scared while this was happening.

"She has elements in her body that are unknown on earth," Lord Verdan said, still licking his fingers. "Bring her here, Delius."

"Father, don't let him hurt her!"

Lord Verdan emitted his ugly laughter once again. "I see. I see. Marcus Licinius, I didn't think you a fool. Why did you allow young Delius to mingle with this thing? I can tell they've been rubbing tights together in your absence."

Delius, still holding me tight, addressed the lords and his father with a sudden authority in his voice.

"I declare my interest in Evgenia."

"No, Delius. You do not have my permission," his father said in a mild voice as if Delius had just asked for some pocket money and had been refused.

"I don't need your permission if the assembly approves. The Meet is less than two weeks away."

Lord Verdan smirked. "The Meet will never approve. I say, Marcus Licinius, give her to me. I'll make her spill it all out. If she turns out to be what she says she is, a lost girl, I don't have a wife, I'll take her. If not, I'll kill her. In both cases, problem solved."

"I won't let you touch her," Delius said.

"Stop making such a fuss," Lord Verdan said as he snatched me from Delius' arms without meeting resistance as if Delius had willingly handed me over to him—Verdan's power as a Guardian was that much greater.

His hands closed on my head like a vise, and he bit at my mouth, forcing _Ijn_ between my teeth. A sharp sensation ran through my mouth as if thin, icy needles pierced my tongue and remained there. When Delian had given me Latin, I felt some pain, and I felt _Ijn_ finding its place in the language center of my brain. What I felt now was not as painful. It was more like an effervescent drink, fizzing in my mouth. The brute must have felt the same thing because he took his mouth away from mine and spat on the floor.

"Well," he said. "One more surprise. Let's try here." He opened the front of my dress and bit my shoulder. One of his big hands pressed on my left breast, maybe to keep me still, maybe to check its firmness and shape.

Delius was leaning his forehead on the door, his hands in fists, and his whole body tensed. Lord Darius looked at what Verdan was doing with polite detachment. I was trying not to cry but couldn't hold it any longer. Uncontrollable sobs shook my body. I've never felt so helpless and humiliated in my life. The _Ijn_ sent through the bite on my shoulder must have penetrated my body because Verdan howled happily and pushed me to the bed.

"A normal girl if you ignore the head problem" he said. "Fine heredity, splendid health, gorgeous, fit body. I will bet on her if she ever enters the foot races."

Delius turned around and at the look of me, ruffled and in tears, his face turned dark with anger. "Are you satisfied?" he said through clenched teeth. "Will you leave her alone at last?"

"Take her away for now, Delius. We have to talk among ourselves. In the meantime, reconsider. I want you to withdraw your declaration."

I crawled across the bed, and Delius helped me rise. Lord Darius opened the door for us, trying to appear sympathetic. I didn't give a fig about his sympathy. Delius helped me to his rooms, muttering angry words directed at his father and the other two lords.

"I wasn't able to stop them now, but a day will come that I'll be the strongest of all, and no one will dare touch you."

"What am I going to do until then? What if the Meet decides to give me to that beast?"

"I will not allow that to happen. Do you accept my courtship, Evgenia?"

"May I think about it?"

"There is no time. If you don't accept, you won't have the protection your status as a future wife comes with. I am sorry you like me so little that you won't consider me even to save your life."

"I do like you, Delius," I said, truthfully, because I really liked this young man so much better than his older version. "I really appreciate what you are doing for me, the trust you have in me, and I would like to return it, but it is hardly possible."

"Nothing is impossible should one wish it otherwise."

I wished I could tell him at least the little that was not too revealing, but I was sure that his father and the other two would not miss the opportunity to eavesdrop. They were probably listening right now, with the hope of gaining information.

"Is there a place where we could talk in private?" I mouthed the words, trying to convey the meaning of privacy to Delius.

Of course, there was such a place as I knew well, and I knew that Delius would take me there as soon as he opened his arms for me. I only didn't know what I would tell him when we got there. I needed time to think, and there was none.

"You are not afraid of the dark, are you?" Delius asked when we landed in the cave with the Globe of Life. He didn't want me to see it, not aware that I had already.

"I am not afraid of the dark, Delius. Let us sit down, I am weary."

He spread his cloak on the floor, and we sat quietly in the darkness for a long time. The one thing I knew for sure was that whatever I chose to tell Delius, Delian would know instantly. The reason for this experiment had been the fact that my presence here was changing his memories. If that had been the true reason, though. Could it be that Delian had decided to leave me here until I succumbed to his younger self? Interesting thought, but was I ready to try my luck on that presumption?

"Delius," I said. "The only way to help me is to pretend to court me. I will pretend that I am willing, and this will buy me time until the Meet. But you must accept that I am not the right girl for you, and that our union is impossible."

"You love another?"

"I don't. I am not even capable of it—my heart has been locked against love."

"Who did this to you? Who is that monster?"

You did, Delius, I wanted to say, but I didn't, not willing to place the blame on this young man who sat stiffly next to me, frozen with displeasure and hurt.

"Delius, it is not all bad news," I said, my heart fluttering with dread. Once I had said what I was going to say, there would be no going back. "Not soon, but it will happen. You will meet a girl that looks just like me. You will love her and she will love you. But there is a catch—"

"Will that be you?"

"No. Her name is Lilla."

"I don't want her. I want you."

"She is a queen compared to me."

"I don't care. You are not making any sense. You must be in shock. Or you are mad and that's why your brain is blank. But I don't mind. I will take good care of you. I will not withdraw."

"Delius, hear me, please. I can't tell you more, but I will tell you that. I know where we are, I know what you are, and I know that Lilla is your true mate. But you must save her life, or her death will be the end for your as well as my happiness."

I could hear Delius' heartbeat, rapid and laud. He believed me, yet this revelation distressed and frightened him.

"If you knew us, you would know that no mate of ours could suffer such fate."

"Your enemies are among your own kind."

"That I could easily believe. My kind is acting like my enemy. Even my father is against me. What are we going to do, Evgenia?"

"See what happens next? Be friends?"

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"I will be your friend until you want me to be more for you. I will save this Lilla's life, I promise you that much, but I cannot promise you that I will pretend to court you. You have stolen my heart."

"You are not listening to me, Delius. I cannot return your love."

"Doesn't matter. I have love enough for the two of us."

Delius stubbornly refused to continue the discussion further and took me back to his house where his parents were waiting for us in the portico.

"How mighty is Marcus Licinius who cannot command his household to obey him," Delius' father spoke in a mocking voice. "Oh, the shame of it! Evgenia, I hope you won't spread the word. My dignities would suffer a great deal."

"Ave, Marcus Licinius, Lady Veronica," I said. "I am sorry to have caused you such displeasure. Please forgive Delius, it was my fault."

"Nice little chat you had," he said, ignoring my polite explanations, addressing his son. "Now, Delius, please tell me what it was about."

"Whatever it was," Delius said, "I am perfectly satisfied with it, and I don't intend on withdrawing my declaration of interest."

"Evgenia," Marcus Licinius said. "It seems you are the one with more common sense between the two of you. I cannot let Delius marry you, and I'll explain why. You don't know what it means for us, for...our kind. Even if I accept you as my son's mate, which I am not inclined to, what will happen when you get the chance to go back home? What will happen to Delius? Your loss will destroy him."

That much was true. Zmay had only one mate. What would happen if I couldn't get out of here on time? Even if I had to choose between Delius and Verdan, or worse, between Verdan and death, did I have the right to condemn this eager young man to such a fate?

"Let me ask you once more," the man who couldn't read my thoughts said. "Should a door open for you now, are you going to refuse to leave? Can you promise you'll stay here?"

Delius squeezed my hand. I knew that the color had gone from my face. Not going home. A sudden draft shuffled the small things in the garden. The lanterns illuminating the portico dimmed. The loose string I'd been pulling on for some time cut into my fingers without breaking.

"No, Marcus Licinius," I said, avoiding Delius' eyes. "I cannot promise that. This is so complex my mind cannot comprehend it. I am not sure if I am really here, or what is happening with my body back there—"

"Evgenia, what are you talking about?" Lady Veronica said with a sudden grit in her voice. "Your body is here. You are eating and drinking, and your skin bruises when injured. Is this a scheme of some sort, a means of escape when you no longer wish to stay?"

"I just wish to be honest. Delius doesn't deserve less than that. What if my friends find a way to take me back and do it without my permission?"

"You are going to break his heart, and we shall not allow it," Lady Veronica said.

"I am willing to take the risk, Mother," Delius said. "Let fate take its course. If my heart is to be broken, may it be so."

"This won't do," Marcus Licinius said and turned to me. "Is this your last word, Evgenia?"

I trembled, but I stood my ground. "It is."

"If you change your mind, let me know. Make sure you have something to offer that I would like better."

"Father!"

"It is this, or she goes to Verdan."

I didn't have time to grasp what was happening, but shortly after, for the first time, I came to appreciate the care with which zmay had handled me until now. I found myself in the windowless room feeling as if I had been ripped out of one space and delivered to another with harshness and speed that I had barely survived. As I gasped for breath, this was the single thought that made its way into my badly shaken head.

I must have been dizzy and disoriented for hours. The darkness surrounding me was the same, but my body was stiff and my legs, bent at an uncomfortable angle, had fallen asleep. I stood up holding on to the edge of the bed. Pins and needles was what I got for my trouble, but I appreciated the sensation. I was alive.

I was alive, but so what? What should I do? What could I do? I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat with my back pressed to the door, trying with little success to imagine air coming through the hinges and locks. I wondered if Delian knew what was happening to me. Would he watch me being abused like this if he could take me back? No, he could not be so cruel. I must accept that I was left here for good. I would never see my family and friends again. I would never see Gor.

Gor...I had a message from his mother. If now wasn't the right time to read it, it would never be. But how would I read it in this darkness? I searched around with the hope that they might have left me a lamp, even though I doubted that I would be able to light it. Anyway, there wasn't a lamp. But I had to see this message. I had to. There must be a provision for me needing it in such circumstances. I clapped my hands.

A faint glow appeared three feet away from me, and within it, seated in a white Viennese chair, was Gor's mom.

"Are you real?" I whispered. "Please help me! I am in huge trouble."

"Sorry, Evgenia, I am not with you. This is only an interactive message."

"I don't care for your message in that case. I know what you want to tell me, and it is not going to be of any use to me."

"It may be. If you are not busy, please hear it."

I wasn't busy at all. I was only a stupid girl that had to hear in the most ill-timed moment of her life why she was not good enough for somebody's son, and right after I had just heard the same about somebody else's son. "Fire away," I said, and realizing she wasn't getting it, I corrected myself. "Speak, please."

"Evgenia, I don't know what kind of danger you are in. I had hoped that you would listen to my message before that happened. It was meant as a warning. I wanted to tell you that you should be extremely careful and do all you can to stay safe. Your best chance is to stay close to Delian."

"Aha, there we go. Stay close to Delian, stay away from Gor. I knew it. You hate me and you want me to leave your son alone. You spiteful, close-minded, wicked woman. You don't care how unhappy Gor will be without me, do you? All you care is about yourself."

While I was delivering my tirade, in voice lower that a whisper, Keraza looked at me with such a hurt expression that I could almost forget that she was not a real woman but only a recording. She must have anticipated my outburst and had constructed the message accordingly. It was very convincing.

"I have only good feelings for you, Evgenia," she said. "And my heart bleeds when I think what misery awaits my son. But this union should not and will not happen. At least, you will not suffer as much as Gor will."

"How could you say that? What kind of cruelty is that? You know that my ability for love has been locked. As soon as they unlock it, I will love Gor with all my heart. You will see."

Keraza shook her head. "Love is not enough. It has never been."

"What is it then?"

"Nothing is. You will never be allowed to be with Gor. Even if the Novies cannot prevail, the wives will. We will use all means to prevent it, all the power we possess, all the influence we have over our husbands."

"Why? Please tell me the reason."

"I cannot. Just remember. If it happens somehow, if you mate with Gor against all odds, it will cause an irreversible and most terrible harm to all of us, to my son, to you, and to everything and everybody you love and cherish."

"This is some superstitious rubbish. If it were true, Gor would not have come to me. He would never have done anything to hurt me."

"Gor is a young man in love who hasn't known defeat yet. That is his excuse. I don't know what Lord Kiro's excuse might be, but he is the Balancer, so he must have one. However good his excuse is, I cannot help but hate him for playing this cruel game with my son."

"You see, this could be just a game. No need to take it too seriously. Anyway, Gor is leaving you. We will live in human society. You could continue with your games and intrigues and leave us alone. You in your world, Gor and I in mine."

"You are not listening, Evgenia. There is no happy ending for you and Gor. Ever. Should you end up with him, your world, as you know it, will cease to exist. You will blame Gor more than you will blame yourself. You will never forgive him. Your hate will be the end of him."

That was a new trick. I gave it to the flower girl, she outdid them all. The world! As if the world ever cared whom we fucked. I closed my eyes in disgust. I had nothing more to say. But Keraza did.

"Do whatever it takes to stay safe, Evgenia. You are very important. And remember. You must reject Gor. I beg you, Evgenia, do not destroy my son; your rejection is the only way to save him...and all of us.

The image folded into itself; the glow vanished. I was alone in the darkness once again.

Instead of apprehension, I felt such unbearable longing for Gor, my reckless and unattainable lover, that I wondered if it was not love, this scorching lust that I had never felt before for anyone, even for him, even when he was holding me in his arms. I could almost feel his hot mouth on mine, his long hair brushing my face and my shoulders, his weight on me. The sensation was so intense that knowing no relief would come, I almost wanted it gone, but despite my wishes, my arms embraced him, pulling him closer. I was burning for him. My body was a bonfire, my soul was an inferno. I would not give him up whatever anyone said. The hell with the world.

I couldn't imagine that it was possible to fall asleep in the midst of such torment and arousal, but I must have because I found myself in the enchanted forest again. I knew I was dreaming, and I knew Gor would come soon, and I would have him at last.

As I was wandering in the forest, I heard a small voice calling me. I looked around but couldn't see anyone.

"Hello there," the voice repeated.

Between the roots of a tree, some five feet away, there was an opening that didn't look large enough to hold a person, but there she was. Or he. Or it. The voice was feminine, but the face was so withered that it had lost any gender distinctiveness. The skin was dry and scaly, the nose almost nonexistent, only two narrow holes above the thin, wide mouth. The creature didn't have much for shoulders. The short arms seemed to sprout out of its neck and turn into miniature hands. It had on a strange dress or fur maybe, something like a lady's boa, draped about it. The rest of it faded into the darkness. The eyes were the only beautiful feature on its face, oblong and luminous, like the last remainder of former beauty not yet ravaged by old age.

I stepped closer and squinted.

"Excuse me, ma'am...? I didn't see you at first. Are you comfortable there?"

"Very."

"Okay. I will be going then. I am looking for someone."

"Wait! I have something to tell you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I can help you."

"I need help?"

"You do, dear. And I can help you. I can help you find whomever you are looking for, and I can help you hide from whomever you are hiding from. All I need from you is your consent. I am not helping you if you don't want me to. So do you accept or don't you?"

"I do. I accept. Thank you so much."

"Follow me then."

The creature turned halfway, made an inviting sign and started down the hole. I was ready to follow, my only concern being how I would fit through the opening. I dropped to my knees and used my hand for support but it sank into something spongy and gave way. Only then did I see the ugly black mushrooms growing around the hole.

"You doped me, you witch!" I cried, turning away from the hole, gagging and wiping my hand onto the ground until I realized that it, too, was covered with fungus.

The creature's eyes were on me, big and crestfallen, and I saw for the first time their color. They were green like mine, even the shape was the slightly tilted shape of my eyes as if some hideous spell had turned a twin of mine into this slug-like creature and left only the eyes intact, the eyes where two large, oleaginous tears were forming now.

"You can have Gor, Evgenia. The smallest of sacrifices is needed. Only the world."

It was so awful it was unbearable. I ran away from the monstrous creature as fast as I could, but as it was common in dreams, not making much progress. It was hard to go forward, it was harder to stop.

Somebody kept calling my name in a soft whisper, a familiar voice, deep and trilling. Not before I saw the outline of a tall figure leaning against a tree was I able to accept that Gor was here, at last and despite everything. Relief spread and filled my belly like warm, sweet milk.

"Gor! I am here!" I cried, as I stumbled in his direction.

He would not look at me. His eyes were unfocused and distant. The hard line of his jaw canceled the half smile and made it appear a grimace. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge my presence in any way. His arms, crossed at his chest, didn't open for me. I was sure I didn't back up. I simply remained in my place, but the space between us seemed to grow bigger.

"Gor, please wait. I need you!" I shouted the last words, afraid that Gor was going away, but he merely disappeared and appeared again from behind another tree, still leaning back, his arms still crossed. His eyes had turned black and fluid.

"Cut the special effects," I cried. "I've seen this before."

His eyes, normal again, still wouldn't meet mine. He stood there, his head slightly tilted as if he was listening to something, a great secret I wasn't allowed to hear.

"Please, Gor, listen to me. This is a dream. We can do whatever we like here. We don't need to listen to anyone." As I spoke, I walked toward him, approaching slowly and with caution. He didn't seem to hear me or see me. I lifted my hand to touch his face, to draw his attention to me. His fingers, hard and icy cold, closed on my wrist and pushed my hand away. I froze, not knowing what to do with my unwanted hand nor with the rest of my unwanted self.

At last, Gor turned to face me, and his arms opened. They opened wide but to the side of his body, not for an embrace. His pose was like the pose of a man waiting to be stricken by the wrath of his god. He looked up, and his smile turned otherworldly, almost angelic. His beauty made me want to cry, it was so impossibly perfect, and what started happening next was so much more terrifying because of it.

Ink-black spider veins spread from the tips of his fingers up his arms and torso, intertwining, making cracking noises, growing wider. His skin became newspaper thin and started fracturing along the spider veins. Black spores flew from the cracks, the skin collapsing and flaking as if consumed by fire. I wanted to close my eyes, to press my hands over my ears, but could do neither, I was so caught up with the metamorphosis taking place in front of me.

When it was over, I found myself in the windowless room, my face pressed to the stone floor, my heart frozen with grief. I had been dismissing everybody's warnings, Lady Mariella's, Delian's, Keraza's, but I could not dismiss the warning that came from within myself. I had misunderstood their meaning. The world was not something abstract, so much bigger than I, that my actions would have been irrelevant. They didn't have that in mind. The threat was against my family, my friends, and who knows, maybe my teachers, maybe even my favorite musicians. Of course, my world could never be the same if I had no people to love me, no concerts to go to, no friends to have fun with. Was that something I could do without? Even if I could, what would be the use? I would have destroyed Gor along with the rest of them.

Something heavy landed on my chest, and I thought I would die. The thought of losing Gor and the thought of me being the source of his unhappiness were equally painful, so painful that I recognized the emotion for what it was. It was love. I was in love for the first time in my life, and as soon as the understanding hit me, I gathered all my strength and smothered it. I did that not because I wanted to spare myself the pain, I did it because I could not save Gor otherwise. I knew myself. If I yielded to the fire in my heart, I could never be able to let him go; not for the world, not for myself, and not even for his own good.

I could cry and scream at the unfairness of it. I could trash around until there was no more air in the room to breathe. Instead, I focused on strengthening my resolve and fortifying my heart. Even if zmay found a way to my mind again, they would find no trace of my love for Gor. They would find nothing but indifference even greater than the one imposed on me by them.

I knocked on the door.

Delius opened the door before I had the chance to knock a second time. He looked at me with anxiety but led me to his parents without a word.

They were outside, in the same place I had seen them last, as if they had suspended their lives, waiting for me to make up my mind.

"Marcus Licinius," I started. "Domina. If my friends find a way to take me home before the Meet, I will go. However, should I become Delius' wife, I will not leave either by my own will or by persuasion. You have my word. Is that enough?"

"You cannot ask for more, Father," Delius said.

"For a fool like my son, it seems enough," Marcus Licinius said. "However, the assembly will have the final say. If you, Evgenia, are still here. I hope you will be long gone by then. To wherever you came from, or to hell for all I care."

Without another look at me, he took his wife's hand and led her inside the house, leaving me alone with his son.

"Delius," I said, staring into his eyes, trying to show him I meant every word I was about to say. "I promised your parents that I would not leave you if we were to join in marriage. To you I promise this—I will be your best friend, your supporter, and your faithful wife. I will love you with all my capacity for love, I hope more and more each day. I will never give you a reason to regret your decision."

Oh, Gor, how did it come to this? But I must not do that. I must not think of Gor ever again. I must erase him from my mind. I must forget his fervent kisses and his juniper smell. It shouldn't be that hard. I had more than two thousand years to do the forgetting.
Chapter 30

Dear Grandmother and Grandfather,

I don't know why I am writing this letter. There is no way to send it. Most probably, as soon as I am done, I will tear it into small pieces and feed it to the fish in the fountain, (they would eat anything, the silly creatures). I cannot call you, either; there are no phones where I am, and I so wish to be able to contact you, to tell you that I am fine, and that I miss you so terribly it hurts. It is much, much worse than the first year I went to live with my father. At least then I could call you every day, and I could be comforted by the thought that I would see you again in the summer. Here, I have no such hope, no hope at all. Every night I dream I am home. Last night I dreamt that we had gathered all the blankets in the house, as we do every summer, and Uncle was taking us to the river to wash them. I felt so happy before I woke up and realized that I will never go washing blankets in the river with you, or go fishing with Uncle, or do any of the things that made me feel happy.

My homesickness aside, it is not that bad here. I love Rome, even though I could go sightseeing only after dark—Delius's father doesn't allow me to leave the house in daylight. He is not very nice with me. Delius' mother is okay. You would approve of Delius. He loves me and he is my only hope to survive in this place You should see how nice he is to me. Every morning, under the grape arbor where the bird cages hang, he reads love poems he had written for me while I slept. And every night when we bid each other goodnight, he kisses both my hands and whispers in my ear, "Please be here when I wake up tomorrow." He is so romantic. Ah, and imagine that—one night while I was sketching the public buildings in the moonlit forum, with the temples where the Roman gods dwell, and the insulae that house the Roman people, Delius kept busy carving our initials on the corner stones of those same buildings. I rebuked him for his vandalism, and the very next day he commissioned a fountain at the crossroad of Via Apia and Via Latina, which is to announce his love for me to every thirsty traveler arriving or leaving Rome. Isn't that the sweetest thing? I try to be as nice to him as he is to me, and it doesn't take any effort. He is so easy to please. Last night, he was feeling a little down, so I climbed the rostrum and danced for him. You should have seen me, dancing under the full moon, in the middle of Ancient Rome. That could be the one thing that made your paying for eight years of dancing lessons worth the expense.

By the way, I have been memorizing Caesar's speeches. Not that I have any reason to feel optimistic, but you know me—I never lose hope. So, not only I memorize them, but I have Delius helping me with the diction. I can picture Uncle's surprise and pleasure if I could recite to him all those famous speeches that had not survived to our time.

I hope with all my heart to see you again. I cannot bear the thought that it could be otherwise. Until then, please keep coming into my dreams as you have for the last thirteen nights.

With all my love,  
Evgenia

My letter fed the fish, I dried my eyes and put a smile on my face, and went to look for Delius. Instead, I found Lady Veronica, who asked me to dress in my old clothes and join the family in the atrium at once. I didn't ask what was happening. I knew. The night when my fate would be sealed had come. The night of the Meet.

Marcus Licinius and Delius wore pure-white togas, and Lady Veronica had on a most resplendent dress. I felt shabby and exposed in my cotton summer dress, and very grateful for the robe I was offered.

Come to me, Evgenia," Marcus Licinius said, and opened his arms. "Let's see what your luck will bring you and my son."

We were there before I had a chance to beg the saints, the angels, or whomever the responsible entities for my welfare were to help me out, just this one time.

The Great Hall was a place underground, a vast cavity covered from floor to ceiling with stalactites and stalagmites, which formed a number of columns throughout the space. The illumination came from inside those columns, and it was as bright as I had only seen it at midday, high in snow-covered mountains.

The meeting place was carved out of the stalagmite mass and designed similarly to the Comitia well in the lower Roman Forum, the only difference being that there were benches on the tiers. The rostrum, or the speaker's platform, was grafted into one side. There was no visible entrance. The zmay probably appeared at their assigned places using their way of moving through space. No less than a thousand occupied the tiers. The dimensions of the place were skewed; each of the spectators appeared to be at the same distance from the rostrum, and every voice could be distinctly heard.

These people, to call them all people for the brevity of speech, liked to dress up. The inventiveness combined with the never-seen materials was breathtaking. Seated to my left was a lady whose dress was made of liquid fire. Next to her was a lady dressed sparsely in living small blue butterflies. I couldn't stop staring.

"You are first on the agenda," Marcus Licinius said. "Stay calm and don't—"

I didn't hear what I was not supposed to do. A woman from the back row pushed between Marcus Licinius and me, and whispered in my ear. "You are in my dreams," she said, or maybe she said, "You aren't my dreams." She spoke so softly, I wasn't sure I understood her. She was very young, almost a child. If I didn't know that zmay don't have female children, I would have thought her someone's daughter. She wore her exquisite garments with the negligence of a child dressing-up in her mother's clothes. Her hair had come undone, and her eyes were large and round as if she was in a state of perpetual surprise. She put her arms around my shoulders, and this time I clearly heard her saying, "Be brave. You are the one to save us all."

Doubt must have been clear on my face because she felt compelled to add. He words were so strange that I could not comprehend their meaning. "Eve anon, if you don't prevent it. But you will. You must." She gave me one last smile, bright and fresh like the first sunny day in spring, and returned to her seat.

"Who was that?" I asked Marcus Licinius.

"Lord Dimiter's young and foolish bride. Don't pay attention to her. She is not well in the head."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She thinks she can see the future."

"How interesting. Can she really?"

"This should not be your concern at the moment." Marcus Licinius turned his back to me, answering an inquiry from his neighbor.

Delius held my hand in his hot, dry hands. He didn't seem to have heard anything. He looked like a man who has a fear of heights and is at the edge of deep abyss.

"It's time," Marcus Licinius said, and led me down the steps and toward the rostrum. I looked back where Delius sat still, not taking his eyes off me. I tried to smile.

A thousand pairs of eyes followed my progress. I stared back. Most zmay were tall and handsome, but definitely not all of them. There were at least a few with the barbaric features and unpleasant expression of Lord Verdan's, whom I saw seated by himself. The ladies were of more varying physical appearance. None of them was ugly, but some had plain features. A few were strikingly beautiful.

Marcus Licinius addressed the assembly the same way he would address the Roman Senate, speaking in a high, clear voice and sounding perfectly confident. He hadn't discussed with me what he was going to say or do, and it took me by surprise when he pushed me in front of him without much ceremony. "This is the alien girl you've been hearing about," he said. "Her name is Evgenia. I have already communicated to you her reasons for refusing to talk. According to Lord Verdan's examination, she has traces of unfamiliar elements in her body, and most importantly, her mind is unperceivable. In any other way, she is a normal human girl. And she is a mate. This should be reason enough to allow her to live. My son has declared his interest."

A lord, black like the midnight sky, stood up and spoke. "A normal human girl brought here would be screaming and wringing her hands. Even if she had been prepared. Your protégé seems very composed. Have you told her what we are?"

"Not yet, Lord Ibera," Marcus Licinius said. "But she suspected that we were different from the beginning. This young lady possesses strength of character and clarity of mind rarely seen. She might make a great addition to our society."

Lord Verdan jumped from his seat. "Or she will spy on us and cause unforeseeable problems," he said. "Give her to me. I am the only one who can make her talk."

"You are concerned about spying?" Delius spoke loud enough to drown out Lord Verdan's last words. "Do not be. I'll take Evgenia wherever you want me to, and you will not hear from us ever again."

"Delius," one of the lords said. "What makes you think she will be willing to go into exile with you?"

"I will," I said, hoping my voice would cut through. "I'll go anywhere with Delius. I don't care about your secrets."

"But we care about yours!" Another lord stood up, pointing at me, almost touching me as if there were no space between us. "Show her to us Marcus Licinius."

"What? What do you mean? I am here. All of you can see me."

"Let them look at you," Marcus Licinius said. "They may touch you, but they won't draw blood. Don't struggle."

I didn't. The brooch that held my robe together refused to open, however. I kept trying until Marcus Licinius turned me around and undid it himself. The robe fell to the floor. Self-conscious and awkward, I turned to face the assembly. After a moment of nothing happening, I was engulfed in a flutter of wings. I could feel the power of six hundred minds trying to pry into mine. Fingers probed, tongues licked, mouths pressed onto mine, trying to force _Ijn_ into my mouth.

When they let go, I lost my balance and swayed into Delius' arms. "I am fine," I told him. "They didn't hurt me."

They hadn't been as careful with my clothes as they had been with my body. My dress was shredded to pieces. My sandals were perforated with small holes as if eaten by moths. They must have been taking samples. I touched my hair to see if it was still there. It was.

The assembly had grown silent. It was so quiet that when a drop of water traveled the short distance between a stalactite and a stalagmite, it made an audible splash. One of the ladies stood up. It was the crazy child-bride. "You should not make a decision before hearing her," she said, pulling the man next to her to his feet. He must have been her husband. He was just as young as she and red-faced with determination to support his wife. "As Guardian I speak," he said with unexpected authority. "Let's hear Evgenia."

If not for these two, the zmay were going to decide my fate without allowing me a word! Just like they were threatening to do in the real world. But this wasn't the real world. They had no right to treat me like an object, not there and even less here.

I was furious. I trembled. I eased myself out of Delius' embrace.

"I can tell you where I came from," I shouted. "What are you going to do with the damn knowledge? You cannot read my mind, you can never be sure if I told the truth. Or is this nothing but a power play? Are you going to ruin me in order to satisfy your feeling of superiority? Is that so, god-like beings? Is that so?"

No one spoke for some time. A few seconds? A few minutes? I didn't know how much longer I could bear the silence. What were they doing? I turned to look at Marcus Licinius at the same time as he was reaching for me. The next moment, he was stepping away from me. He had brought me and Delius back to the house.

"No need to wait there," he said. "Delius has no vote, neither do you."

"Father, what will happen now?" Delius asked, clinging to his father like a person drowning.

"It is out of my hands. Do not forget that any decision made by our assembly is the only right decision. We are infallible."

"Infallible! I will show them!" Delius muttered after his father left. He took me in his arms and stepped over the threshold ceremoniously and in a terrible hurry at the same time. Inside his own room, without letting me down, he covered my face with eager kisses as if there was a certain number to be bestowed upon me before he could let me out of his arms. After he did and I slid to the floor, his caresses became gentler if not less intense. A familiar scent saturated the air. If I closed my eyes, I could believe I was in the middle of the hottest desert on earth, but I didn't want to close my eyes. If I did that, I would drown in my wistful soul, and there wouldn't be any way out.

"The time has come. Love me, Evgenia. Love me like a woman loves a man. They cannot part us if you bear my mark."

Even at that moment, I hoped against hope that it would not come to that. That Delian, in the future, had been happy with Lilla for more than seventy years by now, and he would think of me still stuck here, and he would come and snatch me away before it was too late.

But it was too late. Delius was already going through transformation and spreading his wings.

"Accept my mark, Evgenia. Be mine, at last."

He lifted me off the floor, and the world collapsed around me. Kissing him was like diving into fire, his caresses making it burn stronger. Delius was ready to have me, and I was ready too. There was no turning back.

As I was surrendering to my fate, I felt another pair of arms around my shoulders, pulling me away from Delius.

"Who is taking you away?" he cried, grasping at me, trying to hold on to me, but I was slipping away like sand.

"It is you, Delius," I told him, locking my hands behind his neck in an effort to stay a moment longer. "It is you on the other side, taking me into the future."

"We are going to be together in the future? Is that what you are telling me?"

"Yes, but remember—"

"You gave me my life back. I shall wait a happy man. When? When will this time come?"

"I am waiting for you two thousand fifty-six years from now. As a friend. Remember, you must save Lilla. You must not fail!"

Delius wasn't listening to me. His eyes were fixed on me as if he was trying to memorize and preserve every little feature of my face for the eternity we were going to spend apart. He pressed his broken lips over mine. His kiss tasted like blood and despair. It would have lasted until the end of time if Delian hadn't started to pull me away with renewed determination.

Delius' eyes remained locked on mine till the end, his arms reaching through the widening gap of distance and time. I couldn't hear him anymore but I saw the words forming on his lips. 'I love you, I always will.'
Chapter 31

Delius' face faded away, but I still felt his arms around me. Where was I? The world wavered and swung around me. All I could recognize in this fusion of light and shadows was the clear tubes that hung above my head. A face hovered over me, and Delius' grief-stricken features came into focus, his eyes bloodshot with crying.

But it wasn't Delius, it was Delian. He would have looked like his young self if there wasn't something in his eyes betraying the harshness that two thousand years of unhappiness and misfortunes would bring on a man. I was back in the future, lying in a narrow hospital bed in the bedroom of his Paris apartment. And looking at his face, I knew that Lilla was as dead as she had been before I left.

"Delian! You must take me back!"

He tried to answer but tears choked him, and he worked to remove the tubes going into my nose and the IV needle secured in my arm before he could find his voice. "I've almost lost you once. I won't do it again."

"Why would you lose me? Didn't you figure the way out?"

"No. It was you that found the way back. When we were about to mate, your mind opened not only for me in the past, but for me here as well."

"So, I will do it again."

"Look around you. You've been in a coma for three days. I watched your body being covered with bruises. I watched a wound bursting on your chest. I watched the terror written on your face and could do nothing to help you. I thought you'd die. Don't ask me to go through this again. I can't."

"You must! This time I will do a better job of being the messenger."

"Evgenia, please tell me you are not going back on your promise?"

"My promise stands for whatever good it does for both of us, but why not try once more? You may be able to save Lilla this time if you tried harder."

"Oh, Evgenia, I did everything in my power. I couldn't save her. It came to the same predicament—I couldn't save both her and her daughter. I had to make the same choice as before. It could not have happened any other way. After all, you were in my memories, not in the actual past. It was foolish of me to have hoped."

"I am so sorry, Delian."

"You did what you could, for which I am forever grateful. At least this time around, I had the chance to say goodbye."

"Still, she is dead, and we are going to end up together. What a sad couple we shall make."

"I mustn't be like that. You have a place in my heart, Evgenia. For two thousand years, there wasn't a day I didn't think of you. There wasn't a moment I stopped loving you. Even when I met Lilla and lost my heart to her, I still loved you. We could be happy. We just need some time to heal."

A roar, subtle but unmistakable, of zmay conversing sounded from behind the door.

"Delian," somebody called. "Sorry to interrupt this tender moment, but since Evgenia is back, you should join us immediately."

The door opened, and Lord Alexey stepped in. He was nude, and his wings were still folding in.

"Do you know—" Delian started.

"I do, and everybody else knows also," Lord Alexey said. "She has changed all our memories, and her mind is closed to us."

"Changed the memories of the others too? Not just mine?"

"Not just the memories. She had changed the past. The Staries wanted to come here at once. It took some effort to keep them away."

"Are you sure?"

"There is no doubt. For one, your initials can be found all over the Roman ruins. But not all. There is no discernable pattern. Some things remained changed, some didn't. Some were not acquiescent to change, as you well know. Yes, we will have a great deal to discuss, but not now. We have been fighting without you for three days already."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, stowing away the storm of emotions. "Fighting what?"

"The storms forming around the North Pole threaten a climate collapse. Hurry up, Delian! There is no time to waste."

I clung to Delian's shirt. I tucked my head into the warmth of his chest. I needed him here, I didn't want to be alone. I was mad at the climate that had found such an ill-timed moment to be collapsing. "Damned Greeks!" I muttered and eased out of Delian's arms and out of bed. The floor tilted and threatened to slap me in the face. The walls leaned toward me, then away. I moved from heels to toes trying to keep upright. Delian lifted me back to bed so gently that I didn't get sick as I was afraid I would.

"What's wrong? How do you feel?"

"Got up too fast...it's nothing. May I have some water?"

"Let me look at you," Lord Alexey said. "Remember? I am your doctor."

"You are naked," I said. "It somehow takes away your credibility."

Lord Alexey was not naked anymore. He was dressed in the starched white garb of a doctor, complete with a stethoscope around his neck. There was enough gray at his temples to attest to his experience and enough warmth in the lines fanning out from his eyes to display friendliness.

"How about now?" he asked

"Much better."

He placed a cool hand on my forehead, and I thought that was going to be the extent of his examination, when a silvery fog of _Ijn_ streamed out of his mouth and engulfed us both.

"What about the Greeks?" he asked, _Ijn_ still dripping from his lips.

"Oh, the Greeks.... Didn't they start it all in antiquity? Nightingale's-tongue stuffed pies, lion's fur sandals, deforestation, man-made dams, etc."

"Your Romans were much worse."

"Sorry, I am partial. Did you find out what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you. Take a deep breath, the _Ijn_ will restore your strength." He expanded his chest to show me how. When I did the same, with an effort, he urged, "Once more. Now give it a moment."

I was fine. I had recovered. Lord Alexey patted my hand and left the room. I heard him going downstairs just as Delian was climbing up, the ice cubes clinking in the glass of water he was bringing for me from the kitchen. Delian asked about me. His voice carried up as if he wasn't facing his friend but was looking up where I lay in my bed. Or it must have been the _Ijn_ sharpening my senses and tuning my hearing to a conversation that could not have been occurring. "Aside from the mind/time aberration, she is in perfect health," Lord Alexey said. "No damage to her reproductive system. In fact, she will be ovulating in two hours and fourteen minutes. For the first time. A pity you'll miss the chance. She could have given you a fine green-eyed boy, or better yet, a fair-haired girl."

"Shh, keep quiet."

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" Lord Alexey asked, anxiously.

Delian answered with uncertain laughter, not his own, and I knew for sure I had imagined the exchange.

Delian came up the stairs and into the room with a fogged glass of water, which he offered to me without a word and sat at the edge of the bed. The water was so cold it made my teeth hurt and my blood run more slowly. I thought mistakenly that it was the cold that had seized my chest before I recognized the feeling as fear. I pulled Delian closer, and I waited for him to tell me all is going to be all right, but he only stroked my face and kissed the corners of my mouth, looking crestfallen again.

From the door, Lord Alexey witnessed the display of emotions with a clinical stare. He had taken his doctor's coat off and was working on untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Delian," I said, trying to lighten up the mood. "You need to go. My doctor is undressing again. He thinks he is more handsome without clothes."

"Yes. I should. I'll ask Lady Mariella to keep you company."

"I would rather wait for you at home. I want to be with my grandparents."

"Won't they wonder at your midnight appearance?"

"I have a key. They'll think you dropped me off late. Will you hand me some clothes, please?"

Delian went to the wardrobe and took something off a hanger. He looked at the garment as if considering it appropriate for so long, it made me uncomfortable that he would waste time on such a frivolous thing. "It doesn't matter what," I called, and he finally turned around, holding my yellow summer dress. Lord Alexey choked back a curse and moved between Delian and me so I couldn't see what the commotion was about.

The two of them turned to stare at me and held up the dress for me to see. It was in shreds.

"I'll wear something else," I said.

"Do you realize the significance of this?" Lord Alexey said. "Delian, maybe you should stay with her. I don't know what to think anymore. She is a mystery we need to unravel as soon as possible."

"Not that again," I said, getting up and finding another of my dresses to wear. "Delian, take me home, please."

I moved into his arms, and in a moment, we were at the gate of my grandparent's house. "I'll work hard. You rest and don't worry about anything," Delian said, kissing me with tenderness that was Delius' and now had become his. I pressed myself into him, closing my eyes, trying not to think, not to cry, not to feel pain.

"I've changed my mind," I said, my voice husky. "I would rather stay at your place."

"As you wish. But I have a little surprise for you. Don't you want to see it first?"

"Some other time."

"What is it, my pet?"

"It is Gor. I know that I should tell him myself, but must it be tomorrow? I don't think I can do it."

"I will ask his mother to prepare him. You will not have to talk to him before you are ready. Rest. Enjoy some time with your friends and family. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, open the gate."

I did and entered my grandmother's garden.

Neither the season nor the time of the day was as they were outside the gate. The light was as bright as it could be at midday in late summer. The grapes on the pergola were heavy and the juice dripping from a broken globe here and there was gathering dozens of wasps. Something soft glided around my knees. The same familiar touch that I felt sometimes in my dreams. I scooped up my sweetheart and held him tightly and kissed him and cried. Mazurko pressed his head into my shoulder as was his habit and looked at me with adoration I had not yet been able to extract from a man or a zmay.

Slowly, the midnight darkness claimed the garden back, but my cat was still heavy in my arms.

"Thank you, Delian, thank you so much. You didn't forget. But why my cat and not Lilla?"

"Your cat's second life is inconsequential as it turns out. You can have him, Evgenia, now and forever."

"I am sorry...thank you...I am so sorry."

"Don't cry, pet. This is such a small consolation, if any. I am happy to have been able to provide it."

I waited until Delian was gone, then tiptoed to my grandparents' bedroom. The snoring was the usual intensity and decibels. I walked the familiar way to Grandma's side of the bed and pulled on her sleeve.

"Uh? What is it? Oh, Evgenia, when did you come back?"

"Shh, Grandma. I just got home. Please, come to my bed."

I haven't done this since I was eleven. Before that, when I used to suffer night terrors and when my screams woke up the household, Grandma would come and spend the rest of the night in my bed. She didn't question my request now, just as she had never done it before. She took her pillow and followed me to my room. The half-forgotten scent of her cold cream wafted around her, and I curled myself next to her, trying to make myself small again.

Grandma petted my hair, murmuring, "Don't be scared, Evgenia. There are no monsters in the closet. Grandma won't let anyone harm you. Tell me now. What happened? Did you break up with Delian?"

"No, Grandma, quite the opposite. We are engaged," I said, and patted the bed for Mazurko to jump on. "No ring yet, but he gave me an engagement present. A kitty-cat. Doesn't it look just like Mazurko?"
Chapter 32

The next day, sitting in front of the biggest pile of crêpes ever bestowed upon me, I enlightened my grandparents on the latest state of affairs between Delian and me. "We are engaged...I guess. Not officially, but...yes, we are going to get married," I chirped. Grandma spit on her finger and cleaned a drop of jam from my chin. "Grandma, stop that! So, we are going to live in Paris, or maybe Greenland, I haven't decided yet. We will come and visit every summer, and you can come and stay with us as often as you wish. You and Uncle, of course."

"You don't look your usual self," Grandfather interrupted my rambling. "You look thinner and paler. Your fiancé is not taking good care of you."

No need to think of the literate meaning of things. Who is taking care of whom? I had a mother that preferred to die than to take care of me. Who was I to complain?

"I just need some sun," I said. "I should call the twins and go swimming in the river with them."

"Soon to be married and running around with a pair of clowns!" Grandma couldn't refrain from saying, but Grandfather stopped her before the flood of disapproval would drown us all.

"Go, princess. Have some fun. Just don't leave your moped again like that. Somebody could have stolen it. If the young man who brought it was not that honest—"

"My moped?"

"Well, we thought you had parked it in the hotel parking lot when you went to meet Delian, but this young man said he had found it on the street with the keys in the ignition. A very nice young man. A little on the darker side, but tall and handsome-looking otherwise."

"When was that?"

"Just yesterday. He left his phone number. You should call him and thank him."

"I will." I took the piece of paper Grandfather handed to me and hurried into my room. The number Gor had left for me was my great-uncles' home phone.

He would not come today and maybe not tomorrow, but he would come, and ready or not, I'd have to talk to him. I would have to tell him that he had lost the first and last girl he could ever love and make love to.

But why was I beating myself up for Gor's mistakes? How dare he come to me, with his archangel beauty and his juniper scent, knowing that nothing good would come of it? Oh, I was losing my reasoning. Gor was just as innocent as I was. When he came to me, he didn't know who I was. Kiro had deceived him. Kiro was the guilty party.

My head started to hurt. I paced around the room until Grandma came to see what I was doing. "But you never have headaches," she said when I complained of one, so I sat down and started checking my emails and my phone messages. Aside from the flood of inquiries from my friends, there were a few unsettling messages left in my voicemail. The Russian accent was unmistakable. "Stay away from town. You are in danger. Call. We can protect you," all of the messages said, each sounding more urgent than the previous one. Was it FSB, the protector of innocent girls, or Kiro, the meddler? The headache I thought was bad went kaboom and got ten times worse.

I would not think about FSB or SOF, I would not think about Gor, I'd go and swim in the river and make the twins happy.

As always, they would offer to tow me against the current so that I could swim back with it. They would take turns carrying me on their backs, chin-deep in the water, from time to time stepping into a sinkhole, all I had to hold on to would be the thin, dyed hair plastered on the top of one or the other boy's head. We would play in the water until our teeth started chattering, then we would lay on the grass to warm up a little and would jump in the river again. Wasn't this one of the things I gave up Gor for?

It suddenly didn't seem like much, not nearly enough. Before I could continue this train of thought, a clear picture presented itself in my mind. Two identical coffins with the twins in them. My dear, loving, silly friends, pale and still, in their prom suits, forever nineteen because of me. It was an unbearable thought.

Fearing the vindictiveness of my mind, I chose not to think what could have happened to my grandparents, to Uncle. Instead, I decided to pay Uncle a visit. I could drape a white sheet around myself and recite the Caesar's speeches I had so optimistically memorized for him. It should be fun, or at least it would be a distraction.

On my way to Uncle's, I took a short cut through an alley as I always did. Halfway down it, I found Kiro, leaning against a fence, a deep frown making him look older and less comely, like somebody with boyish looks who wasn't aging well.

"Kiro," I said, my frown matching his. "Gor thought you were his friend. How you could be so cruel to him, so heartless? How could you be such a rotten son of a bitch, you bastard! I wish you were dead! I wish you had never been born!"

"Why don't you redirect your wishes and have Delian dead or unborn?" he inquired. "You still have a choice, Evgenia. You could tell Delian that your promise was made under undue distress. No one can read your mind now. No one knows your whereabouts as before. I am your only guard at the moment, and I can take you to Gor if you just say the word." Kiro opened his arms, waiting for me to step into his embrace.

I stood in my place as if I were turned into stone. The urge to do what Kiro had suggested almost tore my poor human heart apart. I was only nineteen. I wanted to be happy. Why did I have to make all these difficult choices?

"No, Kiro, I will not come with you. And just so you know, even if Gor finds it in himself to forgive you, I never will. Go to hell!"

"Have it your way," Kiro said, sounding nearly disinterested.

He walked away, whistling, and I had to make an effort not the grab a loose stone and throw it at his back.

I waited until he was out of view and turned in the opposite direction, not risking catching up with him. As I reached the end of the alley, I found it blocked by a car with darkened windows. A man, looking somewhat familiar, opened the passenger door and invited me into the car. When he spoke, I recognized the voice and connected it with the face. Mr. Dukov, the SOF guy.

"Sorry, Mr. Dukov. I don't have time to talk to you right now."

"Get in, Evgenia. We've been looking for you for days. I have only one question to ask you." He stepped out of the car and opened the back door. Another man, sitting in the back, moved over to make space for me.

I looked up and down the street. The town, for once, had left me alone, with no one witnessing the gossip. I made a move as if I were going to get in the car, then I jumped to the side and made a start back up the alley. Before I could make a second step, Dukov was on me, dragging me back, one hand closed over my mouth. He threw me inside the car where the man in the back seat took hold of me.

"Only the guilty run, Evgenia. What are you guilty of?" Dukov, who had gotten into the passenger seat, turned to ask me as the car sped away. I started kicking and screaming, which only gave the man next to me an excuse to slap me around.

"Leave her alone," Dukov said. "She will be a good girl and tell us what we need to know. Yes, Evgenia? After that, you are free. I promise."

"I don't believe your promises. You've already told me I was free."

"But things have changed. Two of our operatives, one of them Mr. Casko if you remember him, have vanished. Two cars have disappeared as well. Something tells me you may know where to look for our property."

"I don't. Why should I know?"

"Because Casko had called his wife telling her that he had accounts to settle before he went back to Sofia. The only unsettled account he may have had here was with you. Now he is nowhere to be found. The other missing man was his best friend. Do you see the connection?"

The car passed the police station without stopping. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, losing the last small amount of confidence left in me but determined to hide it. Delian would be on his way the moment I transmitted any thought of danger. Oh, no, it didn't work like that anymore. If I wanted help, I should swallow my pride and call Kiro. I hoped it would not come to that.

"You are being very difficult to deal with, Evgenia," Dukov said. "And mentally ill girls are not my specialty. I have called an expert. The gentleman who is going to see you is the head psychiatrist at the Military Hospital."

"I am not mentally ill!"

"Your records with Dr. Kazak suggest otherwise."

"He told me he finds no problem with me. He told me I was fine."

"His mistake. He is no good, as you know. Let's see what the specialist has to say."

When the car approached the psychiatric hospital, the man next to me closed his hand over my mouth and pushed me to the floor. The car slowed down and stopped next to the guard's booth. My captors seemed to have a pass because I heard the security guy telling them to proceed. A bit later, the car stopped again. The chauffeur stepped out and opened the back door. He helped the other man drag me out, holding my legs so I couldn't kick.

Dirty backstairs with chipped parapets, pumpkin-yellow walls, a massive iron door with a keypad next to it. Beep, beep beep beep. The door opened. Dimly lit corridor, empty, no one around. Another door with a keypad. Inside it, I was propped on my feet, then pushed into a chair in front of someone's desk. The two men stood behind me, their hands pressing down on my shoulders. The man sitting on the other side of the desk closed the folder in front of him and looked at me with curiosity.

"Hello, Evgenia," he said. "I am Dr. Burgas. You seem to be having some issues. I am here to help."

"I am fine. I came to see Dr. Kazak only once. I was having bad dreams, that was all."

The doctor pointed to the folder. "Here it says that you have been experiencing hallucinations."

"No. It was the fever. I had been sick."

"I agree. It may not have been hallucinations. Could it be that you mixed with the wrong crowd and this was your call for help? Maybe you hoped Dr. Kazak would admit you to the hospital so that you could get away from your companions."

"This is the biggest bunch of baloney I ever heard! You are crazy. I'll sue the pants off all of you when I get out."

"If you get out, Evgenia, but this is a big if, isn't it?" Dukov's voice came from behind, and I turned my head to see him sitting on a narrow bed I hadn't noticed until then. The bed had heavy leather restraints where the person's head, feet, and hands might go. The apparatus next to the bed looked ancient and unfamiliar.

"This is your last chance to speak before bad things we all are going to regret start happening."

"I have nothing to tell you! Are you all deaf or stupid?"

A knee pressed over my tights and two pairs of hands seized me. The doctor was coming at me with a syringe, and after painful poking in my arm, the syringe found my vein. Warmth spread through me, and my head started spinning.

"He will kill you," I heard a voice. The voice wasn't mine. Or was it? "He will kill all of you. He will cut your heads off, and the blood will spray out of your necks as if from a broken spigot."

What a stupid thing to say, I thought, but couldn't stop myself. "Then he will burn you, and there will be nothing left of you but a few specks of ash for me to blow away. You fucking cocksuckers!"

"Who is he, Evgenia?" someone asked. "What is his name?"

"Delius, his name is Delius Licinius, and he will tear you apart." The bafflement written on the faces around me made me laugh. I laughed and laughed and blabbed nonsense. The drug started losing its effect on me. I couldn't stop the flow of words, but I was able to direct it. I told them that Delius was the son of one of the most illustrious Romans, Marcus Licinius, and Marcus Licinius would come to my defense as well. I described the house in Rome, and the fountain, and the cages with birds. I would have talked for hours if another syringe were not stuck in my vein, and the urge to speak ceased.

"Is she really crazy," Dukov asked, "or she is making fools of us?"

"I suspect the latter," the doctor said. "There are such people that can do that. Very few, but there are."

Dukov heaved a sigh. "Do you know what this is?" He pointed out the narrow bed to me. "What does this equipment do?"

"This is an electroshock machine," the doctor explained to me helpfully when I shook my head side to side. "Quite old."

"Do you want to know how it works, Evgenia?" Dukov asked, and I shook my head again that no, I didn't want to know how it worked, but the doctor was already explaining it to me.

"It delivers shocks of electricity to the patient's brain, which causes seizures. It was often used in the past to treat psychiatric maladies. Not much in use anymore because of the side effects."

"Which are?" Dukov prompted.

"Amnesia, both retrograde and anterograde, cognitive dysfunction, and such."

"Bring her here," Dukov ordered, and his two minions lifted me from the chair and heaved me toward the bed. The chair tipped, my foot got caught between the rails, and I dragged it along. One of the men kicked at it, and it ended up broken across the room.

"Easy now," Dukov said. "Look what you did to her leg."

Attentively now, as if helping a patient, the men placed me on the bed. Dukov signaled to them to step aside and sat next to me.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" he asked, massaging the red line on my leg. He spoke in a low voice full of sympathy. "Please tell me what I need to know. Please do. I don't want you to go through this."

"Let me go now, and I'll pretend it never happened."

"I can't. I have my orders."

"Look now. I don't think this ancient piece of crap works, but even if it did, you wouldn't risk it."

"How mistaken you are. The way it goes, you will find out very soon if it works or not."

"What do you think my grandparents will do if I suffer any of the side effects? Do you think they will let you be? You'll spend the rest of your life in jail."

"You disappoint me, Evgenia. You are not paying attention. Even in the best of circumstances, you'll be so disoriented tomorrow that your grandparents will leave you in our care and thank us for it. You'll never get out of here."

"You won't dare!"

"Speak!"

I looked around. The doctor was behind his desk, looking at me with polite professional interest. One of the agents stood in front of a yellowed illustration of the human anatomy, chewing a toothpick. The other turned an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Dukov said something I didn't catch, but I knew what it was. I watched the doctor emerging from behind the desk, the first agent turning away from the chart, the second shoving his cigarette behind one ear, and I knew they were really going to do it.

"No, please don't!" I screamed, more for Kiro to hear than for any other benefit. I waited a second, expecting to see him charging through the windows. He didn't, nor did anyone else. Where was Kiro? He was supposed to guard me. Was he taking revenge on me?

"Leave me alone! Please!" My screams were sincere now, but still no one came to my rescue.

One of the men ripped the front of my chemise open, another one tore away my underwear. They pushed my arms through the sleeves of a hospital gown without bothering to tie it in the back. The gown was faded blue and reeked of chlorine and fear. The restraints closed around my wrists and my ankles and over my head. I ceased struggling. The white ceiling was high above me. The walls were closing in on me. In the narrow tunnel of space, voices echoed and became hard to understand.

Dukov tucked the hospital gown under me and arranged it to cover my knees. His touch was light, the touch of a man who tucks his children into bed every night. His face came so close to mine, I felt nauseous from his acetone breath and the sharp odor of his perspiration. "You are turning me into a bad man, Evgenia. I never thought I'd do something like this. I had made a promise to my mother, and you are forcing me to break it. I shall never forgive you."

"Please, don't do this to me," I whispered, having lost the strength to speak aloud. The sweat accumulated between my back and the torn plastic of the bed had turned erosive and burnt my skin.

Dukov stepped away. The doctor, smiling gently, placed electrodes on both sides of my head, explaining the procedure to me. "This is called bilateral electrode placement. There is a seizure threshold unique for each person. It is higher in older men than it is in young women. But you seem very robust. I'll start with 1200 milliamps and ten seconds current flow. The unfortunate part for you is that we must perform unmodified ECT since we have no personnel to administer anesthesia and muscle relaxants. Be careful not to bite your tongue. Now!"

A flash drowned out the room and made it disappear. There was nothing around me but harsh light.

Without my consent, my body jolted and made a perfect back somersault. I landed on my feet and looked around. I was in my own head, surrounded by gray matter, neurons, and blood vessels. Electricity sparked from the trees of neurons and ran the length of them like lightning. It was all very interesting, but I could tell a storm was coming and I wanted to get out before I got electrocuted. Digging and clawing, I started pushing my way through the gray matter. The storm was already raging on the outside. I could hear the thunder. The electric current short-circuited, blinked on and off a few times, and I was left in darkness. I felt around. It was squishy and warm. I sat down, hugging my knees, humming a part of a song I used to know, but now all I could remember from the lyrics was 'lost in the fields of sorrow.' I didn't feel sorrow, I just liked the tune.

I waited and sang to myself, and I could have fallen asleep, when a bright silver flame cut through my right temple, burning an opening in the shape of a crescent moon. Light flew in. Someone was out there showing me the way. I rushed toward the opening and leapt out.

The room was in rubble. It was impossible to say what was what. Everything was in a big pile in one of the corners. The windows and the door gaped with empty blackness. The walls were bright red. The paint was still dripping down. A gorgeous, dark man floated above me. His lips were still dripping molten silver.

I recognized him by the softness of his mouth and the intensity of his stare. He looked more handsome and more fearsome than Archangel Michael.

"Where have you been, Gor?" I said. "I missed you so much."

He didn't answer. He reached for me and picked me up in his arms. As we flew out of the window, I watched the flames engulfing the room. "So beautiful! Look at the sparks rising up. Did you make this for me?"

"Why are you talking like that, love? What did they do to you? How did they hurt you?"

"No one has ever hurt me. Who would hurt a girl like me?"

I was relaxed, almost drowsy. The only sensation that was distracting me from this peaceful state was my breasts rubbing against Gor's bare chest, and my thighs against his. I longed for more skin contact. I started gliding slowly in his arms and felt all his muscles tensing.

"You are mine, Evgenia," he said, his voice deep and trilling.

"Am I?" I tried to see his expression, but I could only see the vitreous sheen of his eyes.

"You are. You are mine by the right of my love, and you are mine by the right I have to your life."

His lips pressed over my lips. His mouth was hot and hungry for mine and smelled like junipers. His hand in my hair held my head still, my mouth obtainable, as if I would turn away from his ravenous kisses, from that bliss I had been craving forever.

We started losing height rapidly. "Don't drop me," I cried as we thumped onto a soft bed. It was too dark to see where we were. You are making me dizzy, I wanted to say, but his mouth was on mine again, feverish, his hands fitting the curves of my body, his words intoxicating.

"Sate my hunger, Evgenia, quench my thirst. Make me whole again."

Hours later, we were soaking in the tin tub, Gor kissing the insteps of my feet, the inside of my legs, then the length of my arms up to my neck, his lips searching for a spot he might have missed. "You are mine," he said. "At last and forever. I can't wait to have you a thousand times and then a thousand times again."

I liked that. I liked his strong hands washing me, caressing me, turning me around, touching me exactly the way I wanted to be touched. The euphoric cloud engulfing me wasn't lifting up. I wasn't sure exactly what was happening and any attempt to think about it confused me more. That didn't bother me. Nights are for love. There would be enough time to figure this out in the morning.

Gor carried me upstairs, stopping on every step to kiss me. Our bed swam in the heavy scent of the roses he had planted under my window. "So lovely," I said, giddy with pleasure. "You like that?" Gor asked, and before I could miss him, he left and came back with all the white roses from the village. The petals were still showering over us when I surrendered to sleep.
Chapter 33

The scent of roses was gone, and the air cracked with ozone. Luminescent light shone around me. I opened my eyes. Gor was standing on one side of the bed. On the other side was Delian.

All at once, both men's bodies erupted in plasmic fury. Their legs fused and turned into thick, scaly tails, coiling to the floor. The upper part of their bodies took reptilian shape with claw-like hands. Transparent wings spread and filled the room. Split tongues flicked from the lizard muzzles. The reptilian eyes locked in a murderous stare. There was nothing human left in them. I wriggled toward the end of the bed, desperately hoping they wouldn't notice me.

Without moving his eyes away from Gor's, Delian seized my hair and lugged me back between the two of them but closer to him. Sharp talons pierced my scalp and held me still. Delian, or the beast that used to be him, looked down at me without bending his head. His irises were cold slits. With his other claw, he brushed my hair away from my right temple. His jaws opened wide and he emitted an ear-splitting growl. I shut my eyes, waiting for his teeth to sink into my throat. He shook my head until I opened my eyes again.

"Did he rape you?" he asked, looking deep into my eyes, not caring about the pain he was causing me.

He was going to kill me, there was no doubt about it. And he was going to kill Gor. But I could not lie.

"No, he didn't."

"Let go of her," Gor half spoke, half hissed. "She is mine. She bears my mark. There is nothing you can do."

He reached for me, but Delian opened his jaws even wider, and a fiery force made waves in the air, pinning Gor to the wall.

"Don't hurt her. Don't hurt my mate," Gor whispered with the last breath left in his lungs. The blow had turned his chest concave.

Delian, showing his teeth, pulled me closer. "I won't hurt her. You can have her back when I am done with her."

"You can't do that!" Gor bellowed, managing a breath and turning into a human again, still pinned to the wall.

"I can, and I will," Delian shouted back. "I need to know."

With a single swipe of his hand, Delian lifted me next to him and flew into darkness so deep and frigid that it could only be at the edge of the universe. But it wasn't. Propelled by Delian's forceful push, I hit a wall and fell, rock scraping my back.

We were in a cave. Delian leaned over me, without touching me, invisible in the dark, his breath burning my face. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft and gentle and full of emotions I couldn't understand.

"After all we had gone through, after all the misery I endured for you and because of you, you had to ruin me. Why?"

"I'm sorry. I'd never realized you felt that way. I know this is not according to the agreement, but I had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I'd have chosen Gor when the time came."

Delian took a breath that seemed to deplete all the air in the cave. Howling like a wounded animal, he grabbed the sides of my head, screaming words that echoed in my ears long before I could comprehend their meaning.

"How could you do this to me? You don't have a heart! You don't have a soul!" He threw me on the rock floor with such a violent force that all my bones creaked in agony. He pinned me to the rocks by my wrists, almost breaking them. He screamed terrible accusations at me, which I could not understand, which I didn't believe I deserved. His rage scared me, but didn't scare me as much as his words did.

I started losing awareness of what was happening. I felt the abuse my body was taking, but I didn't feel the pain. Pictures started flooding my mind. Here, I was with Delius. We were spraying each other with water from the fountain and laughing. Here, we were kissing, hiding from his mother and from the slaves in the house. Here, we were looking at each other through the wires of the birds' cage, and the birds had stopped singing to listen to his words of love. I smiled. Then other scenes came to me. Men dragging me into a dark-windowed car. A doctor pressing electrodes to my head. Gor placing his mark on me to save my life, to keep me sane.

"Delian!" I called his name maybe hundreds of times before he heard me. I felt his hot breath directly on my face. His hands were grinding my wrists to the floor, and the weight of his body was crushing me. "Delian, please...don't do this to me...this was a terrible mistake!"

"Just a mistake," he said, choking with joyless laughter. "How fortunate I am!"

"Delian! I remember now...Kiro abandoned me. I was about to die if not for Gor. We must undo the damage. We must, before it is too late."

"It is too late."

"It may not be. I beg you, come into my mind."

"I cannot do it, wretch, as you well know."

"I'll let you in. You'll see for yourself!"

"I don't want to see. I don't want to know anything anymore."

"Please. That's the only thing I'll ever ask for."

The pressure on my wrists lessened. "What do I need to do?" Delian asked, his voice still acerbic and full of contempt.

I expected him to know what to do. The path to my mind was a secret to me. He was waiting.

"Kiss me," I said.

His lips came smashing into mine so hard that I felt his teeth and mine grating together.

I didn't know what it was that kept him out of my head. I imagined a barrier around my mind in the shape of a nutshell and tried breaking it into small pieces. Nothing happened. I concentrated harder. Instead of breaking the shell enclosing my mind, I tried to expand it so that it would become porous, permeable. It didn't work. I tried to push the barrier aside, to blow it apart, to open it with the iron key of my will, and none of it made any difference, nothing worked.

Blood filled my mouth and threatened to suffocate me. How long could I keep Delian waiting? Not much longer; his lips, his hands, his whole body emanated impatience.

Nauseous and overwhelmed with anguish, I thought I'd faint. The magnitude of my misfortune filled me with despair. Fresh tears sprang from my eyes. I tried to break away from the mouth that was on mine not with love but with hatred. Delian's lips pulled back a little then pressed hard again with a feeling that was transforming from hate to tenderness.

I understood. As hurt as he was, he didn't want our last kiss to be of hate, and I loved him so much for that I wanted to die in his arms before our lips parted forever, and I and all of mine would have to make the first installment of the penalty brought by Kiro's betrayal.

The shift in emotions melted the barrier away. Delian's mind flowed in, powerful and vast like an ocean tide. I felt his despair, and his pain. I saw his love for Lilla burn high with a strong white flame. Compared to it, his love for me was like a spark to lightening, and marred by black disappointment. Still, there was love for me, and all I had to offer him in exchange was the warm feeling that I felt for his-young-self, my goodwill and desire to keep my promise, and my hope that he would still have me. I could not allow him to know more; I let him think that he was still the keeper of my heart.

I lifted only one other lock and let him see the events that had delivered me into Gor's arms.

Now he knew. He let go of my wrists, his head dropped on my shoulder. "What have I done!" he whispered with the voice of a broken man. "What have I done!"

"Delian, don't torture yourself!" I begged.

"Will you forgive me? Can you?"

"I have forgiven you."

"What are we going to do? His mark is on you. I can never have you. Oh, this is killing me! What should I do?"

"Make love to me."

"You don't know what you are saying."

"I do."

"Listen, beloved. Even if I wanted to dishonor myself as I almost did, even if I decided to finish my days in shame, I could not bear to disgrace you. You are everything to me."

"I want to keep my promise. I want to be yours."

"You could never be mine. I've lost you."

"I don't know what you mean. I don't care what anybody would think if we made love now. I'll take the blame. I'll endure the shame. I'd do anything for you. Love me."

He lifted me with almost impossible to bear gentleness. He kissed my lips, and I tasted the salt of his tears. He embraced me, and we flew out. In a moment, we were under a night sky, hovering over our house in the country. We glided over the treetops and down to the small meadow where the fireflies blinked in the soft grass. We made love, not hungrily like first-time lovers would, but tenderly, like people who had just survived a disaster.

But we hadn't yet. Disaster still waited ahead, and there was only one way to avoid it.

"I want it all," I said after we landed in the grass. "I have to bear your mark."

"You are asking for the impossible."

"Why should it be impossible?"

"It's never been done. You can't belong to two of us."

"I won't. I'll belong to you only. Do it. Do it if you love me."

Delian pushed me away. Before panic could travel from my heart to my brain, before I could fill my lungs with air to cry, he took me in his arms and pressed his mouth over my left breast. His body became transparent, and the fire of his beating heart pulsated in his chest like a sun. My skin was burning under his lips, and with my inner eye I saw a purple lily blooming on my breast. I was his, and he was mine.

I had done it. I had kept my promise. We were all safe now.

The world around us had changed. The stars vibrated in the sky like arrows trying to escape their galactic orbits. The trees stretched their limbs, adding cell after cell to their height. The _Ijn_ in me lifted me up, and my weight didn't bend the grass.

"What are you doing, beloved?" Delian asked.

"I want to dance for you. Watch me." I started twirling around him in pirouettes, the fireflies following behind me like a burning comet. The stars shone from the wells of my lover's eyes, my only rightful lover, the only one I was allowed, and his breath was a breeze that made my hair float around my head.

I knew this could not last. The Staries would not let us be without a fight. I knew it, and I made my every move as gracious as it could be, my every smile as loving as it could ever be.

The time was over sooner than I feared. The deep blue sky darkened and turned black. Four lords, two of whom I'd never seen, surrounded us. Their heads scraped the clouds, orbs of lightning rolled down their shoulders. They watched us with grim, wary eyes as we cuddled in the grass.

They spoke as one. "The Meet is now. You are to come at once."

"Don't listen to them," I whispered to Delian and looked up and shouted at them. "You are not welcome! Leave us alone!"

Delian didn't say anything.

"We don't need to go, do we?" I asked him. "Can't we refuse?"

"No, beloved, we can't refuse. We must go."

The four lords shrank down to human size. They all stared at me, Maxim and Alexey with dismay, the other two with half-hidden triumph. "What have you done, Delian?" Lord Maxim spoke. "Have you lost your mind? She is full of your life force. You've made love to her. Or did you take her by force? Why is she covered in blood?"

Delian smoothly moved from lying down to a standing position with me in his arms. He looked ashamed and frustrated and without words.

"We got too excited making love," I said to the four stunned faces. "How we do it is none of your business."

"He has no right to make love to you," one of the unfamiliar lords said, his mouth taking a twisted, ugly shape. "You belong to Gor. You bear his mark."

"She bears my mark as well. She chose to have it, freely." Delian spoke at last and turned me aside just enough so that the others could see the purple lily on my left breast.

The four studied the mark with bewildered eyes. Lord Maxim said, "I would never think this possible. I hope it works in our favor. But we need to heal her before we take her to the Meet, or it may not matter."

"She is coming as she is. Some clothes maybe, but not too concealing," the other stranger said. His eyes were like the eyes of a deep-water fish, bulging and colorless under a web of broken capillaries. When he spoke, his eyes seemed to bulge out even farther.

"Excuse me, I don't know who you are," I said, "but you are not telling me what to do. I don't think I am going anywhere. I don't like you."

"We are Zmay," he roared. "We feed on storms and fly on star winds. We can push Earth out of orbit. We can destroy the sun and the moon if we want. For the human level of appreciation, we are omniscient and omnipotent. Who you do you think you are, trying to defy us?"

"Whatever. You can skip the propaganda. I am not trying to defy anyone but you. As I said, I don't like you."

He lifted me by the scruff of my neck like a kitten and asked, "Do you want to get dressed, or are you coming as you are?"

"I'd rather get dressed," I said, and he eased me back to the grass. I couldn't understand why Delian was letting him mistreat me so. He looked lost in thought. I took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the house.

"They are planning something. I cannot figure out what. My friends don't know either." Delian spoke in a conversational tone of voice as if we were alone, but the inflection changed when we were inside. "I wish you'd not see me like that. Or yourself. But you should see how they wanted us to appear in front of the assembly."

We went into the bedroom, and he turned the lights on when we were in front of the three-winged mirror. I would have stumbled back if Delian was not holding me. His face and body were covered with crusted blood. I looked worse. My lip was split, my nose was still bleeding, dark violet rings encircled my eyes, bruises and bites entwined my body like crazy tattoos sprayed with tiny droplets of blood. Everything suddenly hurt.

"Oh, Delian. I thought I was beautiful when I danced for you."

"You were, beloved. You are now and you'll always be. I am the ugly one. I was the fiend blinded by loss and jealousy. I'll never forgive myself. I could have killed you. I wanted to kill you. I've never wanted anybody's death as much as I wanted yours. How can I be sure I won't do this again? How can you be sure I won't?"

"Let's never mention it," I said. "Let's erase it like a bad dream. You will be good to me, and I'll be good to you. We are not going to hurt each other ever again. But I don't want to be seen like this. I don't want to go there."

"We have to go. It is my obligation to do so. I need to take responsibility for my actions. I must defend our union. I won't let them take you away from me. And of course, I won't let them see you like this."

In a whirl of wings, the four lords were around us, but Delian was faster, and we got away before they could stop us.

We didn't go anywhere. We hung between the starting point and the destination point. It was a featureless place, void of color and sound, and warm with the stuffiness of an unused room. Delian placed his mouth close to mine and _Ijn_ started flowing from his into mine. The pain went away immediately. The bruises and bite marks took time to disappear. After Delian was satisfied with the state of our bodies, he finished the leap, and we landed in the shower of his Paris apartment.

When we stepped out of the bathroom, the four lords were already there, Maxim and Alexey looking relieved, the two strangers looking disgruntled. Delian didn't pay any attention to them. He had gained back his confidence, or maybe he had never lost it but wanted them to believe so for reasons of his own. He opened the wardrobe and started looking through the clothes. He brought out a floor length gown and another, short one.

"What do you think? Would you like to wear either of these?"

"At the last Meet I attended, they ruined my dress. I think I will wear jeans this time."

"As you wish. It seems I haven't bought casual shirts for you, however. What will you wear on top?"

"You are going to let her wear blue jeans to the Meet?" Lord Alexey asked. "That will be highly inappropriate."

"She can wear whatever she wants."

"I'll wear the short gown on top of the jeans instead of a shirt. It will look like a tunic."

"Could you please hurry up?" Lord Maxim asked.

"I could, but I won't. Your invitation was unexpected, and I want to look good for my man."

"For which of your men?" the lord with the fish eyes snarled. The other made a pacifying gesture before something bad could happen.

I turned around very slowly and stared at the rows of dresses on their hangers for a long time before looking in the mirror. The dress I had chosen was cut low and displayed the top half of my breasts. The purple lily gleamed against my skin. Gor's mark, the silvery crescent moon, shone on my temple. I rubbed it with a finger. It felt smooth like a scar.

"I feel badly for Gor, too." Delian murmured in my ear. "But there is nothing we can do, beloved. Only time will heal the wounds."

"It's my fault. If I had stayed at your place, this wouldn't have happened."

"Don't blame yourself for something Gor's father and Lord Kiro are responsible for. Gor is stronger than you think. He will forgive you. And, who knows, someday you may be able to do something really nice, really fine for him, something that would compensate him for his loss."

I didn't believe any of this.

Delian dressed in less than a minute, and helped me dry and comb my hair. There was nothing more that could delay our departure. I started sorting through the clothes again, trying to postpone the moment in which Gor would see me holding Delian's hand and bearing his mark along with his own.

"You look like a doll, Evgenia," Lord Alexey said, appearing next to me without having made a move. "Stop fussing now and pay attention to what I say. The Meet is going to be very intense. You need to focus and stay focused through the whole time. It's going to happen like this. We are going to land directly on the rostrum. You will be in the middle. Lord Maxim and I will be on your left side. Lords Dobri and Vasil will be on your right. The four of us will lead the discussion. You will speak only when spoken to. Whatever happens, you are not to leave the rostrum. Is everything clear?"

"What about Delian?"

"He will take his place in the tiers and stay there until it is his turn to speak."
Chapter 34

The Great Hall was unchanged since last I saw it, only the tiers were occupied in a different, uneven manner. The Novies and the Staries sat separately at the two wings of the rostrum, with the unassociated minority fanning out toward the central gangway. I kept my eyes downcast. Gor's face wasn't among the faces I could see with my peripheral vision, and I felt grateful for that with all my heart. I've never been a coward before, but I was a coward now.

Silence fell. I stood among the four lords, trying to imitate their dignified postures and relaxed appearance, managing at best not to fidget. The fish-eyed lord lifted his right arm in an orator's gesture and his eyes bulged out.

"Lords," he began as if there were no women present. "We are here to resolve the most complex dilemma we've had to face since our arrival on Earth. The first and most important question is: What should we do with a human girl who has acquired such attributes that our understanding of the laws governing this world has been challenged if not destroyed?"

"What?" I clasped my hand over my mouth, remembering I wasn't supposed to interrupt. I couldn't believe my ears. What should they do with me? Me being their most complex dilemma? I was led to think that they only wanted to argue who my true mate was. No one had mentioned otherwise.

The speaker pretended not to hear me. "In groups and factions, we have already discussed the problem. All of us were able to find in our ancestral memories a fact that hadn't been there a day ago—the girl's appearance before this assembly two thousand and fifty-six years ago. She was able to materialize in Lord Delian's memory and, ubiquitously, in ours. She remained there for three days our time and fifteen days memory time. She was able to make her mind impervious to ours. I don't understand how this could have happened. I don't think any of us does. Nor can we understand how she was able to accept two marks of ownership. And, if what I've stated so far is not bad enough, she has serious failings of character. She is strong-willed, disobedient, and deceitful. I express the opinion of the Staries that she should be ordered to reveal her secrets before any discussion about using her as a mate takes place. By force, if needed. I place this for a vote."

"I second it," the lord on his right hastened to say.

No one from the assembly spoke, but suddenly the air filled with static electricity and the pungent smell of ozone. I looked from Lord Maxim to Lord Alexey, and what I saw wasn't reassuring. They seemed more surprised at the turn of events than I was. They exchanged glances, and Lord Maxim spoke.

"I protest," he said. "The Novies are not willing to turn this Meet into a trial for Evgenia. She is guilty of nothing. Her somatic appearance in our memories, or as it turned out, in the actual past, must have been terrifying for her. Nevertheless, she had the astuteness to keep the truth from the assembly of our fathers even when she was threatened with torture and worse—just as she is now. Do you not appreciate that? Let's not forget that Evgenia had never heard of us before she found herself torn between our conflicting factions. She should not be paying for our unwanted attention."

"The request for voting had been seconded, Lord Maxim," the lord with the ugly mouth said. "The fact that this girl has been reticent once in front of this assembly is not in her favor as you are trying to imply. It only shows conceit and presumptuousness or, at best, reservations about our competence. She didn't hesitate to turn us into vicarious players in the workings of her mind. We cannot allow this to happen again."

"I didn't do it on purpose. I only hid the truth because the people in the memory world seemed so real. It would have been cruel to tell them they were figments of imagination. Why are you accusing me of complicity while I only acted with the best of intentions?"

"Lord Maxim, will you remind your charge not to interrupt?" the lord with the ugly mouth said. "We are going to vote now."

Without any signal, the voting took place. In midair, suspended above the lords' heads, blue and white lights appeared at once. The blue outnumbered the white.

The fish-eyed lord focused his capillary-reticulated orbs at me. "The proposition has been approved. You must open your mind for us. Do it now."

"I cannot." I thought I was speaking quietly this time, but my voice carried far.

"Lord Delian," the fish-eyed lord said, looking somewhere to the left. "Is she telling the truth?"

I followed his stare and found Delian sitting in the fifth row, surrounded by his friends. He didn't answer, only grew paler.

"Lord Delian, I am asking you once again. Is she telling the truth? Do I need to remind you where your loyalty lies?"

Delian looked straight at me. "She is not telling the truth," he said.

"Delian! How could you—" Then I remembered. He wasn't able to lie to them. They would know it. But still...but still....

The lord with the fish eyes gloated at the confirmation of my treachery. "I'll ask you pleasantly one last time, girl," he said with a thin, gleeful smile.

"Lord Delian is mistaken. True, my mind opened for him, but it happened just once, and not fully. You must believe me. I have nothing to hide from you. I would do it if I could."

"Girl," the fish-eyed lord started in a threatening tone of voice.

"My name is Evgenia," I shouted in his face. "Stop bullying me, you arrogant prig!"

His face flickered with the effort to stay human, but he managed. "I told you, Lords," he said pointing a finger at me. "She is insufferable. I suggest we lock her in the back chamber and deal with her away from the eyes of our wives and sons."

In that instant, Delian's hand closed on my left forearm. "I won't let you do that!" he howled, and the next moment, Gor was grasping my right arm, shouting the same words. Neither of them looked at me. Their eyes were focused on the assembly.

The lord with the ugly mouth spoke, the inflection of his voice almost neutral. "Lord Lava, remove your son from the rostrum. Lord Delian, do not disturb this meeting. The votes have been cast."

The pressure on my forearms increased. Neither man let go of me, nor did anyone in the crowd make a move. Murmur came to the rostrum in waves. Gor's father did not react. His lack of action could mean that either the Staries were losing confidence in the righteousness of their approach, or that they were careful not to provoke my two protectors further.

Delian lifted his free hand and waited for silence.

"I find it hard to believe that some of us would feel threatened by Evgenia's new skills instead of being excited about the possibilities they could bring. Or is it that the Staries are trying to stall the Novies' plans, making all further discussions pointless? If something happens to Evgenia, the Staries will suffer only infinitesimal loss, but it will be the end of the Novies' plans for the future. We cannot let this happen."

A sound like a distant but powerful roar came from the left. The roar was not coming from throats and mouths as far as I could see. It seemed to emanate from somewhere far away. Now that I wasn't afraid that I'd find Gor in the crowd, I studied the faces of the lords and the ladies, trying to guess the direction this madness was taking. The lords looked invariably intense. The ladies had all sorts of expressions. Some looked at me with startled expressions while others didn't look at me but at each other, but on all faces there was determination mixed with fear.

"Lord Delian," the lord with the ugly mouth said, raising his voice to be heard above the roar. "What you are saying may be the truth, but it doesn't change the fact that this assembly voted in favor of applying force if the girl was defiant. Throughout history, we have always solved our disagreements by vote. Are you willing to let this girl jeopardize our mission on Earth with her unpredictable actions and abilities?"

I felt Gor's hand squeezing my arm a little tighter, and that made me look at him.

I should have never done that. Gor looked back at me, and his stare burned a hole in my soul. I knew that time would not ease his pain, that there was no remedy for his anguish. His grief would follow me everywhere, eating at the edges of my joy when I was happy, deepening the darkness of my sorrows when I was sad. I lowered my eyes lest he sees the tears I was holding back.

Delian spoke. "I fully agree that we need to know more about my mate's abilities. Not because they could be a threat to us, but because we must help her control them. But I won't allow this to happen by force, nor will I allow her mind to become public property. My mate is inviolable."

"How could you want her for a mate?" the lord with the fish eyes squealed. "This double-marked, recreant—"

I wasn't sure what recreant meant, but I was sure it wasn't a compliment. I gave him a hard kick in the shins, which his superhuman reaction couldn't spare him from, since not only did he not expect it, but he was also unable to believe that I would dare do such thing. He looked at me with dismay, seemingly having lost his train of thought.

"Are you by any chance related to one Lord Verdan?" I asked him sweetly, ignoring the tug of Gor and Delian's hands on my arms. Something in the watery eyes, still looking at me with outrage, told me I was right, and I continued, "So, how did you come to life? Did he force himself on your mother?"

He might have moved in my direction, but I didn't see it happening. A blur and a flutter of wings disturbed the air, and the rostrum was free of the fish-eyed bastard. Another lord appeared in his place.

"Evgenia, I am Lord Cavos, and I am taking the place of Lord Dobri for the continuation of this discussion. The assembly found Lord Dobri deserving of retaliation."

"Nice to meet you," I said. "I am glad you call this a discussion. If this is so, I would prefer to be treated with more dignity."

"Please accept our apologies. But it is up to you to placate the tempers. You need to open your mind to us."

"No, thank you," I said.

"Then you are leaving us no choice."

The air grew still like before a storm. No one seemed to dare upsetting the fragile equilibrium. When Delian spoke, there was a sigh of recognition that a dangerous situation was being postponed, if not avoided.

"Lords," he said. "Before anything objectionable takes place, there is one more thing I want you to consider. Do you remember this?" He took something from Lord Maxim's hands and threw it in front of us. A bright yellow cloth floated slowly to the ground. It was my shredded to ribbons dress.

More than a thousand astonished eyes looked at it.

I had changed the past. What was so interesting about a ruined dress in the context of the bigger picture?

Before I had the chance to inquire, all eyes turned away from my dress and toward the middle of the tiers where an old lady was coming down the stairway. There were no other old women here. All the wives looked to be in the blossom of their youth. The shaky steps and the white hair of the newcomer seemed to insert futility into the effervescent sea of youth.

"Lady Vanga," Lord Maxim said. "You haven't been invited to this meeting. You have no right to be here."

"I am here by the right to the promise this assembly made to my husband," the old lady said with a crackling, fragile voice. "Or you never meant to honor it?"

"Now is not a good time."

"There hasn't been a provision for that."

"What is it that you want?"

"I want to talk to Evgenia in the privacy of my home. Right now."

Beating of wings filled the air with uncertainty. Some of the lords lost their poise. The low-pitched sound they used to communicate with one another rumbled like an avalanche coming down a rocky mountain. The old lady was unperturbed. She had come to the bottom of the stairway and now was walking across the well.

"You can have her for a half an hour," Lord Maxim said, and I was left alone on the rostrum. Before they let go of me, Delian and Gor spoke to me at the same time. Delian told me not to believe a word Lady Vanga said. Gor told me not to be afraid.

I wasn't going to be afraid of an old woman. It would be nice to get out of here for a half an hour. Next, they would ask me to explain how I had transferred my ruined dress from the past to the present, and I had no answer for that.
Chapter 35

I stepped down from the rostrum and met Lady Vanga halfway. She reached out with both hands to greet me, and I did the same. The moment our hands touched, I felt the flutter of my insides indicating a leap through space and soon after that I found myself in a modest kitchen not very different from my grandmother's.

"Who are you, Lady Vanga? Who is your husband? Why are you old?"

"Sit down, Evgenia. Let's have some tea. Earl Grey or green?"

"Earl Grey, please."

"So, you don't remember me? I haven't changed my name, I haven't changed my manners, I've only grown old, and you don't recognize me."

Lady Vanga served the tea in exquisite china. The cups were so thin that the tea threw flickering golden shadows in the saucers. As she busied herself, I looked at her, and nothing that I saw reminded me of a person I was supposed to know.

"My husband has moved on," she said. "I am the only woman who didn't follow her mate. My husband and I made this sacrifice willingly and as a result of our convictions. The rest disapproved. More so because he left _Ijn_ with me. They didn't like that. They liked even less my husband's last request. He made them promise to grant me one wish, whenever and whatever I wanted. Aren't they sorry now!"

"You used your only wish to chat with me?"

The lady giggled like a little girl and patted my hand across the table. "You'll see that it is a very good use of a wish. Tell me. Do you know what makes you so precious to them? Why the Staries and the Novies fight over you like stray cats?"

"I do. I am the last girl that they can mate with, and Gor and Delian both love me, and now that incident with the past seems to throw everything off. Yeah, that about summarizes it."

"That is true. But it's not the whole truth. Did they tell you what the feud between the Novies and the Staries is about?"

"They did. The Novies are the progressive kind that integrate into human society and acquire human skills and knowledge. The Staries are content to hide in the forests and do their part in keeping the climate under control."

"That is true as well. But they have more in common than they want you to know about. Both groups are equally eager to cleanse the earth of humans."

"You couldn't be more wrong. They are here to ensure our civilization survives."

"They are here to ensure there is a surviving civilization on earth. They have never been sure who will create this civilization. As you know, they are designed to mate with reptiles as well. Now, when people turn out to be so destructive to their environment and threaten to render the earth uninhabitable for anyone, they consider wiping them out. The only difference is in how they would do it and what they would do next."

"I don't believe you! Delian told me you are not to be trusted. Thanks for the tea. Now take me back."

"You want to go back to them? You think you are that special? Do you know what Delian is planning to do with you?"

"Delian loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me."

"Of course he loves you. Of course he would never hurt you. Your well-being is crucial for his plans. All the Novies love you. Not only that. They will fight the Staries if the votes are not in their favor. For if they don't have you, they have nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, foolish girl. The Staries wanted you for Gor, not to do him a favor but to prevent the Novies from having you. They would rather kill you than let you fall into the hands of the Novies. It's that simple. Now be quiet and let me finish."

There was an old grandfather clock on the opposite wall. I watched the big hand move, measuring the last minute of my naïve innocence. The old woman was going to tell me something terrible, I knew it, and I didn't want to hear it.

"As I told you, both parties want to erase the human race from earth. The Staries will stop fighting climate change and global warming will eliminate the humans and most of the mammals, and will open the way for the reptilians to thrive and evolve. The Novies believe that Zmay is the race to inherit the earth. The only flaw in their argument is that they don't have females and cannot procreate. Well, Evgenia. That will change when you give Delian a daughter. Many daughters, in fact, so that there will be wives for them from their own kind."

"What nonsense! Only sons can be begotten from the union of zmay and human."

"Alexey provided the solution. He tried first on your grandmother, then on your mother, but only you were a success. Before you were a fully formed fetus, he changed your genes, modifying them with _Ijn_. He was trying to change only your reproductive system, although he got more than he bargained for, didn't he? You can do things that even they cannot. But whatever amazing abilities you have acquired, Evgenia, not only Gor's but Delian's seed is in you, and you cannot free your body of it. You'll have Delian's child sooner or later, and you will be lucky if it's a boy. If you bear him a girl, they will turn you into an incubator for female zmay babies. How would you like that?"

"I don't believe you," I said forcefully, but I believed her. All she was telling me fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. It all made perfect sense.

"Do you still want to go to them?" Lady Vanga asked. "You are a smart girl. You should have figured out what will happen to you if you do that. The wives are on Delian's side, wishing the new race to be at least part human. Gor won't be able to help you. You are either going to die, or going to Delian."

The teacup started shaking in my hand.

"But what can I do? I cannot hide. They'll find me. They know my location at all times."

"Not any longer. Unless you open your mind, they will need to search for you as if you were an inanimate object. Yes, they will turn the world inside out to find you, but they will need to do that the slow way. Whatever time you manage to hide will be time in which you are safe and humanity is safe. Things could change in the future. Things have already changed."

"Hiding means that I won't be able to see my family. I've never lived on my own. I don't have my passport or my credit cards with me. I don't think I can do this."

"Yes, you can. You don't have much of a choice, do you?"

"What should I do? Where should I go? Will you help me, lady?"

"That's why I brought you here. There's not much I can do, but you are a resourceful girl, you'll do fine. Hurry up, we are running out of time."

"Will you at least deliver a message to my grandparents? Tell them...something...I don't know what. That I am fine but cannot call? Oh, this is going to kill them."

"I will do that. Now, pay attention. You cannot use your identity or your credit cards. Here is a small pack I have prepared for you. You'll find in there fifty thousand dollars in cash. I have no ID or passport for you. You have no use of those."

"Wouldn't it be better—"

"Shh, don't say it. The less I know, the better. It won't be easy to outsmart them. They know you well. They'll calculate every possibility and will start with what you'd be most likely to do. It won't take long. Then, they'll proceed with the rest of your possible reactions until they find you. You need to stop being yourself. You need to forget who you are and what you would have done yesterday."

"How could I possibly do that? I don't stand a chance."

"You do. The FSB suspect something strange is going on—Kiro's clever work. The FBI is curious about why the FSB is interested in you. It would take a lot of memory modifications to cover the truth should more information leak out. The zmay have not reached an agreement. Until then, and until you are unavailable to them, they will not chance their existence to be discovered. That gives you a little leverage. They won't do something outrageous while searching for you. Hopefully."

"What leverage? They move faster than the speed of light. How long will it take them to go around the globe and find me?"

"Don't panic. I've dreamed about it. You will wear a burqa—it's over here, put it on—otherwise they'll find your image in the minds of the people that see you. I'll leave you at New York Central. You'll need to jump on the first train that leaves. Don't forget that they can follow your scent. You have six seconds before they get there. Change trains often. Every time you do that, throw one of these behind you."

"What is this?"

"C-8 explosive. It is big enough to disperse your scent, but small enough to be harmless. Do it right before boarding."

"Great! I'll run through New York dressed in Muslim garb and throwing explosives in my wake. What were you thinking?"

"There is no better way, believe me."

"And without an ID? I can't even get to a show without an ID. And what will I do when I run out of money?"

"You'll need to grow up before that happens."

"Oh, this is awful! How am I going to live like that?"

"Stop whining...shhh...what's that?"

I didn't hear anything. There was nothing to hear. It was a vibration that I felt first in my bones before it started rattling the pots hanging over the stove and the china in the cupboards. Cracks ran down the walls. I looked into the old woman's large, round eyes and saw the same startled expression I'd seen on a young girl's face back in Rome.

"I know who you are. You are the crazy one!" I cried. "So much for your dreams and bullshit! They are here to take me away!"

"I am not crazy, just wrong. It's not I who'll arrange your escape, it's—"

"Who is it then?"

"It's you, Evgenia, it's you."

"I don't believe you."

"You must believe me! You can do it."

"No. I can't. How could I?"

"How did you move in and out of Delian's memories? How did you change the past? The knowledge is in you—you only need to find it in yourself."
EPILOGUE

She gives me a grayish garment I have trouble slipping on. She helps me arrange the headpiece. I shake. I cannot stop shaking. "A favor for a favor, Evgenia?" she inquires. I move my head up and down. "Should all this have a happy ending," she says, buckling the pack around my waist, under the burqa. "Should you and Gor reunite for life, please take me with you when it's your time to move on. I have no more business on earth. I did what I was supposed to. My husband is waiting for me on the other side. Will you take me there? Will you do that?"

"I will if I can. Where will you be until then?"

"On your little finger."

I look at her with unseeing eyes.

The walls are collapsing around us. Grotesquely tilted, the grandfather clock chimes. Its hands start to turn faster and faster until they are a blur. Then, I don't see them anymore. They have fallen off or they move too fast to mean anything. In front of me lies what I thought until now was reality, nothing solid, only a wavering suggestion of things, beings, life. Behind me is a deep, black abyss.

I take a step back. The Earth rushes away from me, drawing a big spiral as it rotates on its axis, orbits the sun, follows the sun's galactic path, and drifts with the galaxy through intergalactic space. I sway. I am a circus animal balancing on a ball for the first time. An instinct I didn't know existed within me shifts my body ever so slightly. The planet is under my feet again. It glides around me without friction like some slick sea creature, taking me through the heart of mountains, above oceans, plains, cities. After two more rotations, I know I am positioned twenty-four feet above sea level, on the forty-first parallel. New York City's lights approach. I have no choice but to start believing in dreams, someone else's dreams.

I step down from the ball.

In the short span of no space and no time, I hear the roar of the zmay's outrage. It rolls inside my head like boulders inside a rock grinder. I cringe. Overcoming the blare, Delian's whisper comes to me, cold like a winter storm. "Don't do this, Evgenia. You cannot run from me. You cannot hide. I'll turn into the wind, I'll blow through every place on earth, I'll discover you in other people's eyes. I'll see your reflection in the water you drink. I'll make all creatures talk to me. I'll find you." He hasn't finished speaking when Gor's dark voice cuts through. "Run, my love. Run. They are coming for you."

New York Central Station. I have six seconds...five seconds...I run.

About The Author

_  
_Stefani Christova, born and raised in Bulgaria, now lives in Colorado. She has earned degrees in Viticulture and Landscape Architecture which enabled her to create a beautiful garden. In good weather, you can find her there, writing if inspired, pulling weeds if not. The garden is very well tended, indeed.

Copyright © 2014 IgniBooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. Published by IgniBooks, Inc. IgniBooks and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of IgniBooks, Inc.

This title has been registered with the Library of Congress.

ISBN-10: 0991371754

Publisher's Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements and Credits

Cover artwork © 2010 by Boris Sarikov.

Photography and cover design by ID, Inc.

