

Shadow

Caste

The Lone Strider

Jessi Jeffrey

Published by Jessi Jeffrey at Smashwords

Copyright May 2015 Jessi Jeffrey

Cover art by Fiona Jade 2015

For Maretta, the soulmate I waited an eternity for

-and-

Jax, the boy for whom I would go to the ends of the Earth

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for you use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Entry 1

Entry 2

Entry 3

Entry 4

Entry 5

Entry 6

Entry 7

Entry 8

Entry 9

Entry 10

Entry 11

Entry 12

Entry 13

Entry 14

Entry 15

Entry 16

Entry 17

Entry 18

Entry 19

About the Author

Connect with Jessi
Volume 1, Spring 2012

Entry 1

I...am a monster.

Fortunately, the very best kind. If I were anything less than the woman I am, I doubt you would have cause to be proud of me.

We live in a world of monsters. Beasts. Animals that only know of their creature comforts. Those amenities that cost others their lives and sometimes their very souls. It's my job to stop this. Mine and others like me, all within a secret network, saving the world one person, one layer, at a time.

Because our existence is layered. It is textured with overlapping shades of color so bright, so vivid. Yet under those hues, in between the gaps, there are darker colors. Shadows standing in front of you, smiling because you don't know what they really are.

Even though I have watched you for years and I have never written you, never contacted you, that you do not know I exist...that I never wrote to your father and had no intention of revealing myself now, I find I am faced without a choice. Something has changed drastically and I cannot foresee yet if it is good or bad. Either way, you will have to know the truth. The truth of myself, of this world, and decide for yourself if it is a truth you can withstand.

Where to begin?

Well, I take my lunches in the promenade of the building where I work. Because it is a large company, they have afforded the luxury of building their own courtyard on the edges of the city park. It is a good place to survey the public, to keep a mindful eye out, to absorb some sun, and seem as though I am reaching out for peace and quiet when I am actually listening for the chaos underneath. I unwrap my tuna sandwich, the only meat I can stomach, and open my bottle of water. Taking a chug of the water and swallowing quickly, I reach my face up to the sky. The sun warms my cheeks and the breeze tosses my hair about my face. It is a nice day according to the weather, but when has the weather ever dictated reality?

In the park there are young children playing, people walking their dogs, runners jogging and old men playing chess in woolen caps and mismatched socks. The promenade mostly consists of workers on their breaks, like me, some eating, some smoking, some gossiping about their peers. This is the norm. Yet this week there has been a new factor, a distraction to my work. My real work. I am supposed to be tracking. Listening. Watching. Waiting for the next opportunity to complete my mission. But this new factor, this woman, is occupying most of my thoughts. She has been here a week, taking her lunches outside as well, and keeping me from my targets. I sigh because a week without work makes me grow weary. But what can I do? Her presence is intrusive to my senses. Her smell, her movements, her golden hair flicking this way and that. I have not been tracking any of those I should or who I want to, but instead have been captivated by her. She eats delicately and as I watch her, I am reminded that I, too, must eat, and take a large bite of my sandwich. I can almost hear her chewing until she picks up her phone and begins to text away. She does this all hour long, everyday, texting in between bites. She responds to each text with a smile or a giggle. It must be the same person she texts during her lunch hour and I wonder who captivates her attention as she has mine.

I have had the off chance to pass her in the hallway of the office a few times. She has grazed my arm with her soft lamb like skin, always on accident, always with a sweet shrug and a "oh, excuse me!" I nod and move my cart along, because although she has permission to be noticed by me, I do not to be noticed by her.

I work in the mail room for this large corporation. It's a low paying job far below my capabilities, but it suits my needs. I deliver mail to all four buildings making up the structure here, two before lunch and two after. It is one of the few positions in the building that allows me to wear jeans and a t-shirt. I try to stifle my snickers at the corporate mice that sneer condescension on me as I pass by them in their expensive suits. They have no idea the fortune, power, and knowledge I have over them. I don't begrudge them their feelings of superiority; sometimes it's what keeps them safe. Sometimes it's what makes them vulnerable.

Today she has on a green twill skirt that hangs just below her knees and a lighter green top with a v cut neck. The outfit brings out her sea green eyes and she has kicked off her sandals while she's on break. The wind picks up and throws her scent my way, a soft clean perfume and lavender soap. My mouth waters and my stomach growls, and I take another bite of my sandwich, reminding myself I need to eat. As I polish off the wheat and tuna combo, she stands and leaves the promenade. Her lunch hour is over.

I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to compose myself. Listening to the quiet but busy chatter around me and watching people walk by. All seems ordinary until I stand to gather my trash. That's when I hear it. Smell it. I make a mental note of its source, a man leaning against a tree just off the park's running path. He is clad in a white button up shirt and has loosened his tie. He wears expensive Italian business slacks and new leather shoes. I know they are new because they squeak when he fidgets. Worn leather doesn't squeak and peaceful men don't fidget.

I am quite sure he works for this corporation, but he has not worked here long. I would have noticed him before. People underrate the workers underneath, the people who do the menial jobs. The maids, the secretaries, the mail workers, the gophers. I know entirely more about the personal lives of my coworkers than they would care for me to, not because of my senses but because of my position. Think no one knows about the affair you're having except your best friend at work? Guess again...I was passing by filling your inbox and you didn't even notice me.

This man, who appears young and charming and successful, is no man at all. He is a monster, but not a monster as noble as my kind. He is a cruel consumer of innocence and beauty. And it is my job, my real job, to take him out. Behind his cropped waves of dark hair and lively eyes are his thoughts of malice and I can hear them. I can smell them. They wash over me like a hot wet towel and cling to my skin. I will go back to the mail room and load my cart for Building 3, keeping an eye out for him and his ugliness. By the end of the day, I will have him tracked properly.

And my mouth waters again.

My boss probably doesn't even know my name. I put my long dark hair into a pony tail and load up my cart. He passes by, this middle aged bitter man, grumbling under his breath. I believe he had grand dreams once, and lost them. Or gave up on them. Or had them taken away. Deep down, he's a sweet man with a loving wife and children he adores. But here, in the confines of steel and concrete grey doldrums, he shape shifts into a bitter curmudgeon, grumbling under his breath always, barking orders to less adept workers. These are usually the mail sorters and other clerks, the ones who seek to work their way up the corporate ladder. They are generally younger and in college or fresh out of college, and look at him as if he were a fossil. They make fun of him behind his back. They are young and do not know yet of choices and chances and things that can go horribly, horribly wrong in the flash of an eye. Good thing I know that neither he nor they are what they appear to be, innocents, every one, in the grand scheme of things.

I sigh, thinking about this, how nice it is for the mail room to be so clean. A retreat of sorts, from the rest of the mass public. My cart is loaded and I'm on my way out, doing my job, hunting that monster down.

My boss, my real boss, David, thinks this assignment is a waste for me. Wants me in a bigger city with a partner, the way the rest of the network works. I have been here in Biloxi for three years now. Found you within the first two months. Of course David doesn't know that. He doesn't know about you. Or that I've been looking. He doesn't know you're why I've passed up bigger assignments and bigger glory in the past. He just thinks I'm peculiar and I am perfectly content to let him continue to think that. David says I am far too intelligent and skilled to waste my time. I argue with my success, with the numbers I am able to pull here and he lets me be. He thinks my potential is so much more, and secretly I think he wants me on his team. "El, you're a legend" he says, and though that might be, I have many agendas.

As I push the cart down the aisles of cubicles on the top floor of Building 3, I sense nothing out of sort. Nothing to catch my attention. Nothing I haven't seen before. I tread by the outer offices slowly, hoping my new prey is here. No such luck. No word of a new supervisor either, so I am concerned about the whereabouts of my new friend. I finish the floor and the rest of building quickly. He must be in the next building, for he wasn't in the other two either. It won't be difficult to track him; his thoughts make him reek of his brutality and I will probably be able to smell him before I hear him.

Back in the mail room, I eagerly load up my cart again, focused on my task. If he is not in this building I will hunt him on my own time, but it is so much nicer to get the double pay. The network pays handsomely, in both monetary gain and other things, but when you can find your mark on your cover's pay, it's a small bonus. Leaves more time to acquire more marks and training. We don't necessarily have a quota, per se, but David says a good rule of thumb is three squares a day, no more than two marks a week. That keeps one strong but not zealous. I've had my three squares every day, but not a mark yet this week. It's Thursday and I feel thin. Not as thin as I've ever been, but I prefer not be stretched too much. Makes my work sloppy. Sloppy is not good.

Top of Building 4. Nothing. Next floor down, nothing. All the way to the bottom, not a trace. Not a wisp of scent or whisper of thought. Damn. My stomach growls. I take a pack of crackers from my hip pocket and open it. Munching on the snack I put up my cart and clock out. I walk to the parking garage defeated. Guess I'll go home, get my gear, and go hunting.

My brain is on this man. This creature and his path. This city is not small, but it is not so big as to erase the trace of such a thing. The humidity and ocean breeze may distract other less evolved hunters, but not me. Just as I am planning my search route, a flood of smell attracts my undivided attention. But it is not his smell, his heavy, sticky tar-like burning smell...it is...light...airy...lavender. I turn and she is behind me, with an apologetic look. In my concentration I have stopped short of the door, blocking her way through to the garage. "Oh," I say, and step aside.

"You work in the mail room, right?" she says as she passes.

"Yes."

"Well, have a good night," she says merrily and walks to her car. A cute little red convertible. Of course that's what she drives, I think as I walk to my jeep. My black hard as nails rough and tumble beat up jeep. I laugh as I look at it. It looks like a Florida mud bogger. Who would know it has more technology than the entire building? David would, and he would be ashamed of my week's haul.

My week's haul! I shake off her distraction and put my mind back on task. In no time I've driven myself home without realizing I've driven at all. I come into the sparse apartment fast, stripping off my athletic sandals and jeans. I don a pair of black cargo pants and leather boots. I exchange the white t-shirt for a black one and throw my leather overcoat by the door. As I pivot to go for my gear, I have a slight dizzy spell. I hear David's voice in my head, "Can't live off tuna and crackers for long". David encourages me to eat better, to add more proteins to my diet. I never liked vegetables, even before I was in the network. And meat other than tuna is just too much for me. It upsets my stomach and leaves me feeling heavy. I mainly survive off bread, crackers and tuna. Occasionally if I'm in a good mood, I'll eat ice cream or cheese. A little dairy to shake things up. I think about this as I'm sitting on my couch, recovering from the dizziness. If I could just get my mark tonight I know I'll feel much better. Maybe treat myself to a chocolate shake.

After a moment of gaining my composure, I go through the living room and kitchen, which is really one large room, pulling secret levers and pushing unknown buttons. Before me appears multiple displays of weapons and equipment. What will I need tonight? What will I want? I pick a few basics, things I like to have with me at all hunting times, in case I come across something I didn't plan to come across or am out too long. Rope, a sharp silver blade with a handcrafted wooden sheath, a large garbage bag, a can of tuna and a bottle of water. Then I go to the artillery selection...hmm...what toys to take to play? I enjoy hunting, probably more than I should, and am good at it. Occasionally David puts me on mandatory respite, where I am forced out of the field and into training rooms with younger workers. He says if I weren't so good he wouldn't have to do that but it's really his way of forcing vacation.

For this kind of monster, I cannot maim or otherwise disfigure his body. So it has to be a clean kill. Most of my weapons are of the messy sort, and not really made for this kind of prey. This kind of prey I could use my bare hands. There's always the chance I could get over excited and remove limbs and hence the requirement for a weapon. Funny how a weapon for you might lead to more aggression and for me it means less. Nonetheless, I choose a Taser, a poison, and a small caliber gun. I probably won't have to use them for the kill, but just in case.

I conceal my gear and leave my home. I leave the jeep in my parking place, for often it has provided a decent alibi. If my nosy neighbors never see it leave, they attest that I've been home all night. Police rarely find their clues leading to my door, but any time is too many times. I scale out of the back room window, scurrying up to the roof. It isn't a long climb, as I live on the top floor of a three story apartment building. From there I jump from rooftop to rooftop until I find myself near the city park. I've got to pick up his scent again, and scents like his linger.

By now it is dusk on the city and the park is still somewhat busy with late afternoon traffic. Though I am not dressed for this region or this time of evening, few will notice as they go about their nightly routines. I walk casually up to the tree the man was leaning against. I can stand less than three feet from the oak and smell everyone who has been near it that day. Humans, monsters, and some clues lie but smell never does. His is strong and putrid, and I pick it up immediately. The smell lifts west, toward the setting sun, and I grin as I proceed after my soon to be victim.

Victim. I'm not the only one that has that on my mind. His smell leads to me the casino strip, a stretch of beach along the coast occupied only by flashing lights and ringing bells. Anyone who has been to Biloxi gets the "Katrina tour", a scenic recount of "This is what used to be here, and this is what's here now". Hurricane Katrina wiped out most of the coast and locals have resigned to let the casinos build on the shore, as they can afford to rebuild should it happen again. The casino strip is the perfect place for predators of all kinds, with a multitude of attractions and distractions to lure unsuspecting prey. The man I track tonight has no idea he's being hunted himself as he sets a trap for his own catch.

I spot him. He meanders seemingly casually down the sidewalks, his coat thrown over his shoulder, attempting to appear nonchalant and without a care in the world. His thoughts say otherwise. His thoughts say, "So many pretty women. So many screams. So little time." As he thinks this, a grin turns up the corner of his mouth. A young woman passes by him and gives him a second glance. Clearly, she's interested in this well built young specimen. He turns to follow her and ends up escorting her into a nearby bar.

I walk into the bar and find myself a table in a dark corner. The couple comes up to the bar and the man orders drinks for them. They talk and flirt for almost an hour, all the while I hear him. I hear his thoughts of forcing her down, forcing himself into her, forcing her soul into pieces. I hear as he plays the scene in his mind, over and over, hoping she puts up a little fight so he has good reason to mutilate her. I crack my knuckles every time he thinks of a new way to rip into her flesh and attempt to not attract much attention to myself. So now not only do I have to take him out, I have to separate them first. I am granted a rare reprieve as she excuses herself to go to the restroom.

Quickly I get up and approach the bar, standing beside him. I immediately catch his eye. He turns to me, mulling over his opening line. "Well," he says, "Those clothes don't really do you justice, do they?" David tells me, and has told me, that I am beautiful. He says it very matter-of-factly, intentionally. Tells me that I should use my beauty while I hunt, because all monsters are distracted by a thing of beauty. He says it would be a great strategy. But for a strategy to work, one has to believe in it and I do not. Men of all sorts are generally intimidated by me, my height, my ice blue eyes, my muscular stature. Only monsters are lured by my physique, so what of beauty is there?

"They serve their purpose," I respond to the man. Before he can ask what that purpose is, I've leaned in closer to him. I whisper in his ear, "Why don't you ditch that bimbo you've been working on and try out a real woman?" He licks the roof of his mouth. He can't believe he's hit this jackpot! If he weren't so versed in looking composed he would be jumping up and down like an excited child at Christmas. As the woman exits the restroom, I escort him out of the bar, leaving a confused but safe innocent behind.

I make smutty small talk with this beast as we walk away from the well traveled areas of the public. It is a tactic most predators use: be enthralled with me as I lead you away from safety. He believes he is using this tactic on me. What he doesn't know is it is far more dangerous for me to conduct my business with a public audience than it is for him. We walk along the beach until we come upon an unoccupied boardwalk. He leads me under the boards, into a dark area that is tall enough to stand under and the water only brushes the ankles of your feet. He is planning a seduction, a kiss, a charming moment until he will subdue me and then take what he believes is his for the taking.

There are three stages of the kill.

In the moment right before the kill, time for me is very still. It is very quiet. I can hear his thoughts, almost as strong as I hear my own. I can hear his breathing, speeding up with the excitement and the adrenaline of the moment. I can feel his sense of savage victory. Most importantly, to me, something which he is completely unaware, is the beating of his heart. The pulse emanating from his heart and coursing through his veins. It calls to me, and in this very quiet, very still moment, it overrides my mission, my purpose for being. Once the rhythm of his heart overtakes my mind's voice, I feel my pupils widen, my teeth sharpen, my claws elongate and pierce slightly into his flesh. I pull my weak little prey against me, feeling his warmth, made hotter by his sudden realization of fear, and sink my hungry mouth into his neck.

If the moment right before the kill is long, the draining is a sort of suspended paradise. It takes little time at all in reality, seconds really, but for me it is always this slow motion era of ecstasy. It is the time when I am not stuck in between two worlds, when I am only hunter, when I am filled, satisfied, and one with myself. When I need nothing or no one else and am complete. This feeling, it fades quickly, but I relish every beat of it. His blood pumps into me now, and I count the pulses until there are none. Mid twenties...ah, the man at least took care of himself, even if he did not take concern for others.

And then there is the moment after, a sadness. As if the draining were being born, and every second between that and the next draining bringing me closer to death. I am satiated for now, but I know I will not be soon. Once I put that feeling aside in my mind, I struggle with the man's lingering memories. Memories are an inevitable transference during a draining. The longer a man's life or the stronger his will make the memories linger heavier. I have lots of training to overcome this mental side effect of a draining and have taught newlings similar techniques. I think of light, joy, goodness. I think of love and simplicity. Hope. Faith. These are the things that erase the evil in men's blood, a lifetime of imprinting their monstrous nature onto my beverage of choice.

I cannot linger long in this phase. He screamed or cried out, though I did not hear it, but they usually do. I retrieve the garbage bag from my pocket and lift his limp body into it. As I tie the string tight, I reach for my cell and call the clean up crew.

"El!" I hear a cheery but concerned voice on the other end, "It's about time. Worried you might have-".

"Can it, Gruff" I cut off the voice, "Just hurry. I'm leaving a tracer and heading home."

Gruff works for the network, but he is not one of me. He is human, through and through, a small population of which that knows the truth I am attempting to tell you. Gruff is probably my favorite human, nicknamed by yours truly. The man is always optimistic, always full of joy, and doesn't have a sad or mean bone in his body. I don't consider myself downtrodden or angry, but Gruff has pointed out that I can get surly or broody. When he points it out, I always tell him, "Yeah, better to have a range of emotion than to be persistently chipper." Guess he has a lot to be happy about, seeing as how he knows he's never going to be dinner.

After I have scaled the city home, I entered my apartment the way I went out. I take off my jacket, still soaked with blood, and sigh. It's hard as hell to clean that jacket. I still have blood on my shirt as well, and use the bottom of it to wipe some lingering dried blood off my face and neck. Then I take the shirt off and examine it. Fresh black cotton v-neck t-shirt. Hides stains so well and allows me to move and my skin to breath. I sit down on my couch and take off my boots. I sit there for a moment recounting my kill. I feel strong now. No dizziness or weakness. I have gone so long without fresh blood before that my hands tremble and my eyesight dims. But not this time, not by a long shot. I rise and head toward the shower, stripping my pants and undergarments as I go.

Under the pour of the water, I wash my hair and am still shaking off the man's memories. I've hunted all sorts of murders and abusers. Men and women who are addicted to the misery of their own kind. Humans who dream of nightmares no demon could wield. And I have slain monsters. Creatures that make my condition seem like a fairy tale. Most of these men and monsters are the same, so similar in thought and act and even completion of act that they are hard to tell apart with closed eyes. But of all the things I've hunted, all the monsters I have killed for the betterment of this world, the ones that bear heaviest on my heart are the rapists. Murderers make sure their victims do not remember. Monsters who usually aren't monsters by choice and are too cowardly to take their own lives. But rapists, they make sure that not only do they get to relive their deeds in their own memory, but their victims do as well. And they revel in this fact because they know it to be true.

David says I am biased. What would he know of these things?

By the time my shower is over, though it might have been a little longer than usual, I have successfully rinsed his memories from my mind. Now I am strong and I am myself alone. I collapsed onto my bed, peering over my pillow at the clock...9:15. Not only is it early, but it is not even close to my bedtime, and I am not tired. Now I am restless, not sure what to do with my time. I could read, which is usually what I do after settling down from a draining. But tonight it does not seem to suffice and I am too geared up for sleeping.

I think for a brief minute about sleeping. I haven't slept more than three hours in...how long? "One of the many benefits" I hear David's voice ring out in my head. What he sees as a benefit I question as a curse. Lots of time could be spent away under the peaceful reign of sleep, but no, I have to be awake...all the time...awake.

I get excited for an even briefer moment thinking maybe I could find myself another mark tonight, but that fades almost as soon as it came. I love my job, I love the kill, but I am not one to gorge myself either. Gorging wrecks havoc on routine, and routine is the only way I know to survive. It is my secret skill, the one I do not discuss in training, mine and mine alone. We all have our tricks for survival, each as unique as ourselves, as each of us struggles with different aspects of our condition. For me, it is how do I survive an eternity of time on my hands? I bore easily and need to be continuously entertained in one form or another.

So I read. A lot. I do not go out and engage myself in human friendships, as to keep as low a profile as possible. Sure, I have plenty of friends, but they are either like Gruff or myself and David, busy with their own covers and their own kills and duties. It isn't like I could call one up and say "hey, let's go out for a drink". They would all think I was talking about work.

I could train. Build up my skills. But given that I waited so long, too long, for a draining I should sit out on any more major physical exertion tonight. So what to do...what to do? Just as I have exhausted my options, I faint memory of taste touches my tongue. Cold, creamy, chocolatey...milkshake. I definitely deserve a milkshake. I throw on some shorts, my sandals, and a fresh t-shirt (this one white) and head out the door.

Down a few blocks from my place is a Sonic. It's a short walk and a nice night, so I stroll down to the lit palace of treats. Some cars are pulled into slots and some people are sitting at the provided picnic tables. In my new garb, I appear to be any other average late 20s inhabitant of the city. I walk up to the outside counter and place my order. While I wait I watch as people sit with their families or friends, completely unaware of the predator in their midst. Innocent. Innocent. More innocents. I smile. Just what I needed, a great shake and better company. I've drained so many monsters, innocents don't even drive my hunger anymore. I have long been able to walk among them without feeling the pang of starvation. Except earlier today, but that was probably from going without for longer than I'm used to. That thought makes me ponder two things...that fact that I usually feed twice a week and the reason why I haven't lately.

I know the girl from the courtyard is an innocent. If she were an evil of any sort, I would have smelled it, heard it, tasted it by now. Then I realized tonight's draining gave me a break from having her on my brain, a longer break than I have had all week. The fresh blood gives me the strength to shrug it off and I take my shake and begin the walk home.

For a brief moment, I feel as though I am being followed. I catch a small whiff of filth, but it disappears quickly. Yes, for a minute something was following me. Something that wished it hadn't. I am quite positive it won't be the last I sense of it, but for tonight one kill is enough. Evil always lingers, and I have all the time in the world.

When I reach home, the thoughts of the day inspire me to write to you. This is something I have never desired to do. I have the impending feeling of change to come, something I have not felt for years. It is a strong feeling, with more strength than it has ever had. I write this now to you today, for tomorrow I will check in on you. Perhaps you will give me a sign if you are ready for me. Perhaps not.

After writing this entry, I watch a few hours of mindless TV, sipping my shake. Later I will hunker down into my bed, a large oasis of comfort, and drift off into a dreamless sleep until tomorrow's routine begins.

Entry 2

There are a few isolated moments in a person's life that truly stand out. Some of them are so tragic, so scary, that we run as hard as we can from them. Others are so freeing and so grand we cling to them, dying a little each time a small piece of that memory fades. I had one of those such moments today.

When I woke up this morning, I peered out from under my covers, seeing the rays of sun trickle into my room from the blinds. I am reminded every morning, as the sun raises its sleepy self from the horizon, of the first sun rise David made me watch. The first morning he made me stand out in the hazy predawn air, his arms around me, and forced me to watch it rise. I was so sure my flesh would burn, my limbs drifting into ashes. I was absolutely convinced I would watch myself disintegrate before my very eyes. I was wrong about that moment. And I was wrong about today.

Today I get out of bed, stretching my arms and back. Another peaceful slumber. The sleep after a draining is always dreamless, rejuvenating and feels long. I take a moment to feel the heat from the sun on my face and smile. The sun. It is my friend and ally, what separates me from the others. I shuffle into the kitchen and pull out a loaf of fresh bakery bread I had purchased yesterday. It's the kind of bread that crackles when you touch it and smells like fresh grain. It is soft on the inside but slices without sticking. I cut myself a generous piece and spread some cream cheese on it. I sit down on my couch with my bread and contemplate the day.

It is Friday. Most everyone's favorite day of the week. The end of work, the beginning of the weekend. A time for respite or fun or family and friends. For me, under this cover, it is no different. I get off early on Friday's. My boss lets me go early if I get the mail run. I usually work through my lunch break, when most everyone else is out, and use my supernatural speed to complete my task and take the afternoon off. It's a fun game, really, because there are always a few stragglers who work through their lunches to complete work before the weekend. Getting the mail out without them seeing me, it's more like a training exercise than work. Then I have the weekend, almost a full 72 hours, to track, hunt, feed. I didn't think this Friday would be any different.

After I sprint around the building, I bring my cart casually back to the mail room. As I am preparing to leave, most of the executive workers are returning for lunch. They laugh together or discuss numbers and brief casual exchanges. Where to go for lunch, what did you have, you should've heard what so and so said...that kind of thing. I grab my backpack, which always has some food and random...supplies...and head for the elevator. I am focused, planning my moves, and am completely in my own head.

I'm in the elevator thinking about what city districts I'll prowl tonight when I am thrown off. It is difficult to think about concrete and dirt and sweat and the minds of evil men when the smell around you is fresh and clean and slightly flowery. Flowery...like lavender. And, of course, I realize she is in the elevator.

"Missed you at lunch today," she says to break the awkward elevator silence.

"Oh, I..." I find myself stammering for words. This is odd, I think. I seldom make conversation with humans, but I am never at a loss for words when I do. "I worked through lunch."

"Ah," she says as she nods, "I can't do it. Not on such a pretty day."

"Yeah, um.." and the elevator arrives on the garage level, "Well, you have a good weekend."

"Sure," she pauses, looking defeated, "You too. See you Monday."

"Yeah," I murmur as I walk away from her. She is a distraction I can't afford right now and I am attempting to reach my jeep before she engages me in more small talk. She walks to her convertible, shaking her head, and gets in. Just as I am getting into the jeep her smells fades and I pick up a whiff of something else. Something else entirely. I look out onto the drive and am listening. I hear nothing and soon the smell fades. It was brief and faint, but it was familiar.

Because I've recently fed, I won't hunt tonight. I will walk the city, scoping out my grounds, perhaps even finding a future mark. This allows me time to go to you. To see you, watch you, and see if you are ok. I know you're routine, and if you've kept to it, I know exactly where to go. I pause for just a moment, thinking maybe I should not. It appears I have acquired a fan, and until I know why, I would rather not bring this admirer near you.

The smell is the same as last night. One of the others is after me, which in itself is odd. The others don't usually track us; they don't have the attention span. But I'm sure that's what it is, a nightcrawler, on my trail, keeping a safe distance. That is also odd, for a nightcrawler takes its prey, never plays with it. I don't believe it knows the rules to this game. I defiantly don't think it knows I always win.

A nightcrawler is your standard, run of the mill vampire. Yes, they exist. Yes, they are mostly what you think they are. They can be killed with wooden stakes to the heart, decapitation and sunlight. They appear human and charming. But that's the extent of it. Most of them are pure evil, consumed with consumption. They cannot regulate their body heat, their appetite, or their behavior. They exist for the hunt and the hunt alone. It's not to say they are unintelligent, but that the blood thirst has such a hold over them they've given up their humanity to it. Even those who are innocent people, turned by an inexperienced or over zealous vampire, will become this monster. Even those good people with iron wills eventually give in to the calling of a draining. It isn't their fault; it's a genetic defect of the condition. This is why I have no hesitations whatsoever in killing them...I figure I'm either having mercy on an innocent trapped in a torturous existence or extinguishing a monster off the face of the planet. That's my job. I do it well.

They do not change into bats. Ever.

I get into the jeep, keeping my senses open. As I leave work, its presence disappears. Peculiar. I take an alternate route to my home. If it has followed me more than I realize, more than I've noticed because of being weak and out for a feed, it will know my routine. I even stop at a few stores and look around. Not that I buy anything. I haven't been shopping, really shopping, in a very long time. The network provides everything I need, quickly, and by order. When I am convinced my new friend is no where to be found, I go back to my apartment.

As I change into a fresh t-shirt and select a hat, it dawns on me that I've lost time. Three o'clock. You're not home anymore. You're at your favorite coffee shop. Damn. I prefer seeing you at home, when you're relaxed and yourself. I grab my keys and race down the stairs to my jeep. I speed off the drive into the road and race away before I miss my chance.

I park in a shopping plaza on the far end, away from the shop. From the jeep, with my eyesight, I can see you clearly. I can't hear you that well, but your facial expressions and movements tell me more than your words would anyway. You exit the shop with a beverage, setting your book and newspaper on a café table outside. You grab your phone, grin, and text away. You usually leave your phone at home for this coffee break. It is your solace, your quiet time. The hour you take for yourself everyday to read, think, have peace. I assume since you seem pleased with the messages this new development isn't a bad thing, but again...I believe in routines and what they can tell us and do for us.

An argument between a couple in front of the shop by which I am parked distracts me for a moment. She wants a purse and he wants her to stop shopping. I watch for signs of more hostility and when I am convinced it is a harmless marital squabble I glance back at you. But you're not at your table, you're up and about, texting while you walk, and not paying attention. As your foot hits the curb, my arm pushes you across your chest, pushes you back to the curb, just as a sports car whizzes by.

This is the moment. This fleeting second of pure bliss, of unexpected joy, that I cling to. You look up at me, shocked at what has happened, and you stutter for words. "You gotta be more careful, ok?" I say to you, scared for the first time in...

"Oh, my god, thank you, I..." you manage out, still not believing what has happened. "Where did you come from? I-"

I cut you off. "It's ok. Just...be more careful, ok?"

You nod. "Hey, let me do something for you," you ask as you try to repay the kindness of a stranger.

I try to walk away. I should not have lingered.

"Hey!" you shout, "Really, let me thank you somehow." You grab my arm to get my attention.

I pivot, looking into your eyes, melting. I stroke your cheek with my palm. "Please," I beg, "Just be more careful." I pivot back and walk away. You've got your hands on your hips, shaking your head, still in disbelief and puzzled by my actions. You look down the street, trying to make sense of things, and when you look back, I am gone from you.

But not gone away. I'm perching in a hidden place, watching, disbelieving myself. That touch, that one simple cheek stroke, has brought me to tears. My heart and lungs are bursting with warmth, yet my limbs are frozen in position. In that single moment, I remember how human I am and how happy I am to be so.

Then reality hits. I can't believe I've been so stupid. I should not have lingered. Maybe should not have even made contact. Just yelled out or created a disturbance to catch your attention. This thing that I have done may be the very act that takes me away from you. If any hubbub gets made about it at all, even the slightest whisper, David will reassign this city to someone else and hold me at the complex as punishment. Heroics are dangerous. They bring unwanted attention and fill up egos. Heroics can be addictive, and a few times the network has had to take out its own. This usually only happens to the rogues though. Good people who are turned and suddenly given the power to conduct great selfless deeds. They cannot see the big picture. There is no room in the grand scope of things for what one can do, how many one can save, but how much we can do and how many we can save. And we cannot save any under the spot light of persecution.

Of course, persecution is how I got here to begin with.

After you leave I head back to my jeep. Driving home becomes a long five minutes. How could I have been so foolish? In one instinctual move, I have jeopardized all my hard work, all my discipline and your peace and serenity. The network will relocate me, I won't get to see you...or worse, David will put the pieces together and you'll be brought in. I'll be punished. I know better than this. I am better than this. I don't make stupid mistakes of this magnitude. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I turn into my parking space. What the hell is wrong with me? Centuries of flawless work...gone.

I close the door to the jeep and trudge up the stairs to my apartment. I get a wet towel from the bathroom and plop down on the couch. I wipe my face, neck and shoulders as I attempt to collect myself. Ok, El, it wasn't that bad. It was one save. It could have been any random person. Sunstriders are not in the business of random saves. Like I said, it brings too much attention. We prefer instead to save by stopping the monsters that kill. Kill one monster, save unknown future souls. There simply isn't enough time to go around saving humans one by one from their own clumsiness or stupidity. Anytime you've heard of some singular unbelievable feat, it was these moments when instinct takes over and logic left behind. It is the urban legends of women lifting cars off their children or men dodging bullets. Chances are a sunstrider did it and disappeared, letting some lesser being take credit. Or did it and was never seen or heard from again.

But I didn't disappear. I had a whole conversation with you. Who is going to save me from my own clumsiness and stupidity?

It is hot in my apartment. The first hot waves of spring are coming in, foretelling a summer to come. I turn on a ceiling fan and open a few windows, hoping for a cross breeze. I could lower my body temperature if I wanted and feel more comfortable, but that takes a lot of energy and I am attempting to conserve. Given that I will hunt tomorrow and it has already been a crazy week, I figure it's a smart move. I grab a bottled water from the fridge and a pack of buttery crackers and plop down again. As I open the pack of crackers I hear a cracking sound. It is more distinct than the rumple of plastic on my food. I cock my head to the side and hold still. I hear it again, but weaker. Not fainter, but weaker. Like the first crack broke something larger than the second crack did. And it occurs to me it's the snap of branches.

I walk out onto the small deck just outside my living room. In the distance I can see movement in the trees...a waving that isn't consistent with the wind. It stills for a moment, then moves onto another patch of branches. Closer. A pause. Then closer again. I move my tongue around the inside of my cheek and squint my eyes, contemplating. The trees sway this way and that as the wind changes direction and moves the smell toward me. Ah, I grin, for my friend has returned. Managed to follow me home after all. I wonder how much of that is my less than par performance this week and how much is the chance I've underestimated this new guest. Either way, I do not feel particularly playful at the moment and do not sense it as an immediate threat. I lean on the banister, pointing my face in its direction, and say very firmly, very slowly, and in a low, steady voice, "I am not in the mood for you."

For a few minutes there is no unusual movement in the trees. When there is, the wave of disturbance is drifting away from me. A smart decision for this nightcrawler, one that has prolonged its life for at least one more night.

With my mistake and my stalling and saving you, time has been wasted. It's nearly six o'clock. I spend the next two hours gathering gear, pouring over city maps, listening to traffic reports and occupying my mind with all the other business of a hunt. By nine o'clock I am as prepared as any and still have time before the night really begins. I take a quick shower to wash off the day and clear my head. I eat some tuna and bread in the kitchen. It is satisfying, as it has been less than a day's time since I drained the rapist. I scribble a few notes for you in this journal and think of how funny it is to be writing any of this down.

There was a time when writing anything of my true nature or about the network was strictly forbidden. Which wrong hands could such writings fall into? Now, a writing of this nature would be passed off as a work of fiction and quickly forgotten. Furthermore, by putting my stream of thoughts for you onto paper it is more secure that an electronic format. Those formats can be hacked, spread fast, researched, investigated. The biggest threat of writing this down is having David discover it, but anymore he doesn't leave the complex.

The complex, the network headquarters. It is where David manages this region, where assignments are handed out, training is done, gadgets are made. A home base. I go there as little as possible and don't stay long when I do. I feel out of touch with myself there, with no fresh blood available, and think it makes great striders lazy. Like a retirement village for once fierce warriors, left to train younger fighters and survive on processed food. No thank you. What's the point of living forever if you're gonna end up like that?

David knows how I feel about the complex, despite his numerous attempts to 'call me home' as he puts it. He says, "Everyone has a role and that role doesn't have to stay the same. Jobs have to be done, and all tasks are for the greater good." I love David to pieces, but sometimes he can get a little 'father knows best'. If anyone thinks this existence is a cookie cutter life, they are sadly mistaken.

Now it is a little past ten. I grab my gear and head out the door. Thinking fondly of my last kill, I head to the shore. Between the casinos and the bars and college camp fires in the sand, it's a good track to begin. I will walk along the area, noticing glances, listening to conversations, picking up on smells. On this pre-hunt I will often pick any number of targets, man and beast that I know will probably return. Dressed in shorts, a t-shirt and sandals, the men will not view me as a predator. My look and backpack make me appear like any other beach bum or partying college student. Beasts will smell me out, but for the most part will leave me alone if I leave them alone. It is a trick, this pre-hunt. A lure for evil men and a deception for lesser creatures. If I do not pounce tonight, these creatures will assume I will not pounce later. They assume I am one of them, because of the evening shade and air, and if they express any hostility toward me at all it will be over territory.

By eleven I've decided it's a slow night. Not a hint of creature or dark thought around. I resign myself to fact I have one of those professions that being too good at your job makes you unemployed. I go to the edge of the water and dabble my feet in the small crushing tide. I will take this rest and then move onto another city district. After my break, I go over to a dock, where I can rinse sand from my shoes and then hop onto the path that leads to the street. Just as I am putting my feet back into the water, I see them.

Clear as the moon are two sparkling orbs before me. I could reach into the shadows and touch the source. It is a nightcrawler, standing, ogling me. He has dirty, tattered clothes and lets his arms hang loosely by his side. I am not startled by him, but surprised he was able to hide here without me picking up on his scent. Then I realize he has hidden himself with the foul odor of the mildew under the dock. As close as we are now, I can smell his otherworldly stench, combined with the smell of dirt, sweat and blood. Sweat! Nightcrawlers do not sweat, which means this is a newling. This explains why he has not attacked me yet as we stand in this stare off.

His eyes are not fierce at all. He glares at me questioning, wide eyed, and says nothing. His lips don't even curl up. I move my arm behind me slowly, opening my pack. My knife is there, still in its sheath. I step back as I clasp it, giving me the space to swing my arm. He takes a simple step forward. My eyes narrow at him and he cocks his head to the side with a puzzled look. His hair is brown and dusty and ruffled. His clothes are torn and sliced. The wound on his neck is almost healed and still shows red with freshness. Three...four days maybe since he was turned. His flesh is strong and sturdy, which tells me he has already fed...and perhaps recently. I lunge at him with my knife, still sheathed, and something unexpected happens.

Nightcrawlers, new and old, either fight or run away. I've mentioned this before. There is never a stalemate, a treaty, a "let's talk this out" moment. Not with any adversary. Nine times out of ten it will run to prey another day. The one that sticks around for the fight either wins or dies and knows that's the outcome. My new little friend, he cowered, he cried out, and then...he begged.

"Please don't!" I hear him utter from his crouched position, with his hands over his head. "Please!"

I retract my weapon. I squint at him. His teeth are not out...his claws only fingernails. What are you? I think to myself. Not crawler. Not strider. I am past the phase of the hunt, past the routine of completing a task. I am pissed off. I grab his collar and jerk him to his feet. I pull his ear to my mouth and say to him, "It is my job to kill you. It is my right." And I drop him to the ground.

He remains cowered and defensive. "Please I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to know-"

"Nothing. You will know nothing from me."

"But I," he pauses in his plea, "but I don't know what I am."

"You," I grab his face by the cheeks with one hand and squeeze, "are the thing that goes bump in the night."

"And you?" he asks as he looks down at his feet. I am holding him by the cheek bones above the ground. His worn shoes dangle beneath him.

"I am what bumps back." I take my other hand and press a nerve in his shoulder and he passes out. Yeah, the change isn't complete yet. I grab the rope from my pack and bind him. I pull out my phone. "Gruff!" I grunt into the mouthpiece. "I've got something here. Get me a truck."

"Whatcha got, El?" his voice chimes in, "Didn't we just do a pick up for you last night?"

"TRUCK!" I snap and hang up the phone. I push the limp sleeping body of this, whatever, under the dock and hunch down beside it. I keep my blade close and pointed, just in case it's a ruse. I have no idea where Gruff's team is or how long it will take. I look up onto the shore, to see if we've caught anyone's eye, but in the distance all the people go about their business. My friend's cry was so shrill most probably suspected it was mine but none came to the aid of the damsel in distress. I pull out a few pages of notebook paper from my back pocket and a pen from my pack. While I'm waiting for the truck I write down the last bits of this evening. I have no idea how long it will be before I get to write again.

Forty five minutes pass with the tide playing tag with me while I wait. I have to get this thing, nightcrawler or not, off the beach. And there'll be hell to pay for letting it live, but it didn't feel right. It felt off. Like there is more. That this is a dangling piece of a puzzle I've not seen yet, but I am the only one who knows the puzzle exists. David will help me put it together, despite making me suffer for it.

Gruff sends me a text: eta 5 minutes.

I won't be able to simply let Gruff and his team take the body and head to the complex. I will have to go with and explain. I hate explaining to David. He's so much older than me and knows me better than anyone, I feel that I shouldn't have to explain anything. Things either are or they are not. After centuries of being on my game, a perfectionist, a skilled worker, an elder in the ranks of striders, I am the not. In a week's time I have let a woman distract me away from feeding, allowed myself a forbidden contact with you, and let a monster live. Funny how time makes an eerie bedmate. Lifetimes of success erased by a split second scent of lavender.

Entry 3

I cannot believe I have been given this opportunity to return. That I am back in the haven of my apartment, left with this journal, left to myself. This last day has been hectic, nerve racking, and busy. David has ordered me to rest, but not kept me at the complex. He has used his connections to find me an excuse to call into work for a few days and posted a watcher by to make sure I follow orders.

Watchers...the weakest of my guild. The humans that have somehow managed to discover us, but have no useful skill of any kind to contribute. David uses them as a checks and balances system, to be his eyes when he is otherwise engaged. They are the groupies of the shadow world and they kind of make me nauseated. They have usually found themselves in this position by accident, not by merit, and reap benefits they do not deserve. Plus, they're just annoying. They look at me like I'm some sort of superhero, with glossy eyes and hopeful demeanor.

I peer out the blinds of my front window. There he is, across the street, peering over a newspaper at my apartment. The haven now seems like a prison. But after last night, I can see why I'm under this sort of house arrest. Of course, I could leave whenever I want, do whatever I want, and this puny man could not stop me. He will report to David, though, and I would rather not deal with the hassle of that. I sigh and think a little time to myself, away from the rut of my cover, could be a respite. At least I'm not still at the complex.

The rut of my cover. As much as I like routine, I prefer a routine I have created. The mailroom, as clean and simple as it is, leaves much to be desired. There's nothing in my cover to make me stay, other than the fact that it is my job to maintain an appearance. I have no connection with the people there.

At least, I didn't.

And shouldn't.

I sigh, thinking of the girl with the convertible. Why she captures my attention so. She just seems so familiar. I need not be familiar with her; it gives me another reason to be thankful for this holiday. A chance to distance myself.

Then again, I haven't done anything wrong. Wasn't it her that reached out to me?

I shake off the images of her and settle down into the couch with my paper and pen. You and I have some catching up to do, yes? I laugh at myself thinking how ridiculous that it feels like I am actually talking to you.

When Gruff showed up with his crew and the truck, he was positively giddy to see me. "El!" He embraces me, "How are you?"

"Look," I pan him a dead serious look, "I have to go with. This is different." His crew is behind us, wrapping up the limp body of my unconscious friend.

"What's up? Just a crawler," he smiles. It's one of those, I'm smiling so should you be, grins. He doesn't understand the complexity of the situation, but how could he? I always pan him a dead serious look.

"No, this is new," I say to him. As the crew is picking up the body, the creature coughs. Everyone, but me, jumps with shock. "And still alive, by the way."

"Jesus, El," Gruff says, "a little warning would have been nice. Didn't wait to finish the job before you called us?"

"No, Gruff, I..." I stop myself before I say the word 'couldn't'. "It's not a regular nightcrawler, my old friend, and it needs to be taken to the complex. Something's up here, but I haven't quite figured it out."

"Ok, whatever you say, boss," Gruff smiles and pats me on the back. Then he waves to his crew, who've been standing waiting for further orders. "You heard the lady, get it on the truck. Chopper's waiting." Then he turns to me. "So you are coming with, aren't ya?"

"Yes," I answer. "But you know I don't want to."

"Yeah, yeah," Gruff chuckles, "Good to have you home though." We load into the truck and drive away from the beach. The truck is made to look like an ambulance and affords us the quickest routes. We go into a nearby hospital, Biloxi Regional, and are greeted by staff. Gruff, who is dressed like a paramedic, says to the attentive doctors, "This one's not gonna make it. Havin' him airlifted to St. Charles." All the doctors nod and help us transport the body to the roof. They are taking scans and attaching probes to the nightcrawler, his readings giving them sufficient cause to be alarmed. Airlifting such a patient to another hospital seems fine by them, and they gladly aid us in ridding themselves of this mystery.

The nightcrawler is fine. His readings are normal, for him. He's just knocked out. It's a great way to get to the helicopter, which is ours, also disguised as medical transportation. There is a three hour flight to the complex and the doctor's don't even notice when the chopper takes off in the wrong direction.

Long ago there was no network. No complicated system of elaborate tricks. No funding, no power, and no companionship. There were only small bands of sunstriders, nomadic tribes that prowled the land, erasing evil from it. Living by daylight and dying by moonlight. There was a short-lived ruse, a family, a couple, just traveling through. The simpler the times, the harder to hide within them. Eventually those covens bound together, creating a Society of Sunstriders. Each given a region to govern, to work as they would, and they met every so often to compare notes and trade skills. Each region left the others alone and if your prey crossed a boundary it wasn't your problem anymore. In fact, some regions used that as their primary strategy. Lazy bastards.

As the world and evil evolved, it became necessary for us to grow as well. The world was growing into a global community, and we needed to also. Just the same, evil was growing in strength, in numbers, and in cunning. The Network was created, over 100 years ago, just as this nation was recovering from its own war and emerging as the prodigal child of the world. By the end of World War II a need for unity was clear and the shaky foundation of the Network was sealed.

The Ancient Ones reign in an unknown location. Even David doesn't know their whereabouts. They survey this universe through their commanders, each given a district to preside over. David leads over Canada and the U.S. There's a commander each for western and eastern European, the southern Mediterranean and Persian Gulf Area, the remainder of Africa, India, All of Asia but China, China, Australia (not that they have that many issues), South America, and one for Mexico and Central America. Then there are two additional commanders to assist regions who need help at the time, provide holidays for the commanders, etc. That's a total of 13. They control their districts, report to the seven Ancient Ones, and work together to abolish the darkness from the shadows.

Outside of that there is little rank. Most of us are more concerned with our jobs than attempting to take someone else's. Everyone has a roll, right?

As we each have our own covers, so does the Network. On paper it is a Global technology company, one that specializes in development. We are consultants, really, helping to create and improvise existing projects in the works. We deal with weapons manufacturing, communications updates, medical instrumentation, and biological supplements. Basically we dabble in anything we need. The profits support our livelihood and the projects provide our supplies.

I like all of our products, except one. Synthetic blood. It is extremely expensive, so your average hospital isn't going to carry it, if they even know about it. It is an aid for the extremely wealthy, where they can always have a supply nearby and not clutter their veins with the leftovers of other lesser men. Arrogance is probably my least liked human trait, so it seems fitting the arrogant use my least favorite product. It was created on accident, as a scientist was attempting to find a cure for vampirism. I like to think to myself, "That'll teach David to not bring me here anymore," but it is also his argument to do just that. I just figured the fewer nightcrawlers I had to hunt the more evil men I'd have to time to drain.

By the time we reach the complex, it has turned to Saturday. The building, a very tall corporate building amongst a city of the same, is dark and empty. As I exit the chopper I stand near the edge of the roof to survey the city. There are lights all over, left on overnight, and some traffic below but little else is going on. The humans are living their lives, partying or slumbering or working quiet third shift jobs. There are numerous humans who work for the Network who don't know of its true nature. Those people have all gone home now to start their weekend. People like Gruff and the watchers enter the building as janitors. The man who thinks he runs this building answers to David. He also thinks David is in another state, always on conference call, not realizing his boss is many, many floors beneath.

Gruff's crew start to unload the nightcrawler. The movement makes him stir and he reaches up to rub his eyes. As I grab my gear I reach over and pinch the nerve on his shoulder and his body returns to its limp state. We all huddle into the elevator: three men of the crew, Gruff, me, and the gurney with my bounty. We listen to the bland music as the box takes us down 60 stories. These stories hold sales floors, marketing departments, accounting, etc. The laboratories are "off sight in another part of the country". When we reach the first floor, the crew rolls the gurney out and we stroll across the lobby as if we had all the time in the world. Don't mind us, I think as if we were there on a busy Monday morning, just taking out the undead.

Gruff pulls some keys out of his pocket and unlocks the janitor's closet. It's fairly big for a cleaning supply room, made so to accommodate this very event. I close and lock the door once were all inside and while I do this Gruff pulls a lever that moves a shelf from against the wall. Then the wall itself moves and reveals another elevator. This one only goes down. Way down. Further from the sun than I like.

This underground complex is wide and vast, nearly a quarter the size of this city. On one side are the living quarters, where there are places for rest and recreation, entertainment, gourmet kitchens, and lavish bathrooms. On the other side there are labs, training gymnasiums, armories, communication hubs, interrogation and jail rooms, a crematorium and other work related rooms. We will be taking my friend to a holding room until David decides what to do with him.

I help Gruff take the nightcrawler into the room and we unwrap him. His dirty clothes are still draped over his frame. I get mad at myself for a moment, looking at him dumped onto the floor. Mad at him for being different enough to bring me here. The week has left me stripped of any dignity and as I think about that something occurs to me. I have done this creature the dignity of letting him live, or at least, prolong to a quick and painless death. David pities most of the nightcrawlers and usually kills them as humanely as possible. My nightcrawler kills are less...civilized. I bend down and, taking a wad of his shirt into my palm, rip the garment off of him. His body only moves as the clothing gives. Then I yank on the bottoms of his pants as hard as I can and they peel away, taking his underwear with them. A creature of this sort does not deserve the nobility to be covered. He lies on the cold concrete floor, out of it, not yet knowing I have left him with his skin alone. He is still dirty, still reeks, but before I turn my face away from him I notice something. Something I have not seen before. There are cuts and gashes all over him. They stop just before his wrists, ankles and neckline. They are not deep and almost all of them are already scabbed over. Gruff gasps twice, once for my action and once for the sight of him.

"My God," he says, "Did you do that?"

"No," I answer as I lean forward to examine the injuries more closely.

"Then what in the hell did?" Gruff leans in with me. Gruff is an interesting shade of brave. He has courage not to fear what may kill him but lacks the motivation to strike back...or first.

"He did," I say as I stand back. "Gruff, he did it to himself. See how the lines widen inward toward his body? He's cutting himself."

"But these lines aren't sharp, like from a knife," Gruff responds as he picks up the pants and searches them. "He hasn't got a weapon on him."

I pick up the creature's hand for inspection. "Look," and I offer up the hand to Gruff. Each fingernail is laden with thick, dried blood.

Gruff shakes his head. "Well, this is a mystery. Better get out of here before he wakes up. David will for sure want to be the first to talk to him. And you better rest and clean up. David's on a conference with the others and he'll be awhile."

I have quarters here at the complex. They are held open for me, never used by others, and are sparse compared to my apartment. There is a large bed with a square side table and a small round table with two brown leather covered chairs. Against the wall opposite from the bed is a four drawer chest and a three foot wide closet. The room is about fourteen feet each direction. I have my own bathroom, and it is almost the same size as the bedroom itself. There is a large deep tub and an enormous stand only shower. Sink, mirror, countertops. There is small linen closet, which I open to discover has been stocked with fresh linens in anticipation of my arrival. I pull one out, a large white fluffy bath sheet, and place it on the counter by the sink. Also on the counter is a holder with a new toothbrush, a hair brush, and a small bud vase. In the vase is a single strand of lavender and a small bouquet of posies. Someone is excited I'm "home".

I bend down to sniff the flowers briefly, and for a split second my mind pictures her. Her sun touched locks, her lightly golden skin, with her feet swaying back and forth under the bench. Lavender is my favorite scent and it bothers me that I am now associating it with her. It is one of those things one wants to keep for themselves, a secret pleasure, not meant to be shared. It is unfortunate for me that David knows of my love of the flower, of the scent, but very fortunate he does not know why. Even more so that he doesn't know of this new connection to it.

I grab the towel and throw it over the railing of the shower. I turn the water on as hot as it will go and step in. The water is just touching my feet when I see that I am still barefoot, having not been able to rinse my shoes because of my encounter, and still have grains of sand sticking to me, holding on for dear life. I shuffle my feet to loosen their grip. The water pours over my back. I reach out to the sponge laid on a small shelf and the soap that sits beside it. I lather myself up quickly, rinse, and then just enjoy the steam and the warmth of the liquid pouring over me. My stomach growls a little and I turn off the stream and step out.

I dry off my hair and then my body and walk into the quarters. I go to the closet. Surely, I think, I've either left fresh clothes or David has had them stocked. Just as I have suspected, there are new jeans and t-shirts, some of them still with tags on them. I pick out one of each and put them on the bed. Below them are several pairs of sandals and I grab one of those, too. After prowling through the chest for underwear I dress and plop down on the bed. A yawn forces its way out and I glance at a small clock on the bedside table. 2 am. Hooray! I think, almost bedtime. I strap on the sandals and meander down the hall where I know there is a small food terminal. I could go into the kitchen, but taking the chance of bumping into someone who will undoubtedly want to talk or hang out doesn't seem worth it. So processor here I come.

After finishing a plate of bread and cheese I stretch out onto the bed. I consider that I may need to stay awake, to catch David as soon as I can or to check on our new visitor, but before I can convince myself that either is a good idea I am wasted away into a deep sleep.

I dream of sitting in a field of lavender with the sun on my back. I take out my papers and jot down a few lines of poetry when the wind whips my hair into my face. I brush it behind my ear and look out onto the valley. Perched on this knoll, I can see down into the village as the hustle and bustle of everyday goings on. I feel familiar hands on my shoulders and I smile. Then I hear my name, soft on the breeze, her voice echoing through my soul. Her voice has always had a calming effect on me. As she repeats my name her voice deepens, then deepens again, until it is not her voice at all.

I open my eyes. My body aches as the realization sets in that I am not actually with her.

"Come on, honey," a smiling Gruff stands over me. "Wake up. David's with your beasty and will want to talk to you soon."

I rub my eyes and then lean back on my hands. "Gruff," I say as I attempt to shake off sleep and dreaming. "How did you get in here?"

Gruff laughs and pats my knee. "Who do ya think built this security system? We've been calling you for 15 minutes. Now, I gotta get some gear loaded so I'll leave you to get up. You should get something to eat."

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss as I wave him out of my quarters. After a few more moments of getting reoriented to my surroundings, I shuffle down the corridor to the kitchen. It's a large gourmet affair, well stocked, with a decent island in the center and tables off to the side. All I really want right now is to tear into someone's jugular and feast, but seeing as how I'm stuck here with nothing but goodness and that synthetic shit, some good bread will have to do. I start rummaging through cabinets. As I'm searching, a tall statuesque figure comes into the room. He's wearing a dark turtleneck and slacks and flashes me a telling grin when he sees me.

"Eliza!" he says enthusiastically but smoothly, "How's the rain in Spain?"

"You know," I close a cabinet door and turn in his direction, "I was around long before-"

"Yes, yes," he interrupts, "That tired 'I've lived more than you can imagine' routine. How have you been? Miss me?"

"No, Ian. I haven't even thought about you...at all. Not one little bit." Ian is the epitome of the perpetual 'Ladies' Man'. He is tall, dark, handsome with a silver tongue and a 'whisk me away' smile. He prides himself on his charm. He is a tracker, like me, but when he's not doing his job he uses his skills on women. In fact, he wasn't supposed to be turned at all. Ian's thoughts, on a regular basis, are so filled with sexual depravity that a fellow tracker once mistook him for our usual evil prey. It was only during the draining when the tracker received some of Ian's memories that his true nature was revealed. Ian is actually a great guy, does good deeds, doesn't lie or cheat, is noble to the core. The tracker didn't have a choice but to stop the draining, effectively turning Ian. Now we have to endure his machismo for the rest of eternity. I asked him once why he was so consumed with sex, that there were other things in this world to take up one's time. His response was that none of them were as much fun.

"Oh, come on, El," he sidles up to me, "You know there are things I could do for you."

I scoot away. "And you know I know how to kill you."

"Aw," Ian slumps in disappointment and then straightens up as he regains his confidence, "I'll wear you down, El...I have all the time in the world."

"Well," and I open the last cabinet door, finding some fresh bakery rolls, "Here's to hoping you take your time." I take a few rolls and head toward the hall opposite the one I came in. As I take a bite of a roll, I decide I need to check on my new friend. It's only been a few hours, but he was in rough shape and I have questions to ask before the change is complete. The complex is wired with a voice command interface and will recognize any instruction I issue. Just as I am about to inquire as to the newling's condition, the interface informs me I have a call. The interface also acts as a constant communication center for those within the complex.

"Answer," I tell the interface. It will allow me to talk to the caller as I walk.

"El," David chimes in, "You going to stay for awhile?"

"Can't" I respond quickly, hoping his question is really a question and not an order, "I have to feed soon."

"You know there's synthetic here," he replies as I knew he would.

"You know I hate that stuff."

"Yeah, so why are you still here? Go back, El."

"Well," I turn a corner, "I'm going to go have a chat with the newling first."

"Can't," he responds, mocking my tone, "He's dead."

"What? Why? What happened?" My tone changes drastically. The death of the newling adds a new, even stranger component to my mystery.

"El," David laughs. "What do you think happened? I killed him."

"David!" I am startled now. "I told you he was different. He had-"

"Look, El, that thing that you brought here, that you neglected to kill, was an ordinary run-of-the-mill nightcrawler, hungry to feed and angry with being imprisoned."

"That is not what I brought here." I feel my jaw clenching as I say this.

"Well, that's what was there by the time I got to him. Thrashing around in holding, bearing his fangs, screaming out."

"And the scratches?"

"Gruff told me about that. Gone. Not a trace of them."

I stopped walking and didn't say a word as I puzzled over this new development. He must have completed the change while I was sleeping and before David saw him. Finishing the transformation must have erased the nuances I saw. "David," I soften my voice. "There was something different about this one, something odd."

"What I think is odd," David's voice firms and he responds, "Is that I have an agent who refuses to take vacation, refuses a proper diet, is now refusing to follow orders, and expects me to believe something other than what my experienced eyes tell me."

"That's just it, David. You know me. You know how I hate this place. Why would I risk coming here, risking you making me stay, if I didn't think it was important?"

There is a long pause. One of the pauses where time stretches and you feel like you're being tortured. Hell, I have been tortured and this still hurts more. David is like my big brother, and though I don't need his permission to do anything...I mean, not a damn thing, it still stings to feel his disappointment.

"I'm not keeping you here. I told you to go back, El. So drop it. Go back. But I'm sending a watcher with you and if-"

"David!" I protest, "I'm not a child!"

David raises his voice a little, "And if I hear any reports of you being out of line, out of sorts, I'll pull you."

"David," I plead, "I don't need a-"

"GO BACK!" The interface then tells me my communication has been disrupted. David has hung up on me.

I stomp back to my room and grab my pack. I need out of here, and now. I call Gruff, who's going out anyway, to get a lift. I need to get back to Biloxi with a quickness. David will send his watcher, but not before I can blow off some steam. Plus, I need to feed and that's my zone. Feeding in someone else's zone is forbidden short of emergency, and I couldn't justify my situation as critical. I have a lot to sort out also; that is best done alone. I don't understand what was going on with the newling or why David won't listen to me. I'm tired, confused, and pissed off. A great state for a living killing machine to be in.

Gruff takes me home in one of his choppers. The few hours in the air seem grueling, as I have decided to be withdrawn while he attempts to make small talk. I'm not trying to hurt his feelings, one of my oldest and dearest friends, but I need to think. Here I had a newling with a prolonged turn rate, self mutilation, and lingering doubt that challenged the bloodthirst. I have never heard or read of any such encounter occurring within the Network. Surely David would have thought that was of interest. But he did not. During the trip back he chimed in to talk to me about how he just feels I'm overworked and need some down time. How this is the longest period of work I've ever had and he thinks its getting to me. He had actually decided to let me respite outside of the complex, because when I am forced to be there, I train, I instruct, I research, things David doesn't consider "relaxing".

I don't need rest. I require something else, something to clear the muddle in my mind. I need focus. Gruff drops me at my place and I come in disheveled, dump my gear, and plop on the couch. With my feet on the floor and hands on my head, I think. I take some time to write in this journal for you. Ok, first things first, priorities. I haven't fed in a day in a half and I've only fed that one time this week. I should hunt and then regroup. The initial exhilaration of a draining wanes to mental acuity. Shaking my head in agreement with myself, I grab my gear and head out the door again. Today I will track, I will hunt. Tonight I will find my mark and drain them of any life they cling to. I will fill my veins with energy and will and strength. Tonight I will be the sunstrider, the monster, the hero, I was created into being by the very man who has stirred this angst in me. Woe to the evil in this city, for I can smell you, can hear your twisted thoughts. I am hungry.

Entry 4

Last night was not pretty. Fun. Exciting. Satisfying. Ok...more than satisfying but definitely not pretty. And then it got downright ugly. I don't know how much of the gore of my life you can handle, but it is a part, a fact, and therefore cannot be ignored. As noble as my cause may be, as many lives as I may have saved, the truth of this world is the nasty business of being who I am, what I am, what I do, and that there is more than one of me. I have told you I am a monster, the least of many evils, but a monster nonetheless. If you can handle that, if you can look long enough to see past it, I can show you the wonder in this world, the beauty, the spectacle, the love and hope that holds this Earth up like its axis could never attempt to.

I left the apartment last night angry and hungry, a combination not suited for the survival of my prey. I prowled the city like I never have before, anxious and impatient for a draining. I tracked several men, each twisted in their own way, but one particular event caught my attention. My ears perk up and my nostrils flair as I pay close attention. Funny how I can always smell and hear these things before I see them. It's a gift and a curse, for my senses help me find my prey but clog and pollute my mind when I am not hunting. I slow my steps to help detect the location of the source of this intrigue. I have been in a rundown area of town, unkempt, but still alive with the business of people. Humans still travel these streets, still go about their day-to-day lives, but there are a few alleys which have seen little but dust in these last few years.

One alley, however, smells of flesh and rage and fear. Dirt, maybe, but not dust for there is action in the air. As I got closer to the alley I could hear the commotion. I could almost feel the sweat and violence on my skin. I approached slowly, savoring the sound of multiple fast beating hearts in my ear. Anticipation grew on my tongue and I swallowed back quietly the salivation of want. When I rounded the corner, my eyes told me what my other senses had already known. There it was, this stunning display of primal evil before me. A feast laid out. A group of young men were taking turns pummeling a young boy. Four men, around 19 or 20 years old, kicked and hit the younger boy with all their might. The obvious leader of the group, a tall dark skinned man wearing jeans and a black tank top, grabbed a handful of hair and shoved the boy's head into a building wall. The boy slumped against the wall and the smell of his blood wafted through the air.

When one is first turned, the first thing one notices is the smell of blood. The smallest drop fills up a room and lures you to it. The second thing you notice is the difference in various types of blood. Animal blood and human blood are not the same. Even within humans, their blood is varied. An innocent's blood is sweet and light, fragrant like a fresh rain fall. The blood of the lost, those turned to evil in some form or fashion, is heavy and salty, like a thick broth. One is a sweet dessert wine, the other a malt liquor. Both fill a need and are just as intoxicating. You have to train yourself to have an acquired taste; that is, if you give a damn.

When I turned, the smell of innocence made me drool. Now I either don't notice it or the thought of consuming it makes me nauseated. Like the child who only wanted candy that grew up into the adult diabetic. It doesn't take long to prefer one or other and if guided your tastes can be swayed. I like to hunt and adore the kill and David let me savor those things. A raving mad beast who survives on the blood of purity he did not allow me to become. So as I stood in that alley and smelled that boy's blood I became angry, infuriated that it had been spilled rather than parched at the prospect of having a taste.

The other men had bled as well. Perhaps from clumsy fighting or maybe the boy had actually gotten in a lick or two before they tore him down. Either way, there were cuts and gashes on their arms and faces. Red wine smeared across their skin and permeated the air out into the street. A perfume concoction of adrenaline, hate and victory. They turned to look at me, noticing me for the first time. The thoughts I had heard before of disdain and loathing and self righteousness turned to more feral things, things evil men think when they see a women they think they should own.

I should be thinking about the boy. About luring them out somewhere he cannot see. I should be thinking about how taking four men like this is strictly against the rules and how I can hear David's voice in my head saying, "this is not how we work". I should be thinking this isn't like me at all. Yet in this moment, I don't think any of these things. I have only realized them now, as I recount this event to you. In this moment, I am not thinking anything. I have abandoned all reason previously known to me.

The leader of the pack approaches me. He has a devilish grin and a confident stride. "Hello, ma cher!" he says as he looks me up and down. "I think you want to have some fun, yes?"

They are his last words. He never gets in another breath.

Perhaps even before his pack has seen me, I have taken him down. His blood, already pumping so fast, comes to me in hot waves. I barely had to put any effort into draining him. I can taste his fear as he realizes what is happening. It invigorates me and I feel renewed. Nine heartbeats later, I drop his body to the concrete and look up. His friends stand there frozen. They don't believe what they have seen. Before they can even process it, I've come after them.

It has been a long time since I fed on more than one at any one setting. A very long time. I don't know what got into me...a simple ass kicking would have sufficed to get them to leave the boy alone. But I'm pissed and a ravaging sounds like just what I need. At least, it's what I want. One of the remaining men rushes me and I snap his neck with a quick twist. The last two of the cohorts turn to run and as they do I grab each by an arm and spin them back. This action breaks an arm for each of them and they continue to struggle to run away despite the pain. I pull the man in my right hand up to me and sink my fangs into him. His friend is frantic watching me drain him, so terrified he hasn't realized my claws are now imbedded into his flesh. He scrambles and squirms in my grip, screaming and pulling at me. When I'm finished with the third scumbag I turn to the last. He's begging...saying "No, no, please God no". I pull him up to my level and grin. A thousand witty comments cross my mind but it seems like wasted candor so I just dive in.

He doesn't last long either.

I step out of the alley, unaware that I have done so, dripping with crimson blood. I stroke my cheek and mouth with the back of my hand to wipe it off my face and found myself then licking the remnants off my hand. My heart was pounding in my head and my thoughts raced with the violence of the men I had just devoured. A brief moment of logic washes over me and I step backward into the alley, just inside the shadow of it. Glancing back to the limp bodies I had left behind, all I can think about is wanting more. As a bus passes by in the street I see my reflection. The image is enough to snap me out of this gorge-inducted trance: covered in blood, piercing eyes, fangs and claws still bearing. I closed my eyes and calmed myself.

I began to scale the side of the one of the buildings. Three quarters of the way up I caught something, the smell of something familiar. I look to the street in search of the source. With my senses heightened from my recent feed the scent was sickening sweet. Across from my perched alley was a small clothing boutique. Outside of the boutique stood a beautiful woman, holding her shopping bags with one hand and her phone with the other. She was preoccupied with the device as people walked by her. Her golden hair rippled over her shoulders like waves. Her heart rate was increasing steadily and her lungs caused her chest to heave up. She was getting excited about something and her breathing caused a small cross pendant to bounce gently among her breasts. As I watched her a street light would catch the pendant occasionally and shine light directly into my eyes. This made me realize I had not noticed the necklace before, during those quiet lunch hours, when my thoughts were also filled with lavender. It must be a new addition to her wardrobe.

It was in this moment, this hypersensitive state, that I realized why she was such a distraction. I wanted her. Not to drain, not to kill, but to have. There was something about her that made me want to be near her, to talk to her, to touch her, to be merely in her presence. I wanted to be a part of her life, and I didn't even know what that life entailed.

Not that it matters what her life is like, because as I stand in a darkened alley covered in the blood of men, I am adamantly aware of what my life is like. I wince as a flood of thoughts and feelings wash over my being, thoughts and feelings I had almost forgotten I was capable of. Then I laugh to myself, for I must have forgotten what it felt like due to the fact it took me this long to figure out what they were. Peering out just enough to watch her walk down the street, she puts the phone in her bag and smiles at others passing by. She is graceful, fluid, lovely. Her pace was quick, but not frantic. I leap from building top to building top, keeping my path parallel with hers. She is obviously headed to a clear destination. All creatures have different gates. Humans seldom walk with purpose. They meander. Roam. In this moment, she has a purpose and I am anxious to see what it is.

While I walk with her, my mind is invaded with possibilities. How easy it would be for me to talk to her, befriend her, pursue her, seduce her. With my work, I don't often make time for frivolous encounters, but I can see spending a great deal of time being frivolous with her. As she makes kind gestures to strangers while she walks, the concept of seducing her erodes away.

Over the years, since I was turned, since I lost...

Let me try again. Over the years of my immortal life, I have had a great number of trysts. But that was all they were. Some small instances of occupying time and relieving stress and built up energy. I have had a few...recipients...want for there to be more but I have made it very clear that I had no more to offer. Because I don't. I have my job and I have you and I am a very busy person. Funny thing is, the women I have slept with in these hundreds of years have all been striders, like me, who understand my job. They understand the thirst, managing it, and I don't have to hide who I am with them. This is the first time a mortal has ever captured my attention.

Not that I'm an elitist against mortals, which I'm not. There are some who are, and they waiver across a thin line. There are nightcrawlers who believe mortals are nothing more than cattle. There are sunstriders who believe humans are still humans, but that we are their more evolved cousins. Those kind of attitudes can lead to eventual disregard and indifference, which is often more dangerous than malice. I don't know if I believe we are equals or not. What I believe is that my job is to protect mankind, and I do it well, and I enjoy it. I guess it just never occurred to me I could have escapades with a human. The only human I really have any real contact with on a regular basis is Gruff and that is so so so not going to happen there.

I stop for a moment realizing what it would mean for her if I were to engage in a relationship. And what it would mean for you. I can't leave you, and I can't get distracted from watching over you. She has already done that enough. It is just too much. So I will not pursue her. I will not seduce her. I will have more awkward conversations in elevators and hallways and adore her from afar. It'll be fine. Really.

I pull on the bottom of the shirt and straightened myself up with my resolve. I look up, and she has eclipsed me by two blocks while I was stopped. I catch up quickly, wondering if I should keep following her at all. I peer up ahead down on the street, toward my apartment, thinking I should just go home. I have been well fed tonight, after all, and should really get cleaned up. So I escalate my speed and end up passing her by a few blocks. Then for the third time tonight, I smell something familiar.

First there was the smell of fear and violence and blood. Then lavender. Now paper and pencil lead and coffee. I look down into the street and there you are! I was just thinking about you and here you have appeared. You're walking in the opposite direction from me, down back toward the alley I just left. Your shirt is untucked and rumpled, your hair frazzled, and you look upset. I want to swoop down and hug you. Hold you. Ask you what's the matter. Of course I cannot, so I stop to see if I can determine what's going on. As you walk nervously down the street, you flick your hands, you pause sporadically, you mutter to yourself. Something awful or confusing has happened. I have never seen you this way, distraught. I have never seen you really afraid or lost. It is concerning.

I have watched you for a while now. I have seen you at work, at home. Happy. Healthy. Sick. I've seen you struggle and I've seen you succeed. I have seen the epitome of the human condition in you and it makes me proud. You are smart. Strong. Funny. More importantly, you are kind. You have an iron will. You are just, like your father. I have seen joy emanate from you like the rays of the sun. Until now, I have never seen you disheveled; I have never seen you lost. Until now.

I want to go to you but I know I cannot. The penance for the rules I've already broken tonight will not weigh lightly but the punishment of not seeing you would be more than I could bear. Once David discovers you, all the work I have done, all my years of secrecy, will be for naught. Saving your life is one thing; helping you with some mortal catastrophe is another. Glancing down at you, my heart is pulled where my mind dares not go, as you wander the streets of Biloxi aimlessly, lost, searching for answers.

You are one block heading toward me. She is two blocks heading toward me from the other direction. Seldom have I been at such a crossroads.

Not since...

Before I can decide or not decide to do something colossally stupid, I hear a scream. They say mothers can not only tell the cries of their babies between those of other babies, but they can tell you what each cry means. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I need to be held. I need to be changed. Each cry has its one distinct meaning, and mothers know their babies well enough to know that. Similarly, I know the screams of mortals. I know the scream of surprise, of fear, of shock. I know how to ignore the screams that are of little consequence to myself, and I know how to respond to those that are. This scream was the cry of terror. Fear is a natural stimuli, with a built in programmed response. Fight or flight. But terror, real terror, freezes the bones and chills the blood. It suspends one's soul in a way nothing else has the power to do, placing one in a place where there seems to be no escape, no end, no rest.

I run to the source of the scream, off to the southeast. Another building. Another street. Someone there, some unknown innocent mortal has been terrorized. Running as fast as I can, which is faster than you might think, I pick up the scent of fear. I drop down into an alley and listen. The screaming has stopped. The fear is gone. There is a lingering hint of violence in the air, and it isn't leftover from my own feats. I trek through the back alleys of buildings trying to find the source. After a few minutes, I find a woman laid out face down. I go to her, a woman in her mid forties, status BNB (breathless and beatless). A pool of her blood wades out around her. I rise up, looking around for clues. There are signs of struggle, but no tossed away weapons or other left behind hints to her attacker. Bending down to inspect her body, I see the marks. The signs that leave no doubt as to her assailant, the bite.

Two bloody scenes, both with victims with bites. Being distracted by you and her, I haven't even called Gruff yet. There may be another bloody scene by the end of the night.

I pull my phone out of my pocket. "Gruff," I said in a low, calm voice.

"Hey, darling!" his enthusiastic voice answered. "Whatcha got?"

"Well," I hesitate. "I'm pretty sure I overdid it this time. There's an alley off third with three gorged bodies and another off of seventh."

"Four?!" Gruff was rarely shaken. "Four, El? You're gonna be in so much trouble."

"Well, that last one isn't mine. Nightcrawler vic. Found her BNB."

"What?" There was a long silence. "You just brought in a crawler. Think this is one of his vics?"

"No, Gruff I don't. He hadn't yet fed. And this one I heard still alive. Just missed the bastard."

"Two crawlers in the same city so close together?"

"Yeah, I know." I knew the numbers just as well as Gruff. The nightcrawler population has been dwindled for so long, finding these kinds of circumstances was no coincidence. The Network has seen this before, and Gruff knows the history. "Just get here."

"Yes, ma'am." He hung up. I stayed with the body on seventh, hoping to find some clues, something, anything, that would give some sort of indication on where the nightcrawler had gone. I couldn't smell him or hear him, so it was probably well away from here by now. Everything I had been thinking about tonight, everything and everyone I had gotten lost in, was gone from me. I was especially focused on solving this mystery now, regardless of what it took. This woman, who was probably a mother (lover, friend, sister, daughter) had been erased from this earth, by a monster even monsters don't tolerate, and I wasn't going to let it stand to be.

I heard the chopper on the roof. Gruff's men roped down and I backed off the body. They began packing her up. Gruff came down last, with an assault rifle in his arms. "Did you come here first or go to third?"

"Third's done, honey," he looked from me down to the body. "You haven't done three in a while. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I waved him off. "Just got weak, that's all. And her?"

"Well," he sighed, "That's a pretty typical attack. Quick, wasteful. You picked up a trail yet?"

"Nothing. She was gone when I got here."

"At least you found her. You know how David loves cleaning up after police find the vics."

"Yeah, David loves so much." I'm finding it harder and harder to speak of or to David without cynicism or sarcasm in my tone these days.

"You know what else he loves," Gruff rests his hand on my shoulder. "When his striders break his rules. You know he's gonna want you to come in."

"Yeah, I know. I'm ready."

"What?" Gruff stands back a bit. "No resistance?"

"No, Gruff. I need to get to the center of this. Maybe her body can give me some clues."

"Really? Wow." Gruff scratched his head. "Been a long time since you've been in the lab. Boys at central aren't going to like you sniffing around their labs."

"Yeah, well, they wouldn't have labs if it weren't for me. And remember, my last lab product is what keeps everybody down there running."

He laughed. "Not me."

"No, old friend," and I smile at him, "Not you. Let's go."

We travelled back to the complex in silence. I had somehow managed to make my last stay briefer than usual, and David had let me come home without a fuss. As a matter of fact, he basically pushed me out. But with this new development, he may have me benched for a bit. Three squares a day, two marks a week. Those are the rules. I'd had four marks now, three this very night, and David would have no choice but to make an example of me, even if I was one of the few striders on this planet that can handle that many marks without the repercussions. If anything, I would have to get this crawler situation under control to maintain my distance from the complex. I wouldn't be able to check on you. I wouldn't be able run the mail, or check on cute little blondes, or defeat the underbelly of Biloxi. Someone is infesting my city with evil, and I was going to have to stop them.

Unlike last time, when David all but hid from me, he was standing on the helicopter platform, waiting. The choppers landed, the one carrying the three men I had feasted on, and the other carrying me, Gruff, and the dead woman, he stood there, stoically impatient. I had seen him like this before, when he had trained me, a pouty grown man who didn't get his way. David plans, and waits, and puts all his effort into the tiniest detail, anticipating every move and every possible contingency. So when all those plans and details and business doesn't turn out the way he expected, when people don't turn out the way he expects, it isn't disappointment he feels. It's betrayal.

Gruff's team unloaded the bodies and their equipment and headed into the building shaft. Gruff and I approached David.

"Did you get all of them?" David asked Gruff.

"'Course I did. I'm back, aren't I?" Gruff smiled at him.

"Get them to the prep room." Gruff's team was a group of cleaners. Their entire job was to remove evidence of supernatural activity. Whether it was a strider gone rogue or a usual "killed the bad guy with unexplainable means" job, they made sure there was no trace of how things actually happened. Most of the time that meant retrieving bodies, doctoring them up for alternate causes of death and putting them back. Mortal police can accept a random unsolved murder here and there, but not as many as we produce. Think about it, really. If in any random city in the world people kept dying from being murdered, every city would believe it had a serial killer. And when it came to light that most of the murder victims are murderers or rapists themselves that would point investigators into a direction too close to home. They are accident specialists, Gruff's team, professionals in making what I do for a living look like a simple mortal mishap. Drowning. Car accident. Freak machinery malfunction. It really all depends on how mad I got.

Keep in mind, also, that sometimes I kill the bad guys the same way bad guys kill innocents. I don't just eat everybody.

Yet nightcrawlers aren't as discriminate. Those bodies absolutely can't be found. They are random. No connections like my vics with their misdeeds. And they all have bite marks.

Gruff entered the building elevator shaft once it returned to the roof. As soon as the lift doors were closed, David finally looked at me.

"Well?" It was the kind of "well" that a disciplining father uses when asking the teenage son what he has done with the family car. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," I replied. "I found her body. I heard her screaming and went to find out why and when I got there she was already dead." I began to walk passed him and hit the button for the lift.

"Oh, right," he followed and moved in front of the door. "That's why we had to pick up four bodies tonight."

Oh shit! I had already forgotten about my little meal earlier. "Oh, that, well...I was famished."

"Famished? Really? That's what I'm supposed to say to everyone, to the council." David's face was beginning to turn red.

"You know I don't give a damn what you tell everyone. And you know I'll play whatever little part you want to convince everyone you're still maintaining order."

"I am maintaining order."

"Sure you are, David. That's why we've had two killings from two different crawlers in as many days. You've got this all under control. I'm sure the council will be proud." The door dinged and slid open.

David turned and slammed the down button. The doors shut behind us and the lift went back down. "You don't know that. For all we know, she was a vic of the crawler we already got and it just took us a while to find her."

"That's horseshit, David and you know it!" I screamed and hit the lift button again. "She was screaming, David. Alive. I heard her. And when I got there, and I wasn't that far away, she was gone. Nothing works that fast, nothing but me, and I didn't do it. The crawler from the other night was already dead, thanks to you-"

"That's right. Thanks to me. Because I did my job. Damnit, El, can't you just do your job?" Ding.

I stepped passed him and into the lift before he could send it back down again. "I am doing my job, David. I kill the bad guys. I bring back the bodies. I watch out for crawlers. That's why I'm here. Not because you sent for me. Not because I give a fuck about your rules or the council or how it looks that your prize student doesn't play by the book. Because it's the right thing to do, to figure this out, to get it under control." I hit the button and watched the elevator doors shut in his face.

Let me be clear that David is a very powerful strider. The most powerful creature I've ever met. He may look like the scarecrow, but he is most definitely a lion. He's fast, strong. He is cunning and he knows his stuff. I have no doubt that if he really wanted to, I mean really wanted to, he could take me down without even wrinkling his shirt. I am confident he is a man to be feared and more confident that I, of all people, have the least to fear of him. I may not agree with his politics or methodologies, but I love him. He is the older brother I never had, a brother who protected me and watched over me and watched me grow. Unlike my real brothers, who did nothing but pick on me. And he loves me. He lets me get away with things other striders would be banished for and though my ideals and disregard for the rules drive him crazy, he would never hurt me.

Ding. The elevator opened to the main floor of the complex. As I lifted my head to walk out, Gruff was there with his assault rifle pointed at me. David was standing beside him.

"Sorry, El," Gruff said and pulled the trigger.

Entry 5

Gruff says I've been out for four days. It was a long four days, and I dreamt of my childhood.

My parents decided to leave the old country for the new Americas when I was very young. So young I don't even remember the hills of Scotland, though my mother has told me enough about them that it feels like I remember. They came to this land for a new life, a life without repression. My father said this was a place where he could breathe, be who he was, who we were. My mother mourned the loss of her homeland but had agreed a foreign land without a king was better than a home with one.

We joined a small settlement at the foothills of the Appalachian mountains and built a home. A public home, but nonetheless it was ours. My father's dream was to be the perpetual inn keeper, a sanctuary for travelers and a center for the townsfolk. I grew up in the inn my father built, with our living quarters on the third floor. The second was filled with empty rooms and the ground floor had a small kitchen, a bar, and many hand made wooden tables. Papa built everything, with the help of my older brothers, and Mother and I tended to the guests. By the time I was twelve, I knew all of the settlers by name and family and remembered most of the travelers, too, should they have happened to return on their journey home. The settlers knew me as well, and I used my social graces to help Father get the best trades for supplies.

I also used my skills to trade with travelers. Sometimes Father would allow me to trade a small stash of some necessary supply for an unnecessary trinket. My choice was always books, of any topic or any language. Papa had taught me to read as soon as I could speak. He believed any education a person could have, they should have. When my chores were done and if the inn wasn't too busy, I would go to the edge of the town where the fields rolled into the horizon. I would take a couple of books and read until it was too dark to see or until Mother called me home.

When I was sixteen, I pretty much ran the ground floor. Mother did the cooking and I greeted and served all the guests. All of the town's biggest moments happened at our inn. Birthdays, holidays, festivals...even the occasional wedding. The more young people got married in our villa the more Mother would set up impromptu meetings for me with suitors. She wasn't pushy, to say, but she feared all the good young men would be taken before I got around to noticing. I saw them; I knew who they were. I knew their families, their brothers, their histories. But that was just it...I knew them. And I craved what I didn't know...new faces, new stories.

Apparently there were several of the young men who had taken an interest in me and some of them had made multiple attempts to get my attention. For the most part, if you didn't have a book in your hand or a plate on your table I didn't have time for you.

One night, a particularly busy night, a stranger came to town. He was dark and broody and quiet. At least, until he got his fill on my father's barley. Then he became loud and obnoxious, and a little grabby. After years of working the inn, the last two especially, I had become accustomed to drunken gropes from otherwise gentle men. I had different tricks for escaping their grasp without arousing anger and Mother was very proud of me for that. "A Scottish lass knows how to handle all men, even those that cannot handle their brew" she would say. This man, however, wasn't falling for my tricks. He became spiteful and angry when I would walk away to tend to other customers. I was so occupied with avoiding him I barely noticed the second stranger to walk in the door.

The second man was short and wiry, quiet and humble. All he asked for was milk and bread, and he sat at a corner table in the dim light watching the room. When the rowdy stranger grabbed me by my arm to pull me back to his presence, this second man was suddenly there. He placed his hand on the brute's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The brute smiled, released me, and turned to the slighter man. Apparently the slighter man had challenged him. He rolled up his sleeves and followed him outside. Some of the other patrons followed to watch, but I went about my tasks. A few minutes later the slighter man returned and resumed his meal in his dark niche. My mother went to thank him but he just waved her off. She then went to Papa, hoping a man to man talk would be more welcome. Papa looked over to the man and nodded; the man smiled slightly out of the corner of his mouth and nodded back.

Later that evening, as business died down and patrons began to leave, Papa asked me to go run some errands. Papa had tabs with various suppliers and various patrons had tabs with Papa. Every so often he would send me to collect and redistribute the funds. Papa said folks were more likely to pay me or understand if I couldn't pay them, because of my sweet disposition, than to deal with an old inn keeper. Tonight I had to deliver a few rare supplies to the medicine woman. She was an Irish settler, a single woman, who was somewhat of a hermit. I had never seen her in person, for every time I came to her door and knocked she would answer "Leave it on the step, young Eliza". I could never figure out how she knew it was me. Many of my friends told me stories about her, how she was an old crone or disfigured. Some rumors told of how she killed her husband and ran from her charges. Mother and Papa would not have any such talk in the inn. Mother said she was a skilled midwife and Papa recalled seeing her repair many injuries. They respected her and so I tried not to fear her.

After I dropped off my basket of supplies, I headed back to the inn. It was very dark and I wanted to be home. Everyone in the town was shut in for the night and Papa would be putting out the inn lantern soon. Suddenly I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace but could not outrun them. Then I was grabbed from behind, strongly, and could not escape. In my ear I felt breath. "Lovely girl," he said to me, "Lovely girl ought not to ignore a man who wants her." It was the brute from earlier. I struggled to break free and he tightened his grip. I stomped on his foot and he lost me. I ran, with all my legs and lungs and fear, and I ran in the wrong direction. I was almost back to the medicine woman's home when he caught up to me again. He ripped my dress off and threw me to the ground. I screamed for help. I screamed for my parents. I screamed for my life.

And then he raped me. He took my soul from my beating chest and ground it into rubble.

And then he died. Suddenly there was no more tearing and gnashing of my insides. There was stone, cold, dark silence. There was his heavy, strange smelling, body limp on top of me with my face still in the dirt. As I tried to put together what had happened, I heard a door slam. I looked up to see the medicine woman's house as the lights within went out.

I heaved all my remaining strength to push him off of me and raced home to my parents and told them about the tragedy. Mother held me as I cried and Papa began to grab his gun. When I told him there was no need, he grabbed his shovel instead.

Four months later Mother was beside herself. I had gotten pregnant from this brute's attack and Mother feared none of the young men would want me anymore. The wants of the young men weren't much a concern for me before, let alone now. Mother pushed my father to think of something soon, something, anything, to be done before this fact could not be hidden any longer. One night Father closed the tavern part of the inn down early. He poured himself a large measure of ale and retrieved a few slices of bread and cheese and sat me down for a talk.

Papa did not care about what the young men or the townsfolk would think as Mother did. He did worry about how I might be treated because of those thoughts. Additionally, he was worried Mother would become ill with distress as the baby grew. He had decided to send me away, but not so far as he could not see me. Somewhere hidden in plain sight, where I might be protected yet available. Papa had spoken to the medicine woman, who agreed to take me in as a sort of apprentice. I could learn a great deal, he told me, and when the baby came she could say it was hers. She would not bare the shame Mother felt I would, as she was such an enigma to begin with the townsfolk would shrug her bastard child away.

So I packed my things, all my clothing and books. Mother said she would make me maternity clothes and send them with Papa when they were ready. One night, when there was a thin veil of fog in the air, Papa said it was time. He lit a lantern and escorted me on the edges of the settlement, a much longer way to the medicine's woman home. We walked slowly, silently, and he had his arm around me the entire way.

When we reached the medicine woman's home, her lanterns were lit. Father hugged me, reassured me that everything was going to be fine, I'd see. He knocked on the door. "Leave her on the step, the young Eliza" we heard through the door. I heard a brief, low snicker as well. Papa hugged me again, kissing me on the forehead. He told me he would visit often and bring me books. He told me I could come home eventually, that this wasn't for forever.

Papa left and was gone for a good ten minutes as I stood outside her door. "Well," I heard her voice, "Come in, young Eliza, before you catch your death." This statement, these new words I had never heard uttered from that voice before, was more like a song. It was not the abrupt greeting I heard when delivering supplies. It was not cold as I had perceived in the past. It was warm and welcoming and floating over my thoughts like a melody. It stilled my fear and I opened the door. In this moment, my life changed again.

This woman was not haggard or disfigured. She was not even old, maybe in her mid twenties. She was slightly shorter than me with fiery red hair that enclosed her face in deep luscious curls. Her deep green eyes sparkled as she smiled at me. She wasn't comely either; she was dressed in an emerald velvet dress trimmed in gold tread. Her outfit brought out the life in her eyes. Her dress was cut lower than any dress I had ever seen and a small, silver Celtic cross hung above her cleavage. I stood in awe with my mouth agape as I took in the spectacle that was this woman. Not only awe, but confusion, because how could such a woman allow herself to be a shut in? As I stirred in my wave of mixed emotions she guided me to a table. I sat down, perhaps with my mouth still open because she reached over and touched my chin.

"Young Eliza," she forced eye contact with me, "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the medicine woman," I say hesitantly.

She smiled at me. It was a closed smile, with the slightest bite of her lip. I came to realize later that is what she did when she was forcing down a laugh from bursting out.

"Merissa," she said softly, "My name is Merissa. And I am now your home."

Merissa. Home. I never knew such words for love.

I was never a shy girl, but over the next few months Merissa made me blush more than I ever cared to admit. I learned from her, about herbs and medicines found in nature and how to turn them into viable potions for healing. I learned about Ireland, and some of Scotland, and how she left to follow what she believed in. She never really talked about what that was, exactly, but that it wasn't royally accepted. She taught me about a balance between nature and man, about animals, and about stillness. I had never known the pleasure of still and quiet. The inn was always busy and when it wasn't we were busy preparing for busy. I fell more deeply in love with her every second and spent every following second trying to hide that fact. All the feelings Mother had tried to tell me I would have about my future husband I had for Merissa. Worst of all, I had no idea what to do with those feelings or how or if I should tell her.

Papa visited as often as he could, bringing me books and telling me about the inn and my brothers and Mother. On nice afternoons Merissa and I would walk out to the rolling hills with a pile of my books and sit in the fields discussing their themes and the plants around us. One day she picked a sprig of lavender and placed it behind me ear. She said nothing as she did this, but smiled sweetly at me while she fiddled with her fingers. I wondered if she was deciding what to do next with those fingers, secretly filled with great hopes. Then I felt a sharp pain, a sudden wave of relief, followed by more intense pain. Merissa stood up, seeing my face, and helped me stand. My water had broken; the baby was coming.

She delivered the baby, all the while me screaming obscenities I didn't know I knew. She was calm and serene, and her peace gave me strength. When she handed the baby to me, as we both cried tears of tremendous joy, he whimpered and reached for me. I pulled his soft face to mine to kiss away his cries and he grabbed at the lavender still in my hair.

Something happened shortly after I turned 18, I don't know what, but my father became suddenly enthralled with the idea of helping to raise Ethan and forgot completely of his original plan for me to wed. And thus this turn of attitude allowed me and Ethan to stay with Merissa in her cottage. In the comfort of her home, I, too, forgot about the boys that came calling and one day they just stopped coming at all.

Over the course of the next six years, we raised my son together. I eventually found the courage to tell her how I felt about her and she simply said, "Gods, girl, it's about time." That moment I received one of the first of many passionate kisses. Kisses and embraces and late night escapades that made me forget about the life waiting for me back at the inn. I forgot about the customers and the travelers and wondering if my brothers were ever going to give my mother a moment's rest. Papa visited often, asking when I was coming home, now that Ethan was older, and I would always tell him I still had more to learn. His visits became longer in duration but fewer and farther between. Eventually he resigned to the fact that I had a new life now, a new family, and visited for the sake of visiting.

We took early evening outings in the lavender fields, telling Ethan the story of his birth and teaching him to read. We gathered, made and traded goods and survived well in our little cottage. Every now and then during our routine meandering about the village we would see the stranger, the one who stood up for me in the tavern on that awful night. He never really left town but no one knew where exactly he lived. He and Merissa would pass each other with daunting glares. I had asked her if she knew the man, if they had a history of some sorts, and Merissa would simply say, "No, but I know his kind." And I would always remind her of what he had done, and she would always say "Well, it wasn't enough, then, was it?" and disregard his heroics as if they were nothing worth noting.

My life was all I had ever dreamed it would be, everything I had ever read about and ever imagined and never knew I had even wanted.

My life with her. Merissa. This wonderful, mystical woman who had taken in a young girl in trouble and given me a home.

One day...wait...isn't it always "one day"? When you live forever, you would think dates were important. They are to some. Not to me. I'm more concerned that it is a Monday than some arbitrary date like the 2nd or the 17th of whatever month of whatever year. Monday has a mood that a number can't describe. Just as days of the week are more important than the date, seasons are more important than the month. But this particular day...it is a "one day". There are moments in life, singular events, that happen by sheer circumstance and define our lives. We then try to spend the rest of our lives trying to either duplicate or avoid these singular events, as if we could have controlled the circumstances that led up to them to begin with. I believe many people, toward the end of their lives, count how fortunate they are by their success or failure in accomplishing this goal.

When you live forever, you count your fortunes (and misfortunes) differently.

So one day a stranger came through town. He was large and burley and smelled foul. His steps were loud and so was the thunder of his voice. He stated he was searching for his brother, who had come through this area around 9 years ago and had not been heard from since.

He had been in town for about a week, asking questions of the townsfolk, inquiring if anyone remembered his brother or knew him or what had happened to him. This man used himself as an example, stating that his brother very much favored his own appearance and his own distinct mannerisms. He insisted that anyone who was here then and still here now would have remembered this lost man. The stranger described his brother as large, wearing light clothes in the winter and few clothes at all in the summer. He stated he would have had unusual tattoos and kept to himself. The man said his kinfolk had an unusual diet based on their spiritual beliefs. This diet is what made him smell so distinct, and his brother would have the same smell.

I knew the smell. There was a faint hint of it in my son's wake, and Ethan was not on a special diet.

He came into the pub one night while Ethan and I were visiting Papa. He bellied up to the front of the bar, ordering ale and barely cooked meat with heavy spices. The stranger said his name was Timberline, and I recognized his face right away. I stood between him and Ethan as he looked around the pub and started his tale again. He was angry at the loss of his brother and determined to find him or the cause of his disappearance. I made an excuse to Papa as to why we had to leave suddenly and I took my son out the back door. This Timberline, this brute of a man, who was searching for his brother, would have seen his brother's gaze in the eyes of my Ethan.

On that evening we hurried back to the cottage as quickly and silently as we could. Arriving home anxious and out of breath, Merissa was certainly surprised to see us so early. After sending Ethan to bed early with his dinner in tow, I told her who the new traveler was and what he wanted. I was frantic as I told her the truth I knew and what I feared were to happen should he discover the truth.

"What are you worried about, my sweet?" She asked with eyes soft from kindness. I stood agape, in disbelief of her lack of concern.

"Why are you not worried?!" I rebutted with my astonishment. "If he learns what happened to his brother, he could want to take me and Ethan away. He'll want to hurt you or Papa...or both of you or-"

She had put her hand on my mouth to stop my rambling. "If", she interrupted, "Is a very big word, my love, And even if he finds out, why would he do such things? You did, we did, nothing wrong."

"You didn't see this man, Merissa. You didn't hear him. This man is not the kind of man to listen to reason and rationale. And we don't know what strange foreign customs he has that may dictate his possession of Ethan or myself. There is no if...this is a when, Merissa. Someone will tell him something or he'll see Ethan and he'll make his own conclusions."

"Ethan? What about seeing Ethan?" She came closer to me and spoke softer as she asked this.

"Ethan favors this man, this Timberline, so much that I knew who he was as he walked in the door. The sight and smell of this man is an over exaggerated version of my son." Merissa put her hand to her chin and squinted her eyes for a moment. Then she waved away whatever thoughts crossed her mind and flashed a sly yet sweet smile my way.

"This is what we shall do," and she took my hand and led me to the kitchen table. We sat down together and she leaned in close as she explained her plan. "We shall go about our business as usual, except when you run errands in town you will leave the boy here with me. Should Ethan, or anyone else for that matter, ask why he's been left home, you will tell them we are preparing a surprise for his birthday. It is coming within a month's time. No one will question this. Then, when you can, you will tell your Father of your suspicions so that he may have some warning as well. We will listen and watch this brute to see if we can determine what he knows. Odds are, he will find nothing and move on. Then we will resume our lives."

"And if he finds something out? Or comes to our home and sees Ethan?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate and doubtful.

"Whoa to the brute should he come here, my love, to suffer the same fate as his kin." Merissa kissed me gently and then rose from the table. She fixed us each a plate of supper and sat back down with the food. We ate in silence, her appearing satisfied with her plan and me wondering what she had meant by her last statement. Timberline's brother had died, suddenly, from no wound, while in the midst of violating me those years ago. Papa and Merissa had inspected his body, and after confirming his death, had rolled his monstrous body into the river. I hadn't thought about him since that moment until Timberline walked proudly into Papa's pub.

Merissa's plan lasted for about a week. The brute kept asking questions around town while I kept avoiding him without looking like I was avoiding him. I had told Papa about him, and he assured me and he and Mama would be fine. Timberline came into the pub every night for dinner and Papa kept him full of ale. At night, Merissa and I locked the cottage up tight. We didn't know where the brute was laying his head, since he wasn't staying at the inn. Then the night came when I had to gather supplies with Papa.

"Eliza, gather these quickly and move on home before dark," Papa told me, "That Timberline man is here again with his crazy ideas. I'll keep him entertained and you go out the back." I filled my bags with the foodstuffs from the pub and laid out the spices Merissa and I had gathered for Papa. I realized I was short a bag of grain that we needed for bread and went to ask Papa if it was available. I left the kitchen and slipped behind the bar. Timberline was seated dead center and barely noticed me as I approached Papa. As I leaned into Papa's ear, I flicked my hair away from my face. Apparently this grabbed he brute's attention, for he sat up straight, taking in a deep breath.

"Barkeep," he barked at Papa, "That's a fine filly you have there. I didn't know you had wenches for your guests here."

Papa's face drew dire. "She's not for hire." He then turned again to me, told me where the grain was and sent me on my way. I heard them talking as I left.

"She should be," Timberline suggested, "A girl like her would fetch you a handsome profit."

"She's my daughter," Papa retorted, "and 'nother word 'bout her'll get ya tossed out by the boys, so finish your ale or don't, but shut your hole." Papa pointed to a table in the middle of pub of local men that had always been loyal to him. They nodded confirmation to the traveler, who turned back to the bar and began laughing.

"Don't worry, old man," and he took a sip of his drink, "I'm here to find family, not to make more." Then his jovial demeanor faded away and he got a furrowed look on his face. He inhaled largely through his flared nostrils, and smiled again. "Although," he leaned toward Papa, "Your filly seems kinda...familiar."

That was all I heard as I left, and hurried home like I had never before. My ear drums rung out with my heartbeat the whole way back to the cottage and I was sure that the entire village had heard my pulse. When I got there, Merissa rushed me into the house. "Hurry," she said, "He's followed you home and is almost here." The house, just in the time I'd been gone, had been cleared spotless. Linens had been cleaned and powered and some of our favorite petal infused candles had been lit. If I wasn't in such a state of panic and fear, I would've thought we were celebrating something.

"Where's Ethan?" I asked, not seeing him, or any of his clothes or toys lying around.

Merissa grabbed my shoulders and looked me dead in the eyes. "Ethan is in his room, will all of his things, with strong candles burning and the door locked from the inside."

"From the inside...but I don't-"

"My love," She stated, "That...man...is on his way. He has come here with questions. You must remain calm, let me speak, and agree with whatever it is that I say."

"But I-"

"You must do this," she repeated. In the two seconds she looked at me, awaiting my compliance, Timberline had barreled up the path to our home. That two seconds seemed like an eternity as I attempted to sort out in my head exactly what was going on. And that eternity was interrupted when Timberline thunderously pounded on our door.

"Oh, little fine filly," his voice rang out, "You need to have a talk with Timberline."

Merissa looked at me and stated, "Listen carefully, don't speak." She opened the door. Timberline's face caused his entire massive body to jump back. He had not expected to see my Merissa at the door instead of me. "Evening good sir." She greeted him. "Is there something I can do for you at this late hour?"

"Uh, um," he stammered, "I was...looking...for a young lady. I had met her at the pub and I-"

Merissa grabbed my arm from behind the door and pulled me into view. "This young lady?"

Timberline's eyes flashed with victory. "Yes!" he said excitedly and then cleared his throat. "Yes, Madame, I wondered if I may speak with her."

"You may not!" Merissa declared. "She is my apprentice, with a long list of chores to be done and her exaggerated stay in town has put me behind."

"Apprentice?" Timberline laughed, "Of what?"

"Homecrafts, sir," Merissa responded. "Candles, spices, woodworks, medicines. I make them all for the townsfolk and the travelers. Can you not smell the fresh aromas?"

The brute inhaled deeply and then scrunched his face up like he had gotten a taste of something spoiled. "I can, Madame," and then he stepped forward toward me and smelled again. "I certainly can."

Merissa shooed me away, as if she were dismissing me to my work. "So you see, sir, if you have no need for goods, I can do nothing for you this evening."

"Perhaps not," Timberline answered.

"Then good night to you."

The brute just grunted and stomped away from the house. I heard Merissa say a prayer to her goddesses and then begin up the steps to our bedroom. I was outside of Ethan's room, trying to get him to open the door. "He can't hear you, love," Merissa stated, "He's long asleep and all the better for it. Leave him be 'til morning."

"I just wanted to hold him." I sighed.

"I know, darling."

"How is it," I begin to ask, "do you suppose Timberline came to wander here? And how did you know?"

"The nose," she stated simply, "and put her arm around me to drag me to bed.

"The nose?" I questioned.

"Yes," she yawned. "He can smell you and I can smell him."

"Well, who can't?" I remarked, trying to use the joke to ease my own mind. As we pulled down the covers to make ready for bed, a sudden shaking of the house nearly had us at our knees. When I tried to regain my balance, it happened again. I rush to the window and open the shutters to see what is going on. Timberline, this large brute of man, is running full force toward the cottage. Yet when he gets to the door, rather than the door crumbling, the man is ricocheted off the house like a bullet. And he continues to try over and over again. I look back at Merissa, who is sitting on the floor with her head in her hands, looking bored. "What is going on? Aren't you worried? What should we do?"

"Nothing." She pauses. "He obviously cannot get in. He will tire eventually."

She was right. After an hour of rushing the door with no results, Timberline tired and began to scream at us. "Witches! I know he's in there. I know you have my brother...I can smell him! I won't stop until I get him back!"

"What is he talking about?" I turned to Merissa. "His brother is long dead."

"Yes, my love," she sighed. "but despite my best efforts, he can smell Ethan. And because he does not know that Ethan exists, or that his brother is dead, he thinks we have him trapped in here."

"Trapped? Why would we trap a man-"

She stood up from the floor. "Not a man, my love, a-"

"YOU WILL RELEASE HIM!" We hear Timberline scream.

"A beast. A half man. A magical thing."

"Magical? I don't-"

"Shhh." She stated and leaned to look out the window. "He is leaving."

"Merissa, I don't understand."

"I know, my love, I know. Eliza, I am so very tired. I have been working all day. Now that the danger has gone, let us rest now. Let me sleep, and I will explain that creature in the morning." We lay down on our large bed, covered with various furs, and almost immediately Merissa had closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

I lay awake most of the night, my mind reeling from the day's events. I couldn't quite put all the pieces together. The strange way Timberline seemed to sniff us out like a hunting dog. Merissa's reference to him being some kind of creature. His inability to break into the house. I pondered these things until my brain seemed like it was going to explode. I drifted away in my foggy confusion until my body gave into the silence of sleep right before the dawn.

The sun came into the bedroom window hotter than normal. This particular time of year when the sun rose, it was bright, but not all that warm. The brightness was even peculiar, for it flickered rather than beamed, and I wondered if a morning wind was spraying tree shadows on the side of the cottage. I rolled over in search of my love, my wonderful yet mysterious Merissa, not yet remembered of the previous day's events. She wasn't in the bed, and as I tuned out my minds speak to listen for the usual rattle of her in the kitchen, that's when I heard the yelling.

That's when I saw the flames.

I rushed to the window. Where last night I had seen Timberline trying to blast into my home, this morning I saw what seemed like the entire village piled up on my front door. They were carrying torches and muzzles and brooms and, yes, pitchforks and other assundry farming tools. They were assembled in an arc enclosed around the front of the cottage and some of the townsmen were adding brush to a pyre that had been constructed about fifteen feet from the door. Merissa was being held by the arms by some of the younger men, including one of my brothers, and Papa was standing in the front line of the crowd, holding Mama and Ethan close and crying.

I barreled down the stairs, still in my night gown, and burst out the door.

"And this one, too!" Timberline pointed and screamed at me. "She is the witch's 'apprentice'." He said the word with a sneer, because he knew he was using Merissa's own word against us, though at the time I had no idea what he was talking about. "These women have taken the life of my brother, a good strong man, and hidden here amongst you all this time!"

There were murmurs and random shouts throughout the crowd. Suddenly, I felt the grip of strong men on my arms and back, around my waist and feet, and I was hauled up to the pyre. Merrisa was struggling against her captors as they did the same. Timberline called out to the crowd again. "Governor Tilson."

The Governor of this territory had never visited our little town before. We received edicts and rules and laws and taxations from the office of your Governor, his lordship, Edgar William Tilson, for years but had never met the man. Apparently, Timberline had spent the night rallying him and the townsfolk for his plot while we had slept peacefully, curled up in one another. He had twisted their minds with this strange fiction of Merissa being a witch. Being a medicine woman was odd enough, but not odd enough to be disturbed. Being accused of witchcraft, however, was a sin that God himself doesn't forgive. That's just being accused, not actually of being. That's the way it was then. I had heard tales of it in the north, and had read detailed accounts of trials so outrageous that I couldn't tell if they had been true or not. Obviously they had, because here I was, the accused standing, being tied to a stake above a pyre, watching my love strangle in her holds, as my family watched us together.

I could hear some nonsense legal proclamation, and as I called out to my kin, to my town, to stop this madness, Merissa said nothing to them. She did not beg forgiveness; she did not deny the charges. She did not try to convince them they were wrong, but she did not admit guilt. She muttered. My beautiful, sweet Merissa...whose beauty and grace was being consumed by fire and hate and smoke...was tarnished by a town full of ignorant fools who would sooner listen to a foul smelling stranger than the medicine woman who had helped them all at some point in time. The more I shouted at them, the quieter Merissa's muttering got and I could not understand what exactly was going on any more than I could why she would not fight it.

"You see?" Timberline stepped up to the pyre, pointing at her, "Even now she attempts to corrupt your minds with a spell while her apprentice distracts you and begs for their lives!"

I spat at the devil that was the man Timberline as the flames kissed my feet. I looked over to Merissa, and the fire had crept upon her knee high, and still all she did was mutter. I called out to her. Begged her to listen to me...to speak on her own behalf. She looked up, at me, then seemed to look past me, and then back to me again, all the while still muttering something I could not make out. Then she stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, with what I now know to be her last breath, "My love, never forget."

Then, without provocation, without being asked or directed, a man seemed to fly from the crowd onto the pyre. He untied me, grabbed me, and we burst through the crowd into the woods. It was the same man that had stood up for me all those years ago at the pub. As I was being hauled out of the flames, I looked back at her. I realized she was saying some incantation, and as her lips moved, my heart was broken and filled with hope at the same time. Broken because my lover had hidden a truth from me, hopeful that that truth may save her.

It did not.

A few men attempted to follow us, but we were travelling so fast. Faster than last night, when I was running from the man that would later this day try to kill me. I couldn't breathe, feeling my chest laid heavy with smoke. He found a small hill to hide behind, and laid me down onto the ground. I was coughing and gasping for breath. He was looking at the burns on my feet and legs. He looked back over his shoulder. I heard him cursing (damn woman, damned woman). I saw and heard an explosion toward my cottage, and saw a pillar of green smoke erupt into the sky. I couldn't breathe.

Then he bit me.

Entry 6

When I woke up in the complex infirmary, Gruff was standing over me. There was him and me, and the rhythmic sounds of medical machinery. He was reading the monitors. My body felt stiff and sore, my eyelids were heavy and I had a nagging headache. Gruff's hand was on the rail of my bed. I reached up to grab it.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" He looked down at me and smiled. "How you feelin'?"

I managed my statement out, but it was barely a whisper. My throat was hoarse.

"Come again?" and he leaned in closer.

I sat up as much as I could, feeling absolutely exhausted. I pulled him down to me and attempted to make the statement again, but it only came out as scratches. He helped me lean back, patted my shoulder, and walked away for a second. When he returned, he handed me a glass of water. I drank from it slowly, sipping the tepid liquid as if it might hurt me. As it coated my throat, the soreness withdrew and I took in a deep breath.

"You wanna try that again?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"You fucking tranq'd me!" I yelled, but it sounded more like a begrudged complaint than a yell.

"Had to," Gruff shrugged his shoulders. "Orders is orders. You know."

"Yeah," I took another sip. "I know. But you still fucking tranq'd me."

"Yeah," and he shook his head in agreement, "Not the first time. Probably not gonna be the last."

I snarled my lip and growled a low guttural sound at him. "I told you never to tranq me."

"Yeah," and he took my glass to refill it. When he handed the glass back to me, "And you promised never to give me reason to."

"I didn't."

"Hmmm...let's see," and he closed his eyes as if doing math in his head, "You brought a live crawler here after not feedin' like you're supposed ta, and within 24 hours of being home you feasted on a gang, let another crawler get away, and fought David on his turf. Here. At his home. Where he's the boss."

"Yeah," I sipped on the water some more. "Wait...another crawler? So you think so too?"

"Oh yeah," he shook his head affirmatively, "Know so. You're not wrong. But you're so wrong." He was talking about my lack of respect toward David. Gruff is ex-military. An orders man. And when you put an orders man in a world where there is absolutely an "order to things", he tends to follow them strictly.

"He won't listen."

"It's two. It's not an army. It's not an armada. The one that got away is probably the thing that made the other. Simple."

That was Gruff. Simple. Give him an explanation and he holds onto it. I often wonder how exactly it is he was able to fit into this world so well, this world hidden in the shadows of the rest. How he was able to just take it as if it were a natural thing, an explainable thing, and go with it. Not to have so many questions. I've been around for hundreds of years and I still have questions. I still question what is real and what isn't. I feel it's my responsibility. Due diligence and all.

"Ok...I'm gonna let you rest now. You're gonna want to be at full strength before he gets around to comin' to see ya."

"Gruff?"

"Yeah?"

"How long have I been in here?"

"Oh," and he looked down as if he were bracing himself. "Um...four days."

"Four days!!!" and I sat up straight in bed. Then I got a little woozy and fell back into bed. After coughing for a bit, I stared at Gruff. "No wonder I'm so weak. I need to feed."

"No," Gruff said, "Gotcha on the stuff." He pointed down at my IV, where I was being transfused with the syntheshit. "You're weak because..."

"Because you fucking tranq'd me," I repeated as I jerked the needle out of my arm.

"Yeah, I did." He smiled, and as he left the room, I heard him mutter, "With an elephant sedative."

I knew I needed to do some investigating and I knew that I wouldn't have much time to do it. Gruff would report to David that I had awoken, and he would make sure to check on me or watch me or whatever else he had in store for me. I obviously pissed him off, for him to have Gruff use such a strong tranquilizer on me. Despite having such a heavy feed prior to coming here, being tranq'd and then put on syntheshit for four days had wiped me out. The synthetic blood is supposed to be a complete substitute for the real thing, but I never felt revitalized from it like I did from a draining. I would need to eat some food first. I stood up slowly, so as to not throw my system off too quickly. I looked down and was in a hospital patient gown. Wow, I thought to myself, David even had the balls to have me changed. I guess the first thing I really need is some clothes.

Neither my clothes nor my gear was left in the infirmary. There's no telling where the stuff is that I had on me that night. The infirmary is two floors down from my quarters. I staggered into the hallway outside of my room. If David had someone keeping an eye on me, it wasn't from here directly, because the floor appeared to be completely vacant. At the end of the hall was the lift doors and as I made my way to them the elevator landed on the floor and the doors opened. Ian stepped out of the lift with a small bouquet of flowers.

"Hey, hey," he rushed to my side. "You shouldn't be out of bed. Let me help you." He tucked the end of the bouquet under his arm and grabbed my arm at the elbow to assist me.

"I'm fine," I told him but did not refuse his aid, "I just need to eat."

"Do you need to eat or do you need to feed? 'Cuz you've been on the synth-"

"Food, Ian," it was labored to speak and walk at the same time. I really should still be in bed, but I have things to do. "I need real food. I shouldn't be this weak."

"Yeah...I heard about your feast. Normally, you'd be able to take on the whole complex by yourself with that kinda juice. But I also heard they tran'q you pretty good." He tried to direct me back to my room.

"No, no," and I swiveled us back toward the lift. "Help me to my quarters. I need food and clothes and..." I didn't want to tell him I was looking for information.

"Ok, ok," and he pushed the button for the elevator. "But you look so cute in your little open back gown there."

Of course. Here I am in a weakened state, with my ass hanging out of an open gown, when the sex fiend appears. I shoot him a glare. Then the lift arrived. "And flowers, really?"

"Oh, whatever, El," he said as we got into the elevator. "Everyone knows you bring flowers to your friend when they're sick in the hospital."

"Your friend? Are we friends, Ian?" There was a long pause.

"Well," he sounded disappointed, "I thought we were."

I thought about it for a brief moment. We had always had this banter where Ian would hit on me and I would threaten to kill him. But he had never crossed a line and neither had I. We had, in the past, even had a few short assignments together. Ian had some good combat skills, especially with long range targeting weapons. He was a great shot. I think he was a sniper or army ranger or something like that in his mortal life. His hand to hand wasn't all that great, and anytime we sparred he'd end up flat on his back, but I've never had to come to his rescue. He was dependable and reliable, even if that meant listening to his crap.

"We are," I responded, to my own surprise, and realized deep down that we really were friends. That makes two I have in this world now, two people I could really count on that I knew were not a threat to me. Sure, I've got people throughout the Network that I know, and have worked with, and who don't annoy the piss out of me, but no real connections.

It should be three, but David's been acting strange lately and given that he gave the order to put me out just because I made him mad, that line of friend is being blurred. Of course, I don't know that I've ever really considered him a friend. We have a weird relationship. He's more like...family. Yeah, family. The people that drive you crazy but you can't get away from. The people you were born into. That's exactly it.

Plus David can kill me. Anytime he wants to. I try to never forget that part. Nothing like a little fear to demand some degree of loyalty.

The elevator arrives on my floor and Ian helps me into my quarters. He asks me if I need help finding clothes and I decline, asking him to go get me some food while I get dressed. While he's gone, I find some clean black cargo pants and a black v-neck t-shirt. I struggle to clean myself up and get dressed, but by the time he gets back I'm strapping on some sandals.

Ian hands me a plate and cup. "Breakfast," he says handing me the plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits and a cup of chocolate milk. "Heavy carbs and proteins. Should do the trick."

I kinda sneer at the bacon a little bit, but eat it anyway because he is right. Bacon is a strange meat to me. Tuna I can eat fine. Other meats make me want to throw up. Bacon makes me think "eww" when I see it but when I'm finally eating it it's kind of ok. I have a vague memory of loving bacon in my mortal life, but that was a long time ago and my tastes have changed. Ian watches me eat the meal in silence, sitting on the end of my bed while I sit at the small table across the room refueling.

"So what next?" he looks at me in anticipation.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like...what's your plan?"

"I don't have a plan." I take a long chug of my milk.

"Of course you do. You always have a plan. And here we are, I've helped you leave the infirmary, which makes me an accessory to your plan, so I'd kinda like to know what it is."

"You're not an accessory." I put the empty cup on the table. "There's no plan. I just wanted out of there."

"Sure," and he stood up from the bed. "There's no plan. Right. Two nightcrawlers in less than a week and David had Gruff tranq you so heavy you've been out for four days. But there's no plan." He was shaking his head in mock aggravation.

"Ok, there's a plan. A small plan. But I don't have time and you don't need to get in trouble for me."

"I knew it!" he smiled slyly, "So what? Some research, reconnaissance? Scouring the streets of Biloxi stalking the monsters in the shadows?"

"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about. "No. Just getting some information. I'm sure David will have me here for awhile."

"No, actually," he stated plainly. "Your chart says full recovery and release."

"What?" I was confused.

"Yeah, once you're rested up and full strength, you're supposed to be brought back to Biloxi."

"That's...unusual."

"Yeah, I know. Last time you made him this mad he kept you here for months."

"Yeah, he did." David kinda goes a little overboard sometimes when it comes to me. I didn't really make that much of a mess last time. Just, ya know, I'm enthusiastic about my work.

"You're also not supposed to be out of the infirmary. Infirmary, then home. That's it. I figured he just didn't want to see you or talk to you."

"No," I argued, a gut feeling rolling about inside me, "That's not it. Ian, I have to go. Thank you."

"Oh, no way! I'm going too. I can't be here anymore, El. I've been in this place entirely too long."

It was a strange statement for him to make. Ian was a field agent, like myself. FAs are sent out for a coverage zone for three months to a year, depending on the perceived level of threat. Then they return to the complex for some R&R and then training, depending on the duration of the assignment. Even if Ian's last job was a year long, the most he would be here for would be six weeks (two vacation, four training). When I was here earlier, I assumed I had caught him during an "in" cycle. And anytime I've ever caught him on an in cycle he's never complained. He seemed to enjoy his time at the complex.

"Wait, how long have you been here? Aren't you just on an in?"

"Well I thought I was. I came in for my in cycle six months ago." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You've been here six months? Why?"

"I don't know. Did my R&R, did a training rotation. Reported for duty. David said he didn't have any assignments for me. So I've been...waiting."

This was very strange. Ian is a good field agent. There would be no reason to keep him here and I've never known there to be no assignments. We've never had a stall out period. Even with the dwindling nightcrawler population, there's still bad men out there. That will never change. "Have other FAs been stalled in?" I knew the answer to this question would point me in the right direction.

"Yeah, a few. Sanders. Gordon. Mitchell. And me."

All good agents. All good striders. "Has anyone gone out since you've been here?"

"Oh, yeah," he looked up the ceiling as he recalled in his head, "Samson, O'Neal, Fuschia, Reed, Brooks-"

"Brooks?! David sent out Brooks before you or Mitchell?" I couldn't believe it. Brooks is a horrible FA. He has a hard time keeping his thirst under control. His combat skills are poor and he gets distracted easily. Between these new developments and David sending me home all the time when normally he'd put me in his own version of a "time out", something was definitely going on. David was keeping his strongest soldiers here and sending out the junior varsity team. I looked at Ian, deciding my next course of action. He stared back, pleading with his eyes.

I took a heavy sigh. I'm probably going to regret this. "Oh, come on." I stood up from my seat.

Ian stood up eagerly. "So, where to first?"

"First," I start rounding up equipment out of drawers from a chest by the door. A few small weapons, knives and the like, tech gear, anything small enough to put on me and in my pockets without having to actually display or carry anything. Once I'm full, I start handing stuff to Ian. He has been here so long he's not even wearing tactical wear; he's in jeans, a pullover fleece zip-up, and slippers. I look down at the slippers and back to him, "Really?"

"I told you I've been here too long. At least they don't make noise when I walk." He has made a good point. They make...less...noise.

"Ok," I shake my head, "First, I need to get down to the science level. I need to pull the files on the crawler I brought in and maybe see if they haven't incinerated the last body so I can inspect it."

"Oooo...the morgue," he said giddily as he brimmed with a smile from ear to ear, "Lead on Nancy Drew."

"Don't," I tell him about the reference. "Just don't." See? I knew I was going to regret this. "And we really probably shouldn't talk at all until we're done. You know, in case anyone suspects anything."

"Yeah, sure, because you don't want to succumb to my charm while we're on some super secret mission. Spy falls in love with spy while in close quarters during ops, its classic."

"I'm opening the door now. Time for radio silence, Major Tom," and I make my way to the door.

"Oh, and she shows the humor as the clock hits zero." And we were in the hallway. I have long suspected, as high tech as this place is, that David has the whole building rigged for surveillance. Normally, me or Ian walking around would not seem suspicious, seeing as how we're supposed to be living there and all. But by now he must know I'm not in the infirmary and is watching me, so I don't want him to know what I'm up to. If I'm going to convince him there's a real problem in my town, I need the evidence to back it up.

We walk casually to the end of the hall, through the kitchens and lounges, to the south end elevators. This lift will put us right outside the main file room once we're on the correct floor. Once we're in there, though, I have no believable reason to be there other than snooping.

I feel quite a bit better after eating. Not quite up to par, but not near as weak as I was when I first woke up. My muscles are still sore, but my throat is fine and I can hold my own. That must have been one hell of a dart in Gruff's assault rifle. I don't recall anyone ever using one of those in the field but it would be a useful tool. Gruff had said it was elephant tranquilizer. The last time David felt I needed that kind of time out, Gruff had used horse sedative and I was only out for a few hours. And I had not just feasted. So I'm doing the math in my head (weight x time x sedative divided by fuel) and by the time we arrive on the science level I've determined that there's no way only one shot would've put me down that long.

This hall was dark and unoccupied, just like the infirmary. The file room is usually locked, with a traditional door lock in the door knob and a personal identifier pad (PIP). These pads are spread out throughout the complex and are coded to DNA. For example, no one can get into my private quarters except for me, Gruff and David. That's how I have the settings. My security level should allow me into the file room, no problem, but I didn't have a traditional metal key. I used to have all the keys to a lot of the doors on this level, but I handed them over to David when I returned to the field for good. I pulled out a tool from one of my pockets, the equivalent to a lock picker's Swiss army knife, and jimmied the door open while passing my hand over the PIP. The door fell open.

The file room is like any other file room in any other business anywhere in the world. This file room is specifically called the IOI (incidents of interest). There are rows upon rows of neutral colored four drawer filing cabinets with coded labels on the outside of each one. These are for hard storage of paper documents. At the end of the rectangular room, there are a few long desks and two computer terminals. The computers are connected to databases kept on the lowest floor that house all the operational and information needs for the whole complex. These two specific computers, however, are set up to be read only and will not allow a user to change anything within the system. I point to Ian and then back to the terminals, and he walks to the desk and sits down at one of them, understanding that I want him to see what he can find electronically.

I begin walking up and down the aisles of the filing cabinets. We keep hard copies in case the system goes down, but we also keep them in case something never makes it into the system. The system is set up chronologically by year, then month, then alphabetically by location. So if I wanted to know if there were any IOIs in London in April 1967, I would have to use the database because the London complex would have put them on the server. The hard copies would be in the IOI room there in the UK. But anything under David's jurisdiction, North America, that has happened since the Network was founded, would be here. Any documentation prior to the Network is in the archive room, down the hall, to the left. I don't have a key for that room either. But then again, I never did.

So I'm in 2012, April...is it April? No, I think it's May now...Biloxi...thumbing through the papers to see if there is anything on my nightcrawlers. David has been so nonchalant about these creatures they may not have even been considered an incident holding much interest. I can only hope there's something...anything...to give me some insight to this gut feeling that this isn't just a standard appearance. While I sift through paperwork, I can hear Ian's rampaging keystrokes. "Got anything?" I whisper to him.

"Nothing," he whispers back. "Not yet."

So far I can't find anything either. There's not even a record of my feasting, which is generally documented so the elders can track how many times and how close a strider has come to going over the edge. It's been four days...long enough for whoever it is to make the record to make it. The section that should be this time for Biloxi is completely blank. I shut the drawer and walk over to Ian.

"Hey," I ask over his shoulder. "The hard files wouldn't show the FA assignments, would they?"

"No," he quietly responds, "That roster isn't exactly an IOI. But it would be in the system here. Want me to pull it up?"

"Yes," I say. While we're here, I figure we might as well check out the weird assignment pattern David has going on right now.

"Ok," Ian points to the screen, "These are the current FA duty assignments for North America. I can filter by agent name or region."

"Region," I tell him. I wanted to know who David sent where. Some cities are more dangerous than others. Ian hit the filter command and the screen shifted. It displayed the cities alphabetically. "Ok, now just the US."

Ian commanded the program to narrow the search by US cities only. Again the screen shifted and displayed the cities with their FA assignments. Cities like LA, New York, Detroit, New Orleans, Miami...etc. with large populations and high crime rates had agents assigned to them who had little experience and lesser skills. The higher the ranking for the agent, the safer the city, if that agent was even assigned to a city. All the top ranked agents were listed as in cycle, or in other words, benched. "This is crazy," I whispered to Ian. "Why is David doing this? He has never done something like this."

"Maybe the council told him to," Ian shrugged. "I don't know." I leaned over him and scrolled to find Biloxi. An IOI is considered "current" plus or minus 30 days of its happening. This particular screen not only shows the FA assignment, but the number of current IOIs. "What the-" Ian rang out when he saw what I saw. For Biloxi, there was no FA assignment, no IOIs, and no pending FA assignment.

I don't know why the system didn't have me listed as the FA for Biloxi. Considering how long I've been here, even if David had decided to pull me, it would have shown that record. I did know that we had pulled everything we could from this room. There wasn't anything here about my nightcrawler or the dead woman so we needed to move on. "Come on," I whispered. "Let's hit the morgue."

We locked the room from the inside latch as we left. With a little bit of luck, it would appear as if no one had been here. Down the hall was the morgue and I was hoping the dead woman's body would still be there. After lab testing and confirmation of cause of death, it was standard protocol to prepare the body for disposal or replacement to be found by mortal police. If my hunches were right, they would have found something, anything, to give me a clue to track this next crawler. Plus, maybe the records from the crawler I had already brought here would be in the morgue files.

I heard the hum of machinery coming from the morgue. Then I heard footsteps. And if I heard footsteps, then whoever made them could hear mine. So no surprise entrance here, and as we approached the door I took a deep breath and passed my hand over the PIP.

When Ian and I walked into the morgue, expecting to find one of the lab medical examiners, we were both taken aback by who we actually found. There was the dead woman's body, laid out on a stainless steel exam table, with David standing over her in a lab coat. His back was facing us, and I could tell he was examining her body as he hunched over it.

"Well," he greeted us without turning around, "I heard you were feeling better, El." Ian and I stood in silence, attempting to evaluate our situation. "And Ian, so nice of you to help our star on her recovery." Still no clue.

"Yes....sir," Ian said hesitantly. "Anything for the team, you know."

"Of course," David responded. He rose up and turned a little where we could see his face. "El, come look at this."

Oh, here was my moment. Here was the moment when my suspicions were going to be confirmed, that something unusual was going on, and that David had to admit I was right. It didn't happen very often, but I relished in my victory when it did. This is when he was going to show something, explain something, that was going to prove I had been right all along. He was going to apologize and we were going to make a plan. I got giddy like a school girl inside just anticipating it. I walked up beside him to see what he had to reveal.

"You see her skin tone and swelling around the bite site?" he asked. It looked normal to me. Well, as normal as a post mortem vampire bite is. A little swelling around the puncture wounds, a little pink around the area as the blood had been drawn out of the body to the site. I nodded. He moved over to a nearby counter and motioned to a microscope. "And her cellular condition?" I peered through the scope. In the slide I saw vampire cells, which have jagged edges. Human cells are smooth and round.

"She turned?" I asked. Turning involves the incomplete draining of a victim's blood, leaving the victim alive (usually meaning under forty percent). The body doesn't contain enough immune system to fight against the enzyme produced by the fangs of a vampire. The enzyme helps to semi-paralyze the victim to prevent escape and thereby disengage the drinker. It also helps in the reproduction process, as the enzyme carries vampire DNA that replicates very quickly. That's why it needs a constant infusion of blood. Where a human replaces its cells every seven years, a vampire replaces them every few months and so needs a constant supply of fuel. Number one cause of vampire death: starvation.

So I can feed on the humans without turning them, by being trained to take only so much. The standard is to take past forty percent, enough to feed productively without causing a reproductive reaction. It still kills the victim, and it is generally measured by the last heartbeat. There's still blood in the body when the heart stops but the flow itself is the cause of life. It is an exercise of will power. Nightcrawlers generally lack that will power and feast at will. They turn almost everyone they drain, which is why the fight against them became so aggressive. As the New World evolved, and world travel became more pronounced, more and more crawlers were surviving rather than naturally dying out of starvation, and the sunstriders had to be vigilant in combatting them. Nightcrawlers put all of us in danger. That's why we worked so hard to train our will, to develop a blood substitute. The substitute is like a snack, though, not a meal. It doesn't sustain well and it tastes horrible.

You're supposed to feed for strength and survival, not feast or gorge because it feels good.

David sighed and looked at me. "Yeah, she turned while you were out. So that's two new crawlers you've brought here alive." He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, not a you're-in-so-much-trouble tone.

"That's two I've found," I responded in the same tone.

"Correct," he stated as he put his exam tools away. "So I thought I'd check this one out myself." This wasn't the OCD, I'm the boss, there's a system for a reason raging powerful leader of the North American Network David that had me tranq'd four days ago. This was the concerned for his people teaching moment big brother I had been turned by and taken under his wing David. This dichotomy within him is why we have such a weird relationship. Inside me, there's the sweet Scottish girl turned mother and lover and the kick butt super solider with a job to do and no ties to hold me down. The problem is, our compatible sides aren't always calling the shots at compatible times.

"Ok, so what?" I could feel my defenses building up. "I came here to tell you that and you had Gruff tranq me. Again. You both promised."

He laughed. Like a disbelieving chuckle laugh. "I made no such promise. I believe my exact words were, don't give me a reason to." His tone softened again. "El, you've got to rest."

"What I have to do is find this crawler before he makes more, before my whole city is full of them."

"After you've rested," he nodded and turned to walk beside me, grabbing the crook of my arm and showing me and Ian out the door. "That's why you got shot. You neglected your feeding regime, then gorged yourself, and didn't catch the crawler. You're obviously in need of some R&R."

Ian huffed out the side of his mouth. "Oh, yeah," I countered, "Like the R&R Ian has had for months now? What's up with that?"

"What about it?" David wasn't defensive at all.

"You don't think it's weird that you've sent your weakest troops to the toughest cities and benched all your best players? Like you're trying to bench me now?"

"No, I don't. I think my best players have been playing for a long time and as long as they do, I'll never have more best players because my weakest troops will never get the opportunity to improve their skills or strength. I think my best players have deserved a break. And I'm not trying to bench you."

"My name isn't even on the roster, David," I called him out.

"I know. If you're name isn't on the roster, I don't have to rotate you." He smiled, as if he had triumphantly answered the $64,000 question. David beamed in his own sense of brilliance.

"Yeah, ok," but I still doubted him. His reasons made logical sense, but my gut wasn't so convinced. "So when do I go back?"

"When you're rested."

"No dice," I turned to face him as we were now walking down the hall. "I go back now. I rest there, then I go searching for the crawler."

"If I let you go back now, you'll not rest. You'll dive right back into the spiral you've started." He was right there. If I got to go back, I would engulf myself in the hunt for the crawler and not be at full strength if there was a confrontation to be had. "I'm just asking for a week."

I had to figure out a way to get my way and yet appease his need to be overprotective of me. Plus, if he didn't send me back, if he argued his way through any logical plan I devise, then I would know something really was up about keeping Ian and the others here. "Ok...let me take Ian with me. He's been held here long enough, don't you think? Well rested, I'd say. He can do the grunt work, and I'll rest and do the brain work."

"Hey!" Ian called out, offended.

"Shut up, Ian," David chided him, "She's actually trying to do you a favor."

Ian thought about it for a moment. Then he put his arm around me and grinned. "Hey, that isn't a bad idea, ya know, boss?"

David thought about it for a moment then conceded. "Fine," and he rolled his eyes. "We can try it. But I'm serious, El, feed less more often."

"Yes sir!" I did a sarcastic mock salute and Ian and I got onto the elevator.

There was a twenty second moment of silence before Ian turned to me and said, "It isn't all that simple is it?"

I sighed. "We can only hope."

Entry 7

I began to realize, very quickly, that although bringing Ian to Biloxi was the only way to get me back so soon, that it may not have been worth the price I paid. We didn't find any signs of the crawler within the first week. That meant it had either left the city, or turned its victims, or we just hadn't found them yet. None of those were very good options, and as my frustration with the dead ends grew, my tolerance of Ian's antics shortened.

The first day wasn't so bad. Rest for a weakened strider isn't like rest for a sick human. It isn't like I'm lying on my couch, drinking chicken broth with a box of Kleenex and the TV remote by my side. It's getting back to routine, keeping a regular energy intake schedule and not doing any strenuous physical activity. And attempting to get a little more sleep than normal, which means going from two or threes hours to trying to get four or five hours of sleep, and that just isn't a natural cycle for a strider. At least not for me.

So while I was schlepping it in the mail room and keeping observant eyes open from a remote location, Ian was stalking the streets of the city for bodies or signs of the crawler. I was trying to avoid Cera, and taking alternate routes through the office building to do so was disturbing my sense of routine. We all have our own OCD areas, I guess. I knew time was of the essence in hunting the creature, and to have her as a distraction would throw me off. Plus, I'm sure David didn't release us without planting a few watchers in key places, so I kept an eye out for that as well, new faces, because if it appeared that we weren't following orders or being productive David would recall us or send reinforcements or something else that would get in my way.

On the second day, Ian managed to catch a murderer in Gulfport, the neighboring town, and brought me a pint and a half of what he called "fresh bacon". "Ya know," he had quipped, "Like bringin' home the bacon." I never figured out how Ian was able to have as much sex as he did; his sense of humor was so corny and his "moves" were so over the top. Surely there weren't that many women that stupid in this country. I complained that the blood wasn't "fresh" and that if I was supposed to be impressed he should've brought the prey home alive. He scoffed at my contempt and piled on the couch with me as I searched internet pages for research. He continued to play out the spousal gag, saying things like "How was work, Honey?" and feigning interest when I complained about not finding anything anywhere regarding the crawler.

On the third day, he didn't meet me at my apartment when he was scheduled to and wouldn't answer my phone calls. He burst through the door at eleven o'clock with some blonde and they were making out as they walked. I was still sitting on the couch with my laptop. When they realized I was there in the room, the blonde turned to Ian and said, "Oh, is this your roommate you told me about?" I think Ian realized by the stern look on my face that he had crossed a line (or two or ten) and I was not happy. He suggested to the woman that they relocate and I didn't see him again 'til lunch the next day. Although I would never admit it, I did respect him for the restraint to not want to eat his sexual prey. Especially as much sex as he had. Most of the time striders engage in relationships, whether platonic or romantic, only with other striders. There's common ground; there's no hiding what you are. But occasionally, a mortal will befriend us or catch the eye of one of us. Despite training, when in the throws of passion, it is sometimes difficult not to translate those kind of urges into more deadly ones. At least that's what I hear. There have been a few "accidents" over the years, but it isn't a common occurrence. I just think with the increased number of partners Ian has, it has to increase the chance of it happening. And it never has. Not once. So I'll give him credit for that.

Days four through six went by without so much as a peep from our creepy friend, and I had managed to avoid Cera completely. Ian and I still carried on with our banter, mainly because he refused to shut up. On day seven, I devised a plan that would get me out of the house for an errand and give me a break from the boredom of recovery. I convinced Ian I had to run some regular, mortal like errands (paying bills, getting groceries, mundane things like that) while he could cover a new area of town. He objected, claiming there were no new areas of town.

"Yes," I debated my pointed, "But what if the crawler has struck somewhere you already covered?"

"Come on, El," he whined, "I've been all over this city. I think it just left."

"Which is bad, because now we don't know where it is. Look, just do another patrol and let me get this stuff done and we'll meet back at my place to figure out our next step." I was gathering my things to go out. Not my real things...my weapons and tactical gear. My mundane things, jeep keys, phone, wallet.

"Fine," he sneered like a pouty child. "Are you gonna feed while you're out? We both need to."

"If I find a meal, I guess," and I opened the door out, "You know, I'm not supposed to be putting a lot of energy into hunting."

"So if I find-"

"Call me. I come right over."

"K," and he went down the steps and started walking down the street. I got into the jeep and drove the other direction. I really did have a few measly errands to run, to maintain my human cover, but I really wanted to check on you. It had been two weeks since I saw you so distraught walking through the city. I needed to see that you were ok. Usually, this time in the late afternoon, early evening, you're at home. Travelling the few blocks this way and that toward your house, I'm recalling that night when you looked so unkempt and upset walking downtown. I pull up to the intersection that is right outside your living room window and peer in. From the street, the average person could see you sitting on the couch. With my sunstrider senses, I can smell the alcohol. I can hear you snoring. I can see your mailbox overstuffed with envelopes. This isn't like you, to be drunk passed out by the middle of the day. To not have checked your mail in what looks like at least a week. I don't know what has happened to you, but as long as your alive, my priority is to hunt the crawler, so I put the jeep in gear and drive away.

I get my few other errands completed and drive to my favorite sonic for a chocolate shake. After these last two weeks, I've earned it. I can feel the thirst well up inside me, and I know if I don't have a normal feed soon I'll end up in a bad cycle again. The shake will quell my stirrings for a short amount of time, but that's all it really does is buy me some time. It really isn't satisfying at all, not like it usually is. That's when I smell it...that all too familiar, all too welcome scent. There's a mortal nearby who is up to bad, bad juju and his thoughts betray him to me.

I lean back against the outside edge of the picnic table, scoping out my environment. Like any other eatery in the warm Mississippi air, it is populated by people having dinner, snacks, shakes and other frozen treats. Sets of families, friends, and couples group themselves together but apart from each other tending to their food and each other. Cars are pulled to the drive up booths like horses to feed stalls and the people inside them are chowing down on hot greasy goodies. There's a park across the street, where people are walking, playing Frisbee, and children frolic on playground equipment. The smell is pulling me past the eatery to the park, past the main areas of people and onto the edge of a small parking lot. The lot spaces are shaded by overhanging trees and there is one vehicle parked under them.

Standing beside the vehicle is a small boy, around six years old. The boy is wearing khaki shorts, sneakers, and a red and white striped polo shirt. He has brown hair and is standing outside of this car, a dark colored older sedan, with one hand in his pocket and the other nervously fidgeting in his mouth, around his face. I hear the child say to the car, "I don't know, I don't know, maybe, I don't know."

The smell is coming from inside the car. On the surface it smells like beer and cigarettes and stale air. It smells like three day old hamburgers and left over greasy fries. There's a slight overtone of marijuana. Deeper, in the core of the smell, is the iron rich hint of blood and the salty stain of cruelty. The driver of the vehicle is in his mid thirties, and is wearing khaki shorts and a white button up short sleeve shirt. He peers out the window, speaking the boy, and as sweat wells up on his face he has to keep pushing his wire frame glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He has a toy in his car, a stuffed dog, and several sweet treats and is telling the boy he can have the items but that he, the man, will not get out of the car to give them to him. "Come get them, its ok, boy," the man tells him. The man tries to ask him questions like what is his name, where is his mommy. The boy maintains his distance from the car and answers every inquiry with "I don't know" or "maybe".

The boy is in a mental limbo. He wants the items the man has promised, but something inside him has kept his feet from moving forward. He doesn't want to run away, because he wants the prizes, but his instinct tells him not to go any further. He is stuck.

Inside my own inner dialogue I hear the man's thoughts. As he sits, coolly, calmly, casually, inside his car the inside of his mind is desperate to get the boy in the vehicle. To take him home. To take his clothes off. To take his innocence.

"Not today," I say out loud. This alerts the driver to my presence, and he just waves nonchalantly, as if to say a good morning to a neighbor. The boy spins around, seeing me walking toward the scene, and is suddenly not just nervous but panicked. "It's ok," I say to him as I get closer. "Go on and play. Find your mom, ok?" The moment of panic gives way to the flight response, and the boy takes off heading back to the main section of the park.

"Bitch," I hear the man mutter under his breath and he puts the car into gear to back out of the space. By now I have arrived at the vehicle and am standing in front of it. The driver doesn't realize this as he is turned to look behind him, and as he puts his foot on the gas, I reach down and grab the bottom edge of the car frame and lift up the car up a foot or two. The vehicle spins its back wheels but goes nowhere. The driver, confused, turns back around to see me holding the car. "What the f-" and I slam the car down. I walk around to the driver's side door, throwing it open, grabbing him by the shirt collar, and pull the driver out. There is a large covered drain pipe near the edge of the parking lot, down a small slope and under the shade of more trees. I drag that son of a bitch's ass across the pavement and hurl him into the ditch created by the pipe.

Sometimes there is no finesse to a draining. There's the simple law of the food chain, especially when the thoughts of evil men are running rampant through my head while my thirst has already grown. There's no eloquent movements, no special luring tactics. There is no tango between predator and prey, no lingering anticipation to wet the pallet.

For a few seconds, the driver is laid out, face down, into the bottom of the drain pipe. His back has been filleted open from the dragging and his blood seeps from his wounds like a lazy spring fountain. He is screaming now, and I know he can be heard, so I reach down, with my hand around his throat, and squeeze his windpipe to break his voice box. I don't even given him the benefit of looking up at me as I sink my teeth into his neck and his jugular sprays his blood down the back of my throat. I swallow greedily, all the while listening for his remaining heartbeats.

When the last beat sounds, I drop his body to the pipe. Immediately I think to pull out my phone and call Gruff for a pick up, but I stop myself. I wanted to enjoy the effects of this draining, even if just for a fleeting moment. Feel the blood circulate through my veins, revitalizing my muscles and bones and senses. I take a deep breath and my lungs fill with air as the veins fill with blood and my heart expands. I can feel the warmth spread throughout my body like fire, flames kissing the edges of my toes and fingertips. As my claws and teeth retract, my hearing and sight become pinpoint focused. All the weakness I have felt for the last week is gone and I've just woken up from a long slumber. The driver's memories flood my mind, and I calm them with thoughts of the boy I just saved, refreshing ocean waves, and the smell of lavender.

To not enjoy this draining, to just treat it like a meal, would be like doing an injustice to this man's victims. Someone should get some joy out of his death.

I reach to dial Gruff when the phone rings in my hand. It's Ian. Great timing.

"I got him," Ian's voice is frantic and excited, "El, I got the crawler. Get over here."

"Where are you?"

"Off Tee Street, down toward Camp Wilks,"

"Is he dead?"

"As a doornail. Gotta call Gruff but I got him."

"I was just about to call him," I informed him, "I had a little snack and need a pick up myself. I'll tell him to hit here first and then I'll ride over to you with him. Where I am is more public."

"Aww," he whined, "You didn't even save me any?"

"Sorry, Ian," I looked down at the body, "It wasn't a bait and lure situation. Well, it was, but not for us...I'll explain when I get there."

"K. But hurry."

I call Gruff and explain everything to him. He agrees, that my pick up is more important, and as we're talking I can hear his team in the background packing to go. It generally only takes a few minutes to reach any given pickup. Gruff is assigned to me and other striders in the South, so he tends to hang nearby. Between pickups here and his work at the complex, the man has a lot of miles on him. I often wonder how many he has left. My friend is always full of energy, but I don't really recall ever seeing him sleep. Being human, he needs sleep and plenty of it. Gruff isn't that old, but there are certain kinds of living that ages a person. Not that I would know personally, I've been 25 for a long time, but I have seen it happen. I have buried mortal friends before, but the thought of laying Gruff to rest seems like an impossibility.

The Network employs humans, in its standard business operations and these covert ones. The humans that know about our existence, like Gruff, come about that knowledge one of two ways. An accident, which is rare, or recruitment. Some people have skills we need and the mentality to be able to handle the truth. Most of the time, the accidents that reveal our world, my world, can be shrugged off as a fluke. The things you hear about as crazy campfire stories or urban legends. Gruff got pulled in by one of our own, because he fell in love with her. He fell in love with a shadow caste being, though no one really talks about what she was. He loved her, and discovered her truth, and became a part of the Network to remain in her world. And then she left him because of it, and then she died. At least that's the rumor around the complex. We have our own urban legends. We never talk about what really happened.

Gruff and his team arrived, and as his team loaded up the driver's body, I explained the situation in more detail. Gruff asked about the crawler Ian had, and I knew about as much as he did, so we got on the chopper and headed that way. I looked down at the crowd of people that had gathered around us as we lifted off. Being disguised as a medical evacuation chopper has its advantages. We don't have to answer questions because of HIPAA and no one questions when a med chopper just randomly shows up. These people didn't even realize they had a predator amongst them; they never know about the monsters I save them from.

"So," Gruff loves making small talk in the chopper, "You and Ian, huh?"

I roll my eyes. "No, not really."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled, "I just think it's funny."

"Trust me," I glared at him, "It's not. Not in the least."

"Oh, yeah? Givin' you a run for your money?"

"Excuse me?" I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"With women," he leaned in closer, "I've never seen two people more alike when it comes to women."

"What?" I was offended. "What are you talking about? He goes after women like...like I don't know...and I don't have-"

"No, you're right. You don't have his numbers, but you when you do, you hunt them just like you do your marks. Pursue them, seduce them, lure them in...have your fun and then drop 'em."

"I do not!" As I protested, I could see a twinkle in his eye. He knew he had me going.

"You do so," he said, "You're just more discreet about it than he is and you don't do it as often."

"Discreet, huh? Well you noticed."

"I notice. I know you. I thought I was your best bud and now you have Ian hanging out at your apartment." He feigned hurt feelings.

"Yeah, well, he's never shot me." Gruff barrel laughed when I said this, and then he dropped the subject. We teased each other all the time, but the subject of Gruff's repeatedly shooting me with tranquilizers is actually a very serious affair. Gruff has shot me three times. Not that I die, or suffer permanent injury, but it still hurts and takes recovery time. Three times. Yeah, he is my best friend. My very best friend. That's why David has him do it, because if it were anyone else, I would probably kill them.

David has never shot me. That isn't to say he's never hurt me.

I can't remember ever seeing David with any kind of gun, come to think of it. I've seen him order shots and hits, but never actually in his hand. And it's been a long time since I've seen him personally involved in combat. Maybe he's getting rusty. I'll have to test that out one day.

We arrive at the second pickup, and Ian is leaning lazily against a tree smoking a cigarette. He is a perpetual smoker, and has probably had two or three since he called me. Years ago, this would have been no big deal but with today's society, I don't know how he manages to pick up the women he does without them being offended by his smoking. Interesting how, as we go along in this world, culture is supposed to be becoming more enlightened yet simultaneously becomes more prudish. As Gruff's team piles out, he stubs out the cigarette and walks toward me.

"Ta da!" he motions to the body of the monster. The crawler is slumped over on the ground, knees planted firmly with his torso bent over and shoulders resting on the earth. I take a brief survey of the scene and a small examination of the body. I can see the signs of struggle around the campground, but nothing that will take much time or effort to correct. The crawler's claws are still extended out of the end of its mangled, misplaced arms and his torso is covered in blood. I lift up the shoulders a moment, hoping to see the neck. I would have been able to tell how old the crawler was by his puncture wounds. The vampire bite leaves an obvious mark, and that even heals over time. Any scars you had as a human remain after being turned, but no future injuries leave their stamp. The bite, occurring between the two lives, lingers long enough to serve as a reminder. And it scars heavily to begin with and fades at a predictable rate, so for the first hundred years or so, we are able to tell a vampire's immortal age by the bite scar. My marks haven't been visible for at least three hundred years. The neck on this crawler, however, wasn't visible from where I had a grip on the shoulders. It wasn't even there.

I looked around the scene for my evidence. It was dark, heavily shaded from the trees and shadows of the cabins, but the land was flat and there wasn't much brush on the ground. "Ian," I looked up, "Where's the neck and head?"

"Oh, that," and he went into the nearest cabin. He returned back, holding the head by its hair. "It flew off and went through a window when I pulled it off." He offered to hand it to me, but instead I just look for the scars. One appeared to have been directly on the breakline, but the other was clear.

"Maybe two, three years old," I said. He turned the neckline up to his line of vision.

"Yeah," he nodded confirmation, "Good call."

"So you think this is the one? You think this is our guy?"

Gruff, hearing our conversation, stepped away from his team, who was cleaning up the scene, and walked over. He looked at the head, too, and nodded. "Yup. Most likely that's our man." He motioned for one of his team members to come over, who pulled a large freezer bag out of her pocket and opened it up and held it out. Ian placed the head in the bag, sealed it, and handed it back to her.

"Hey, there," he said to the woman. She was an average height brunette, with her hair pulled up in a ponytail, wearing standard issue overalls and safety glasses. Her latex glove covered hand reached out to grab the bag and she said a brief hello before returning to her work.

"Really?" I scoffed at Ian, "While we're working?"

"Hey," he said to me in a matter of fact tone, "You have to find opportunities where you can in our line of work. Not like I'm going to pick up a beaut like her at a bar anytime soon."

"Whatever." I said and leaned back down to the body. "Look at this, guys," I drew their attention to the arms and legs of the crawler, who had been wearing a tank top and shorts. "The skin isn't scorched. Not even a little."

"So?" Gruff inquired.

"So...it's dark here but it's not that shaded. It's the middle of the day."

Ian flipped the body over. There was no scorching on the front of its body either. "I think that's why it picked here. It is dark and remote and secluded. No one's here right now because summer hasn't started yet. Kids still in school and all. I found it hiding in that cabin over there." He pointed to another nearby structure. I pictured the scene in my head, to trying to determine how the creature didn't burn up. If Ian had found him in the cabin, which only had one door, he would have had to fight his way out. Looking up at Ian, I could see some cuts and scratches on him that were healing and would have come from that fight. If the creature had been able to slip by Ian, only for a second, he would have run toward where we were standing, because there was a clear path of darkness. Ian caught up to him, grabbed his head, and ripped it off where the creature stood. It made sense. It was just highly unusual for those exact circumstances to occur to prevent the creature from burning up.

But who am I to criticize unusual?

I stood up and patted Ian on the shoulder. "Good job," I said as we migrated away from the body, signaling to Gruff's team that they could bag it now. "I guess you can go home now."

"What? No! Come on, aren't we having fun?" Ian protested.

Gruff snickered. "She's right...caught your crawler now...what else is there to do?"

"Right," I confirmed, "Crisis adverted. Time to get back to normal."

"What would you know about normal. It's been so long since you've been anything resembling normal," he muttered under his breath as he got into the chopper. He was pouting.

Gruff reached over for a hug. "You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," I said sternly.

"I mean it," and he stopped walking for a minute. "Don't give David a reason for me to hafta come get you."

"I won't," and he got into the chopper. The chopper took off and flew away into the sunset.

I sighed and smiled and started walking back to my apartment.

I was home again. And left to my routine.

And alone.

Entry 8

Last night I had taken my time walking home. It wasn't really a walk, though, more of a stroll. Every chance I had to take a longer route I did, just rolling through the streets of Biloxi without a care in the world. The crawler had been killed. We had found no signs of other newlings. Because of returning when we did, I was able to keep my cover intact. Ian went begrudgingly back to the complex, so now my apartment could return to normal. My feeding schedule was even back on track. Everything was as it should be. I stopped by an all-night convenience store on my way into my neighborhood and bought a few cracker snacks and cans of tuna. My jeep was still in its space when I arrived at my building.

Coming into the apartment, I plopped the shopping bag onto the kitchen counter and kicked my shoes toward the door. I pulled a jug of chocolate milk out and poured myself a rather large glass, and, taking one of the cracker packs out of the bag, made my way to the couch. I surfed news channels and infomercials until I was tired enough to go to sleep, which was long after my milk glass was empty and the crackers were only packaging. I didn't even go into the bedroom; I just pulled up a thin blanket and curled down into the sofa while the TV sang me a lullaby.

This morning I woke up with a sense of freshness and renewal. I walked out into the kitchen, and while pouring myself a glass of water, my trashed apartment stared back at me. I had not realized until now just how out of order Ian had left things. There were food wrappers everywhere, soda cans filled with cigarette butts, a few dirty t-shirts. Ian is one of those who can eat whatever he wants without getting sick. Of course, judging by the remnants left in my home, I cannot really classify some of this stuff as actual food. The scene is also completely contradictory to what I would think living with Ian would be like, because he keeps himself so impeccably clean. Apparently, he really had been on vacation for far too long.

It took me about an hour and a half to get the apartment sparkling clean. One of the advantages, I guess, of being what I am. It was still early morning when I finished. I surveyed my work, and realized now that the house was clean, I had nothing to do. Crawler's gone. David's not pissed at me anymore. Ian and Gruff left. I don't have to go to the complex. It's a Sunday, so I don't have to work at the mail room. Errands are done. I've fed recently. Being in Biloxi this year has been pretty routine, and then it wasn't, and now I don't look forward to going back to the doldrums of routine. I have time to myself.

What the hell do I do now?

I open the door to my balcony and let some air in, and also let the stale air out. The breeze is blowing right over my building, and carries the salt of the sea with it. It's a bright sunny day out and people will be out enjoying the weather. They will be strolling on the coast line, populating the parks, driving around. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be out around people right now, but I know I didn't want to be cooped up in this apartment either. Reading just didn't seem to fit the bill at the moment. The breeze blew in again and the ocean scent made me realize exactly what I wanted to do.

I packed some gear and went out to the jeep. I took the ragtop off to let the sun beat down on me. Even though it's early May, it's been warm here for quite some time. I can feel the heat like everyone else; I just don't react to it the same way. It has to be really hot or really cold to cause me to be uncomfortable. I mean really hot. Like...volcano hot. So I soak in the rays while others pour sweat. Some of us get varying degrees of our different powers. Ian, for example, is stronger than I am. I would have never been able to rip the head and neck off a crawler with one stroke. A human, sure, but not a beasty. And, like I said before, he gets to eat a lot more normal food. We have about the same level of emphathic response to fear. But I'm faster than he is, my senses are stronger than his, and his aversion to temperatures is worse than mine. Every strider, and crawler for that matter, has the same qualities better than humans, but we all differ just a little bit.

And the older you are, generally, the stronger or better or faster you are.

I pull up to the docks. There are several shacks set up along the beach line that rent surfboards, floatation devices, canoes, kayaks, etc. I arrange to rent a small canoe and row out to one of the small breaker islands just past Ship Island. It's more secluded there and this time of year I can swim without clothes or being bothered. When you're in the same body forever, you tend to want to let it out every now and then.

It takes me about twenty five minutes to row out. When I land, I pull the boat unto the shore and pull my bag out. Inside the bag I've packed some water and snacks, and a large towel. Looking around, there's no one here and all the activity is further south down the coast. I strip down, and folding my jeans and white t-shirt, I place the clothing on top of my bag. I throw the jeep keys on top of the pile. I make no attempt to hide them or my wallet. Who's gonna successfully steal from me?

I've been swimming for about thirty minutes when I see a little one man sail boat heading toward the island. I wade for a few moments watching it, then I go back to circling the island. I swim out to deeper waters for a few miles. It's so freeing in the water, like flying. The small waves pass over my back and the sun warms it up again. The sky is blue and open. Out here, this far from the beach, the voices and sounds of human play have given way to the random appearance of seagull calls and waves crashing against me. Each cascade is a new symphony and I turn up to float and allow the music to play on my ears. The surface of the water cradles my back like a gentle bed. After absorbing the peaceful bliss of the ocean for a bit, I decide to return to the isle for a snack. I swim back to the shore.

Swimming near the edge of the island until I find where I had left my things, I see that the sailboat has been docked near the little canoe I rented. There is no one near it and I wonder where the owner has gone. As I creep into the swallow waters, I see the sailboat owner, perched on a blanket in the shade of a tree, with a notebook and a pen. She is wearing a blue bikini top and a blue and green wrap around. Her golden hair is dancing with the breeze, adding lavender to the salty air. Of course it would be Cera. That's how my luck has been lately.

I stay in the water, not wanting to startle her. She is writing furiously and despite the waves and the seagulls I can hear the mad scratching of her pen on paper. She hasn't noticed my approach, and I take the opportunity of that to simply admire this solitary moment of silent passion. Whatever she is writing is consuming her and that consumption pounds in her heart, her brain and is all that she is right now. I catch snippets of her thoughts, but they are so fast and so powerful I've barely grabbed onto one before another knocks it out of the way. I'm also trying to figure out how to get out of the water and reach my towel before she sees me. I'm not modest, but nudity makes the average human uncomfortable and that's the last thing I want to do to her.

Suddenly she stills, her whole being and she looks up at me. "Oh," she smiles and says calmly, "Hello." She closes the notebook and puts the pen into the spiral of the metal binding. "I thought you were never going to come back."

"Hello," I reply, confused by her assertion that she had been waiting for me. "Did we have an appointment?"

"No," she smiled, and reached down to a small cooler by her side. "But I'm beginning to think that may be what a person has to do to get your attention."

Person. She said person. Why wouldn't she say girl? "I'm sorry," I shake my head, "I don't follow."

"Well," she started to unpack the cooler with sandwiches and fruits and bottles of water. "You've been avoiding me, and I thought we were going to be friends, but then you disappear for a week and then you ditch me for a week, so..."

"Ditch you?" I had been avoiding her at work this week. Avoiding her so I could catch the crawler and not be distracted by her perfect smiles or her persistent good smell or the smoothness of her skin. "I didn't ditch you, I've been working."

"Sure," she said it sarcastically but she still smiled and arranged the cooler items on the blanket she was sitting on.

"So you followed me out to a secluded island?" Have I gotten myself a stalker? I can't have a stalker. I am a stalker. What does that mean? Wonder what she's seen?

"No," and she stood up. "I have a life, you know. I decided to take the day to sail and write some poetry." Ah...the fast fleeting cryptic thoughts. "When I pulled my boat up, I saw your bag and realized it was you and thought now was just as good a time as any to confront you about you're complete lack of understanding how friendship works. But you swam way out there...like really way out there...so I just waited."

Her candor is so...whimsically straight forward. And the air of her character, her mannerisms, so light and care free. Not heavy, sullen and with purpose like everyone from my world. As I'm mesmerized recalling everything I had known about her, I realized something. "Wait...you recognized my bag?"

"Sure," and she motioned for me to get out of the water. "I'd recognize that old thing anywhere. Who else do I know carries a worn leather pack like that? Here? I mean, what is that anyway? A saddlebag?"

I looked at my bag. I love that thing. But, then, it's half as old as me so maybe I can see her point. "Um...can you hand me the towel that's in the bag?"

She sat back down in her spot on the blanket. "Get it yourself. It's not cold. It's like over 90 degrees now."

So I stood up and stepped out of the water. As I was walking to my pack, water dripping off my body, she was picking up a sandwich and unwrapped it and was about to reach up to hand it to me when she looked up as I stood there watching her. There was a brief pause of recognition of possibilities as I looked down at her in her sun wear and she stared at me in my no wear. That pause was fleeting and I could feel her in her mind shake it off as she shook the sandwich at me.

"Come on," she said, "Wrap up and take the sandwich."

"What if I don't want the sandwich?" I teased.

"Of course you want the sandwich. You just swam, what, three or four miles. And it's a hot day. And I don't even know what you did before because, apparently, we're not friends so how would I know what it is you do on Sunday mornings? Besides, it's your favorite."

"Favorite?" I took the sandwich. It was tuna. I nod in recognition. "So, you, who are not my friend, just happen to have my favorite sandwich on hand, while you're not stalking me?"

"Not stalking you. And you're not the only one on this planet who likes tuna, see?" And she opened her sandwich up to show it was the same. "I planned to be out all day, so I packed plenty."

"Ok, not friend, not stalker," I sit down next to her now that I have my towel wrapped around me and tucked real good, "How do you know it's my favorite?"

"You eat it every day. I mean, every day when you were there." She took a bite of her sandwich.

So here was this woman, this gorgeous brilliant woman, who I had watched for weeks, admitting that she had been watching me to. Claiming to be my friend and venting about having hurt feelings because I had stopped talking to her. Who had just seen me naked.

But I couldn't get a read any deeper than that from her, so I wasn't quite certain how to proceed. Even the most talented telepaths can't read everyone. And unlike my sense of smell or hearing, it isn't a power that's "switched on" all the time. I was less concerned with my powers right now as I am with determining what to do or say next. I took a few bites of my sandwich. It was pretty good.

"Hey, so this is a good sandwich," I finished the last few bites of it, "Why aren't we friends anymore again?"

"Because you disappeared." She opened a second sandwich for herself. She then tossed a second for me into my lap.

"Oh, that...well I got sick-"

"Yeah, I remember that. Next excuse."

"And then I had some family business to attend to-"

"Sure whatever." A breeze threw a strand of her hair over her face. She moved it out of the way. "Then what? I've seen your jeep at work all week. What pressing catastrophe is going on in the mailroom that you couldn't stop by to say hey or maybe grab lunch or whatever it is you very aloof types do to let your friends know that you're still alive?"

I felt like a total jerk. She was just trying to be my friend. Had she worried about me? I had to bluff something that sounded plausible. "We're trying new routes for efficiency studies. I'm sorry. We've actually been busy. By the way, I don't remember us being such good friends to begin with."

"Oh," she swallowed the last bite of her second sandwich, "Well, this is what you missed while you were gone. After a few more awkward hallway passes and elevator rides, you, the mysterious mailroom girl, eventually succumb to my incredibly positive yet all be it pushy demeanor and we start trading office small talk for actual honest to goodness communication and we both realize that we're the only two people in the whole building who aren't completely stupid and we spent our lunch breaks comparing notes and making fun of the imbeciles around us. I bring you out of your shell some and you are able to stop me from making a complete fool of myself in social situations and wahla! Best friends forever!" Cera is now just peering at me with a goofy smile.

"So that's how it all happened, huh?" I take a drink of my water.

"That's it," she nods, and pulls out two small wrapped items from the cooler. "That's the story behind what could be one the best true friend tales ever written."

"Well that's not very interesting," I remark. She rolls her eyes at me and hands me one of the packages. It's a small homemade brownie. "Oh my...this is chocolate."

"Right," she laughs, "Or, you know, you could disappear and the friendship story we tell our children is how I sailed out to a secluded island with tuna and chocolate to beg you to be my friend because good god the people in this city are morons."

We both laughed and finished our brownies in silence. "My name is Eliza," I say to her after about twenty minutes of letting the breeze blow by, "but most people call me El."

She reached out her hand for a shake, "I'm Cera. Pleasure to finally meet you, El."

I shook her hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Cera. But...I already knew your name."

"Oh," she sat up a little bit, "Who's the stalker now?"

"Well," I shrugged my shoulders, "I do work in the mailroom."

"Yeah, why is that?"

We spent the rest of the day talking, exchanging stories about family and school and jobs. My stories, naturally, were adapted versions of the truth, made to sound contemporary and with less monsters and less creepy. Less creepy is good. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted her. She loved music and poetry and was heavily invested into helping people. She had recently graduated with her degree in nonprofit organization and had been hired to manage the charitable business accounts of the building I worked in. She had no pets, and was the single child of two college professors. She had moved here to take the job, and was still getting used to the weather of the Deep South after growing up in Boston. Her father had moved to Boston after meeting and falling in love with her mother while attending a lecture at Harvard. He had been a teacher at Oxford, and you could hear the hint of English accent in her speech. She was passionate about the things she talked about, about her life, and she was quick to laugh and easy to talk to. I weaved in and out of being a good listener, taking in what she had to offer, and getting distracted by her smell and her skin and wanting to have my hands all over her.

As the sun set, she stood up and dusted sand off of her. "Well," she reached down to grab her cooler, "It's getting dark and I'd better get my sail to the main shore."

I sighed and, while getting up, picked up the blanket and dusted it off. "Yeah, I guess. I hafta return the rental." I motioned to the canoe. "I guess we should call it a night."

"Oooorrrr," she draws out this opposition, "We pack our crafts up and meet at your place for pizza and really, really lame movies. Maybe midnight margaritas and boy talk!" She said this last bit in a mocking, sarcastic tone.

Here is the place where the line is drawn. Being a sunstrider in a human world really isn't all that different from being gay in a straight world. You can walk among them, but there's no telling what would happen if they really knew what you were. A lot of that is changing, thank the goddess, and luckily I get to be around to see it happen. Yet for now, there is a moment where you draw the line and wait to see what they do with it. Do they cross it with you or do they erase it and pretend you never drew it? Or do they simply acknowledge it and go around? I figure I might as well tell her...because it isn't like I'm telling her I'm a blood sucking monster who finds her kind quite tasty. It isn't even like I'm going to tell her that being near her is driving me crazy, because I'm not.

"Maybe not so much with the boy talk," I say, hoping she catches the drift.

"Oh, ok," she says and loads her things onto the boat. "Having man problems are we?"

"Um...no...I never have man problems. I'm gay."

"Oh," and she cocks her head to the side looking at me. She deciding what she's going to do next. "Ok. Great. Then you can tell me all about your girl problems."

"Ok," I say and load my stuff onto the canoe. "Follow me home?"

"Lead the way."

I have done a lot of things in my life. I have killed. I have maimed. I have travelled. I have worked just about every job you can think of. I've lived in houses, apartments, condos, trailers, log cabins, houseboats, shanties...you name it, I've lived it. Good and bad. My covers don't have a pattern, so as to not be able to link one to another. I tell the younger striders, like Ian, that there isn't anything I haven't done in the line of duty. Yet I have never taken a girl home. As I drive back inland from the shore, I'm mentally going through my apartment, trying to remember is there is anything laying out that I may not want Cera to see. Did I put away my gear in all their little hidey holes or are they strewn about the place? I can't remember and the last thing I need is to have a guest over with it out in the open. She'll think I'm a serial killer or something like that.

Then I chuckle to myself...because I am a serial killer or something like that.

I pull up into my spot and direct her to park in the apartment building's guest parking. Walking over to her car, that shiny little red convertible, I can smell the lavender and the sun on her skin. I take a deep breath as I approach, trying to stave off the need to embrace her. "I'm in 4c. Just come up when you've got your stuff gathered. I need to clean up a little bit." She gets out of the car.

"Oh, are you going to tidy just for me?" and she smiles. She grabs a bag out of the back seat. "This is all I really need. Just a quick change of clothes."

I sigh. "Ok, but, really, just give me a few moments, ok?" I knew I had already super cleaned the place up earlier that day. And even if I hadn't, I could care less about whatever mess there was. In general, I'm a pretty clean individual. I've been inside some human dwellings over the years that resemble the animal troughs in the village I grew up, and that was before sanitation was common practice. Yet I want to make sure none of the tools of my trade are out in the open. I can't reveal myself to her. She nods and leans up against the car.

"Ok, ok," she looks at her watch, "You have five minutes. Then it's ready or not, here I come."

Five minutes. Plenty of time. I walk, as casually as I know how, up the outside stairs and into my place. I walk through the open living room/kitchen, my bedroom, bathroom...there's nothing out. No ropes or tech gear or weapons of any kind. Good. This is good. As I walk back to the front door to signal her to come up, I hear her footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Ready?" she asks as she steps onto my floor.

The apartment is ready. I'm not sure if I am. The only mortals that have been here in the last nine months or so are Gruff and the occasional prey. Neither of those visitors stayed very long. And I just got my place back after Hurricane Ian came through. And nothing was ever going to happen with Ian that I could only hope would happen with her. I had not yet decided how much I was going to pursue this new development with Cera. It was clear she wanted friendship, at least, but I didn't know if I could handle a friendship knowing what lay underneath my surface intentions. Gruff was the only real human friend I had ever had; none of the other human Network workers or watchers had gotten to me quite like Gruff. Furthermore, I didn't want a friendship with Cera. I wanted to consume her.

Not like food. Like passion and romance and soft touches in the wee hours of the night and sweet embraces in the early morning. I wanted to smell lavender on my skin because she had put it there by being so close. I wanted much more than friendship, but I dare not to dream to think I could have it. Not with her. Not with a human. Not right now, when there was you and all the things that go bump in the night.

I opened the door and gesture for her to enter first. Cera walks past me and a strand of her hair brushes across me. As she steps into my home, she takes a look around briefly turns around to face me. "No need for a grand tour, then, huh?" she smiles. That smile is as bright as the sun ever was and warms me just as much.

"Yeah, no," I stepped in and closed the door behind me. Here we were. In my apartment. Alone. "I don't need much." I walk a little through the room and point down the small hallway, "Bathroom on the right, if you need it."

"Right then," and she tightens her grip around her bag. "I'm going to wash up real quick, if you don't mind. Get the sand off. Put on some comfy clothes." Or don't. That's what I think. Clothes aren't necessary here, really, it's a clothes free zone. What I say is sure, or something along those lines. I'm not really sure what I said exactly because I got distracted thinking about her with no clothes. Cera is about 5'5", with sun bleached blonde hair and fair skin. She has an athletically slender build and sparkling green eyes with just a hint of freckle around her cheeks. I wondered where else she had freckles.

While she showered, I called and ordered some pizza and bread sticks for delivery. I pulled up some contemporary movies on the on-demand channel. I didn't really have any real alcohol around, because even when I was human I never really cared for the stuff, but I did have some liqueurs that made for syrupy sweet desert shots. I made up a small batch of that, and along with some cold bottled water, set it out on the coffee table in front of the TV. She came out of the bathroom as the doorbell rang, and was towel drying her hair when I went to answer it. Paying for the food, I turned around to put it on the coffee table as well and saw that she had put on a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. Damn, I thought, now there's more clothes. How did we get to more clothes instead of less?

She plopped down on the couch and opened the pizza box. Looking up at me, and through muffled pizza speech she said, "Shower's all your now." She swallowed her food and cleared her throat. "Hope I didn't use all the hot water." I hadn't thought about taking a shower, because I'd had such a good swim, but I guess I could use a rinse to deal with hidden sand.

In Biloxi, there's always sand somewhere.

But I didn't need a hot shower. A cold shower was fine. Helpful, actually, because as I was in the shower I was trying to figure out how I was going to spend the night sitting with her, on the couch, watching movies, without touching her. I had already spent most of the day being on my best behavior, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold out. Then I had a moment of what I considered to be clarity and snapped myself out of it. I kept telling myself, Come on, El! You're a trained killer, a hunter, a creature of the shadows. You've taken out big bad beasties and evil cruel men. You can handle one little blonde girl. I had my resolve set, threw on some PJs, and confidently marched out into the living room, prepared for war with all my defenses. I slammed myself down onto the other end of the couch and picked up the remote.

"Ok, ready?" I said to her, as I could see she had picked a comedy movie and had it loaded, ready to play.

"Oh, yes," she said, firmly but softly. And there went all my defenses. There I was, one of the greatest sunstriders on the globe, world class ranked fighter, a puddle of goo on my own couch.

We watched that movie and two more, laughing and carrying on, sharing a few more brief stories and exchanges while nibbling on pizza and bread and sipping the liqueur. Around two a.m., she stretched out her arms with a yawn, and it caused her t-shirt to reach up also, showing just a little of her hip and side. I gasped a little, but, luckily, she missed it through her yawn.

"Well," she stood up, "I believe I've worn out my welcome." She tapped her watch.

"Oh, no, you haven't," I manage to get out. "I don't usually go to bed 'til around now anyway."

"Oh, surely not!" she said. "You're just being a gracious hostess."

"No, really...I...don't sleep much."

The expression on her face changed from jovial to pensive as she realized I was serious and that gave her cause for concern. "Really? Why? Are you ok?" And she sat back down for a moment, resting her arm on my shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, and stood up to avoid further physical contact, "I just don't need that much sleep. Haven't for a long time."

"Are you sure?" she looked at me, sizing me up, "Because we do both have to work in the morning."

I laughed. "I'm fine. At least let me walk you to your car. It is 2am and this isn't the best part of town."

"Alright, then," and she stood up again, grabbing her bag. We walked down the metal stairs to the parking lot, where her little red MGB sat, lonely, waiting for her. She threw the bag in the back seat and turned back around to me. "Thank you for such a nice day."

"Oh, yeah," I shrugged. "Anytime."

"You see? I was right." Cera grinned with triumph.

"About what?" I wasn't sure what she was referring to but I wanted to make sure.

"We are going to be the best of friends," and she came toward me for a hug. I hugged her back, so happy to feel the warmth of her body against mine. I didn't want to let go, but I knew it would be weird for her if I held on for too long. As I released her, something came over me, like a breaking dam, where my body just could not hold its desires at bay any longer. Some electrical flood that overwhelmed my inhibitions and I could not control it. So as the hug ended, the kiss began. She didn't reject it, but instead fell into it.

I've only had a kiss like that once before in my life and didn't realize I had missed it until this moment. Our lips entwined for another second and then she let go. Her eyes searched mine, but I didn't know what they were looking for. Then I said something, something odd and out of place. I said, "Nevermind."

"Ok, then," she said cheerfully, as had been her tone all night. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nodded, because I didn't know what else to do, and when she got into the car and began to drive out of the parking lot, I waved. She waved back and then she was gone.

Entry 9

After she left last night, I stood adrift in the parking lot for several minutes. My brain was trying to process what had just happened but my heart wanted to wallow in the moment of it. When I got back into my apartment, I was exhausted from the day. Between the swimming and keeping my emotions on hold, I collapsed onto my bed and fell into a deep slumber.

When I woke up this morning, my brain, however, was quite alert and screaming inside my head with all the logic it could muster. By the time I reached the office building, the impending doom of the day was a knot in my stomach. Surely Cera hadn't wanted me to kiss her; she had reached out for a friend. I wasn't sure if I should avoid her or if she would be avoiding me, but the feeling of awkwardness crept upon me with each step I took closer to being inside the building. By the time I made it to the mail room, it was all out impending doom for me.

I sorted and loaded my cart for the first building. I knew I was at least safe here, because Cera worked in the second building, and dedicated myself to focusing on the task. At least the first quarter of my day would be stress free, and my heart and head could use the break. So I ran my usual routine and finished in usual time, heading back to the mail room. As I sorted and loaded for the second building, however, the knot in my gut returned with a vengeance. I took a deep sigh, gripped the handle of the cart, and started toward the second building.

Upon entrance, everything seemed normal. All the little office workers were in their cubicles, softly chatting or tapping away at keyboards. There was the occasional phone ring or worker getting up to head to the coffee room. As I cleared the floor, I could feel my anxiety take over and went to the bathroom to try to regain composure. I splashed cold water on my face, and a few women came in and then left by the time I felt I could exit. Part of me was in disbelief that I could be so wrecked by the possibility of a negative encounter with her. I mean, really? I'm a sunstrider. I'm a monster and a hero at the same time. This is just a girl.

But Cera isn't just a girl. She isn't just some woman I can treat like a conquest, getting what I need and then abandoning her. And she isn't some evil creature that I would hunt down and leave for scraps. My nervousness made me realize that Cera actually and truly meant something to me, and that I needed to make a decision and soon. I either continued on with her, whatever that meant, or I discarded her. I had just about decided it would be better for everyone involved if I tossed her aside. Outside of my mind. Outside of my life. For both of our own good. Then I turned the corner with my cart, and she was heading toward me with her coffee cup in hand.

She waved, and I delivered mail to a few cubes, feigning being busy. As I got closer, she veered in her stride to head straight for me. "Hey," she greeted me, "You make it to work on time?"

This inquiry was confusing to me. "Yes. Why?"

"Oh," she shrugged, "I just wondered since we were up so late last night." She made a few small other remarks about some of the movies we had watched. "Well, gotta grab some coffee. I made it here on time, but still dragging some. We on for lunch?"

What?! Are we on for lunch? Was she kidding me? "Sure," I said without an ounce of confidence.

"K," she beamed a smile at me, "See you then." Then she walked to the break room, mug in hand. This was the extent of our exchange. I moved my cart along, delivering the envelopes and memos, shaking my head. So, I thought, she's not going to even acknowledge the kiss we shared last night. Great. Now the choice is up to me, what happens next, and I still am not any clearer on what I should do than I was before I got here this morning. If she's going to act like nothing happened, then that means she didn't want anything to happen to begin with, and really did just want to be friends with me. So, ok, we can be friends. Yet in light of the epiphany that I wanted more from her than a friend or a fling, I wondered if I could be friends with her. Could I continue to hang out with Cera, to develop a real friendship with her, without constantly wanting to touch and kiss and hold her?

I contemplated the pros and cons as I finished up that building, put my cart in the mail room, and grabbed my sack lunch. Heading out into the courtyard, the day was already bright and hot. I found one of the benches that is shaded by a large tree unoccupied, and sat down with my tuna and crackers. As I pulled out a water from the sack, I saw Cera exit the door from Building 2 and look around. I waved, because I believed she would have wanted me to wave her over, revealing my location. She nodded in recognition and headed my way. The hem of her flowy black skirt licked her ankles with each step and there was a slight breeze that made the top of the skirt cling around her hips. She plopped down on the bench beside me and pulled a cheese sandwich out of her bag. As she consumed the sandwich, she prattled on about the first part of her work day, with hectic production demands and interesting exchanges with coworkers. I ate my lunch in mostly silence, captivated by her vivacity and listening for any clues as to what I should do next. Just as my nerves began to calm, to be soothed by her very presence, and as I was settling into being comfortable again, I smelled something unusual.

I looked around as nonchalantly as I could, trying to determine the cause of the smell. It wasn't something I was familiar with, and was definitely out of place. It wasn't the lavender and sun heated skin of Cera; it wasn't the various perfumes and colognes of people passing by in the courtyard. It wasn't the smell of evil, but it wasn't garden fresh either.

"Hey you," her voice grabbed my attention, "Are you here right now?"

"Um...I'm sorry, what?" I turned back to her.

"Oh, goodie," she pushed my shoulder a little bit, "We're back to the 'ums' already, are we?"

"What?"

"We had a whole day of actually communicating, and now we're back at work, and your vocabulary becomes monosyllabic again. What gives?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I staggered for an excuse for my lack of attentiveness.

"Where'd you go?"

"I've had a busy morning, too," I respond, hoping that fits the bill.

"Well," she pauses as if she trying to decide if she's going to accept that answer or not, "We've got to get you out of that mail room. I think its brainwashing you."

"Maybe," I smiled and took a sip from my water bottle. "Or maybe I'm just more tired than I thought."

"Maybe." She shrugged her shoulders and continued to talk about work and coworkers. As we lunched, she would get random text messages, which she would read and quickly answer. Every now and then, there would be a small grin as she did this. I didn't know who the messages were from and I didn't care. I just kept hearing two words in my head: actually communicating. Those were her words. Was she talking about the kiss? Or was she just talking about the actual talk? Was this her way to hinting she's ok with what happened or stating that she is going to ignore what happened? How was I supposed to know? I pondered these things while trying to still listen to her. I didn't want to have another spacey moment in front of her, to appear to be a complete basket case, but she was completely inside my head now, a puzzle for me to put together to get the clear picture.

Lunch finished without anymore interruptions and we went back to work. I finished the deliveries for Building 3 and Building 4 in a normal pattern, yet still sorting out what to do about Cera. Do I continue, as she obviously was, to pretend the kiss never happened or do I risk pushing her away by bringing it up? I knew I couldn't wrestle this issue to death in my head without any other indications from her as to what she wanted, and in the end all I really wanted to do was give her what she wanted. I put my cart away and helped clean the mail room for tomorrow. Then it was time to leave.

I grabbed my backpack, and slinging it over my shoulder, headed for the parking garage. It was such a nice day, I thought a drive might clear my head. And maybe I could grab a quick feed, which always helped me sort my thoughts. I wasn't really going on a hunt, but if I got lucky then I got lucky. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and headed to my jeep to find a little red convertible parked next to it with her sitting on the trunk.

"So what are you doing tonight?" The question was innocent enough, no hint of innuendo.

"Don't know," I answered honestly, throwing my bag in the back. "Thought I'd just drive around, enjoy the sunshine."

"Yeah? Good day for it. Not too humid today."

"Nope. You?"

"I have plans. Maybe I could stop by on my way home?"

Oh shit. Now she wanted to "stop by" my place after she did whatever with whoever. In my experience, I was the one who just "stopped by" after living my real life. I was the one who went to other women's apartments or houses and left in the middle of the night. I was the one who made plans these other women couldn't be invited to and who mysteriously came by on my way home. Then I realized that I never spent the night; I "came by" to have a round or to tell the woman it was over, that I didn't want a commitment, that I was moving on. Now I was on the other end, and I didn't know which end it would be. Get a grip, El, I thought, you don't know what she wants to stop by for. "Sure," I answered. "I should be home."

"Good," she nodded, getting off of the trunk and getting into her car. For a brief moment, I detected that familiar yet strange smell again. "See ya." She pulled out of the garage. Watching the little topless car drive off, I forgot about the smell as it was replaced by drifting lavender. I got into my jeep and left, too, heading into the city to see what I could get into.

I drove around the city casually, taking mental note of this scene and that scene, scoping for what might be a meal. I wasn't really looking, more that I was trying to look, to escape this mental torture of thinking of her and what she might do or say next. I thought about doing a drive by check on you, and that's when I remembered how I had found you the other night, the night we had finally found the crawler. Deciding a quick check on you was a good plan of action, I turned the jeep around and headed toward your house. After driving for another ten minutes, I came through the same intersection as I had the other night, where I could peer into your living room. Your car was in the driveway, but I couldn't see you anywhere. I couldn't hear you either, so I decided that you weren't home after all. Where would you be without your car? I pulled the jeep over to the curb and turned off the engine. I listened again, and heard soft snores etching their way out of the seams of your home. Just sleeping. That's good. It wasn't like you to go to sleep this early in the evening, but sleeping is better than being as distraught as you were the other night, so I decide to let it go. After all, what am I going to do about it anyway? Leaving you alone was keeping you safer than interfering ever would.

I drive around for about another hour or so, soaking in the slow setting sun. I go through the drive thru at the Sonic and get a chocolate shake before heading home. Worrying about you has taken my mind off of Cera, and I am thankful for that. Finishing the shake as I pull up to the apartment makes me realize how hungry I really am, so I decide to gather some gear and go hunting for real. As I climb the stairs, that same smell that has been haunting me today returns to the air. Reaching the landing, I pause before entering my place to see if I can put a finger on the scent. I still can't, and not knowing what it is or where it comes from is often worse than knowing. Seems to be the theme for the day.

I pack a usual set of trinkets and snacks into my bag. I change into my hunting clothes, out of the ordinary white t-shirt and jeans for the day and into my stark black night shirt and cargos. I open the door to the side balcony, and the scent explodes into my apartment. It isn't something completely foreign to me, but I cannot manage to narrow down where I have smelled it before. I walk out onto the balcony, closing the door behind me. I stay very still, listening for a source. Hearing nothing but the normal sounds of the city, I leap down into the grove of trees that sits beside my apartment building and begin my hunt for the night.

Nothing. There is absolutely nothing out tonight. No creatures. No monsters. No evil men lying in wait of their next prey. Make no mistake, there is always evil around, but it appears that on this night it has been declared a sick day for darkness, a holiday for the horror bound.

Which is just great for me. I'm not so depleted that I'll starve or even have the beginnings of weakness yet from not feeding, but I don't like being delayed. I had finally felt like I was able to return to my routine, at least some embodiment of it, and now the city seems to be on a drought of wrong doers, something I had never really seen before. It was like by taking out that one aggressive crawler we had leeched all the bad out of the city. It was unprecedented and disconcerting. Also, ever notice how you're never really hungry 'til you suddenly realize the fridge is empty?

After a few hours, I gave up my search and began to make my way back to my apartment. The strange odor returned, and got stronger the closer I got to home. This, also, is disconcerting. By the time I crept up onto the parking lot of my building, the smell had grown strong enough to make me a little nauseous. The only car sitting in the lot was my jeep, which was also unusual for this time of night on a Monday. Then I smelled something else, this smell all too familiar and easily recognized. The smell of blood. And a lot of it. The blood of innocents in mass volume surrounding my home. When I reached the edge of the building, I could tell the source of the smell was inside, but it wasn't pointing to any one apartment. It radiated from the entire building, as if the smell of fresh blood were a sweat and the building itself had just run a marathon. I put my foot on the first step of the stairs up to my place, and that's when I heard them.

Landing. The sound of feet making contact with the earth after flight. As I heard them I froze, not making a single movement, and counting. Two, four, six...forty feet landed before the sound was over. It was merely a second, but I knew there were twenty somethings behind me, ready to pounce. I turned around slowly, finding over a dozen crawlers in a semi circle in the parking lot, baring their fangs and claws, closing in the circle. Oh, yeah, I thought, this is what I've been looking for, a good fight.

But there was no fight at all. There were twenty of them, which ordinarily is not a problem. I've taken on three dozen nightcrawlers before without a hitch. But these crawlers were stronger, faster, and they weren't really fighting. They weren't trying to attack me, to break me. They seemed to be trying to wrangle me, and by the time I had exhausted myself dodging some of their attacks and attempting to land my own, that is exactly what had happened. I had two crawlers attached to each limb, with one wrapped around my waist and the other looking at me. He looked as if he might be their leader. He was tall and lanky, and seemed to be out of breath but his eyes held steady. I was sure he was going to order them to quarter me, so sure I was counting on it, because as soon as the crawlers began to pull on my limbs I could rebound them onto each other and escape. With them against the wall, I would then have the advantage and be able to wipe them out. Then there was the sound of a shot, and then there was no sound or lights or shadows at all.

I woke up to a darkened room, bound to a steel chair by linked chain. The chair was bolted to the concrete floor. These were not binds that could keep me, but before I escaped I needed to see what had captured me. What monster or monsters had dared to come into my home turf and take possession of me. I could have broken the chains and left this room, but I had no idea what I would be walking into. I did not doubt or fear that I would triumph in this situation, but they had been able to get this far, so I didn't want to make it more complicated for myself. I needed more information to make a plan. I listened to see what I could learn.

I heard a few drips in one corner of the room. The concrete block wall in front of me, from what I could tell, was bare. No furniture, no paintings, no door. There were two small windows at the top of one wall, with a small section of wall separating them from each other. The rays of the sun came down in perfectly straight lines, striking the floor on the opposite wall. Morning. It was morning already. So I was in a drippy basement somewhere, chained to a chair that was bolted to the floor with nothing else in the room. Wow, I thought, how cliché. These guys didn't even have any imagination. All I had to do now was wait.

I have trained to hone my skills over the years, and have had specific training on how to wait. Patience is not something I come by naturally, and waiting was an especially difficult skill for me to master. Yet I did, and have waited out many a prey. I have never really been the prey before though, and I wonder what a group of crawlers was doing in my city, as a group anyway, and what exactly did they want with me. Nightcrawlers don't feed on other crawlers, and they certainly don't feed on sunstriders, so to be hunted like this is full of mystery and intrigue. Crawlers have never been known to band together, that's one issue. Eating a sunstrider is like a shark eating a tiger: two predators on different turfs don't really go after each other. Sure, we striders hunt the crawlers, but not for sustenance. So that's the second issue. And there were twenty crawlers, all accounted for, when another hidden one shot me with who knows what. The sun coming in from the window had told me it was morning, but I had no clue as to which morning it was, meaning I did not know how long I had been out. I had these questions and was more than willing to wait out the answers.

As I pondered these inquiries, a small hatch opened from the ceiling. A small bucket was lowered down from wire through the hatch, and although I attempted to peer into the hole to see who was lowering the bucket, a bright light preventing me from doing so. The bucket landed gently onto my lap, and inside was a surprise. It was about a pint of blood, still warm, with a straw sticking out of the tiny bucket. It was almost laughable. As the scent of the blood intruded my nostrils, I felt the well of saliva build up in the back of my mouth and throat. This blood could be poisoned for all I knew, and it wasn't really a good strategy on my capture's behalf to feed me. But I drank the blood anyway, hoping to survive and make my captor's mistake my advantage.

Once the blood was gone, the bucket was lifted out of my lap, back into the hatch, and the opening was slammed shut. There were a few footsteps after that, but no other sounds. I was once again alone in a cold, drippy blank room with myself and my questions. This would not do.

After allowing the blood to revitalize me, I waited again. A few hours went by, 'til the rays on the floor shrank across the room and made more of a forty five degree angle, striking the middle of the floor, almost directly on me. It was then that I realized they would wait, these cowards, until they could be safe from the sun to enter this room. I lifted my face to absorb the sun's heat and let the light energize me as well. All I had to do was wait until nightfall and my answers would come to me.

But I was wrong and didn't have to wait much longer. Within just a few minutes, I heard a door opening behind me, a squeaky metal door, and footsteps inside. The smell that had bothered me before returned and I could hear the breathing of the monster causing the smell. The footsteps neared me, and then walked past me slowly, (creeping around the sunlight no doubt), and then stood in front of me. It was the lead crawler, the one that had stared at me so during the attack, staring at me with his own set of questions and deciding if he was going to ask them or not. We stared at each other in a stalemate, neither one of conceding to be the first to speak. I heard a few footsteps outside the open door and his eyes darted quickly up to them. Then he looked back at me and opened his mouth.

"Master says he will be here soon," the crawler said this with annoyance, as if he were giving me an update. Like the frustrated parent on a road trip. Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

I said nothing.

I just kept eye contact with him and clenched my jaw. He rolled his eyes at me and slowly began to walk to the back of the room. "Is that all?" I asked, hoping to get his attention and maybe goad some more information out of him.

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't turn around, "He wants you alive."

The door slammed shut behind him with a loud clank and then sound disappeared again. Whoever had me had gone to great lengths to soundproof this room, which made me wonder where the drip came from. I spent the next few hours watching the sun shrink more across the floor. There was only a thin stripe beaming across the room when my next visitor came.

This visitor didn't slink in lazily like the last, he strolled in. I could hear the confidence in his stride, strong and steady, like a clock ticking. Not hurried or rushed, but not sluggish either. The smell I had been trying to place was thick on him, and as he put his hands around my shoulders and the back rungs of the metal chair, I almost chocked on it. Before he said a word, he squeezed his hands tighter and lifted us, me and the chair, out of the bolted constraints. He turned us around to face the door and set us back down on the floor. He dusted his hands off (job well done!) and stood back a few feet, avoiding the single ray of sunlight. He cocked his head slightly and looked at me for a moment. His look wasn't full of questions, like my earlier visitor, his look was like an examination.

He was tall, around 6'4", with a medium athletic build. He wasn't lanky or hulky, but his muscles were defined enough I could see their outlines through his jacket. He wore a grey turtleneck and a knee length black coat. The coat had no belt or buckles or buttons, but instead only two hand pockets, and was made out of a synthetic fabric. His pants were black cargos, similar to the ones I wore, but his shoes were Italian leather. His hair was black and slicked back, but his skin was fair and his eyes were light blue. He looked to be around 40, with a slight trace of salt in his pepper, and I could see age lines around his mouth and eyes when he lit a cigar he had pulled from an inside coat pocket.

"So," he inhaled from the cigar and then puffed out the smoke, "You're David's little bitch, then?"

I bit the inside of my cheek a little and spat the blood onto to him. It landed in the center of his shirt, some on this jacket, but mostly on the cigar. He looked at it, raised one eyebrow, and then put the cigar out on my knee. Despite being able to heal, and rapidly, shit still hurts. A lot. I grimaced at the momentary pain as he tossed the butt aside.

"Yup," he said, having confirmed his suspicions. "The great warrior, Eliza. The once and future Queen, as it were." He laughed to himself about this statement. I wondered how he knew my name.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked, not expecting a truthful answer.

"Well," he said, and pointed up to the ceiling, "You've met my men. They've done their homework. And after all, El, is it? You are a legend."

"You call those men? Maybe once. Now there just crawlers. Fodder under my boot."

"Oh yes, my dear," he patronized while pulling out another cigar, "Because you are in such a position to give threats. My men were in, have been in, your town for so long, watching, waiting, and you didn't even know they were there. 'Til recently."

"Til now. And I will get them all."

He laughed loud and big, like I had told the best joke at the bar. "You can't. There's too many of us. And you're only alive right now, because I need you."

"Really? Need me?" Who knows where this was going.

"Yes," he smiled, taking another puff off his cigar. "To deliver a message. But first, you're going to lay off of my men. Leave them alone."

"Never."

"That's what I thought you'd say. So I'm going to tell you the message, then you'll realize it's for your own good anyway...and isn't that what you striders strive for...your own good?" He blew smoke into my face.

"The good for everyone." I held my expression steadfast, my conviction in my eyes.

"David's good!" he seemed unsettled for the first time. He obviously realized he had allowed me to push a button, so he straightened himself and pulled on the edges of his coat. He had revealed valuable pieces of information, that not only did he know of me, but he knew of David, perhaps knew David, and the thought of David enraged him. This was his weak spot, where the pool of his anger and anguish would be, and I was going to dive right in.

"Oh, I see," and I laughed, "Are we holding a grudge for something that happened a millennia ago or something?" I was trying to play it off like he was being petty. Bad guys with an agenda, an organized agenda, hate it when you trivialize their intentions. I continued with a mock voice, "David's so powerful and wise and he gets to walk in the light and it's just not fair!"

"It isn't fair," the man said, "But not what you think, poor Eliza. And I'm not jealous of David..." he paused and stepped slowly toward me. His dramatic effect would be thwarted when he had to dodge the sun, or he would forget in his rage and I would get to watch him get scorched. There wasn't enough sunlight in the room now to kill him, but I eagerly anticipated watching him get burned for just a moment. But he didn't dodge the light and it didn't scorch him. In fact, as he reached it, and was sprinkled with it, he stopped coming toward me and stood stark in it. "I'm going to kill him."

I stood there blinking, unsure of what I was seeing or what to do. I knew no matter what it was, I needed my hands free, so as I untied the wire they had been bound with, I looked up, facing the nozzle of his gun, at the end of his hand, while his finger pulled the trigger.

As I slipped out of consciousness, I remember thinking, Really? Again?

Entry 10

The blue of the morning sky was growing a green sheen, then turning to a lighter white. Not a bright white, like one would expect when dying, but a softer faded white. The smoke from the explosion had tinted the clouds with an emerald glow and it almost made me forget that I couldn't breathe. That I wasn't breathing.

I could hear sounds, calls out to me, screams for me but I couldn't respond. I heard dogs barking. David was standing over me, looking particularly frustrated. I think he put his foot on my chest, because it felt especially heavy and solid. The ground was etching up on the edges of my body, as if I were sinking into the depths of the earth. He must have known I was sinking, because he put his hand under my head and raised it up a little. He was talking to me but it seemed like he was speaking another language. I couldn't understand what he was saying, and then he began to whisper. Then he was just moving his mouth. And then...he stopped moving or speaking or anything at all except just staring at me as this soft light was engulfing his face.

I was dying, but I didn't know it at the time. Now that I know I will never die, that I will never know what happens after that sinking, soundless lighted void, I am convinced I never wanted to know what the void was to begin with. But I didn't know that at the time either.

All I knew in that moment, that moment of realization that I was dying, that I had no more breathe left to take, none to give, was that Merissa was already dead and that I could see the essence of her floating around in the sky above me. That whatever had happened or was going to happen was already done, and that it did not matter if I was dead anymore.

Then a horrible miracle happened. Just as I could feel the essence of me being pulled out of the dirt, straight through my chest, the very center of my being, David leaned over me. I expected some random consoling words from this stranger, this man who had come to my rescue not once but twice now, some words that meant something to him, for him, but nothing to me. I expected him to cry or shout or just walk away. And somehow, I expected to know what he would do after I was dead. I didn't know whether I would see it or hear it or feel it or experience it in some unusual fashion known only to spirits, but I was confident I would know what he did after I was gone. I was wrong. Instead of these expected condolences, he opened his mouth, bore these pristine fangs, and sunk them into my neck.

The essence of me, my soul, my mojo, my lifeblood, was then torn violently from the direction it was heading, wherever that was, and gave itself over to him. It felt like that was a direct path, a tie, from my heart to him. At first it was painful. It was a pain I had never even imagined existing. More painful than being raped. More painful than childbirth. Like my insides, my guts, my veins, even my bones were being turned inside out.

The light was gone. The green glow dissipated from the sky. There were no more shouts or screams. No barking dogs. No explosions. There were no animal noises in the woods. No rustling wind. There was darkness and silence and time. Everything that had happened in my life up to this point where I died had been about time. Bustling, noisy time at the inn. Quiet, warm time in lavender fields with Merissa. Slow to start hurry to finish playful joyful time with Ethan. To describe that absolute stillness of time in the moment I was turned is like attempting to describe that moment before the big bang. That moment when the universe was nothing, and then was suddenly not just something, but a lot of something, of everything. My heart, which did not exist in that moment, the moment that I was dead, suddenly burst to life. There was light and music and talking and dancing and doing and all the things that make life livable, but all contained inside myself. It was fast and slow at the same instance. It was quiet and loud together. It was pain and joy and love and hate and exhaustion and sleep.

"Come on, girl," his voice rang out and interrupted this universal moment, "We have to go, we have to go now."

He took my hand and pulled me up and we ran. We ran through the woods, out of the village, almost out of the valley where my village had been nestled. We came across a small cabin, almost buried in the crook of the land, and he led me into the dwelling. I didn't understand what had happened to me, why I was alive, or where I was. When we sat down at a small table and rested, my mind stilled enough to come home and whispered to me. _Merissa_.

I bolted up to go find her, and he stopped me. I had to save her. I had to stop them. I had to bring her back to safety. He stopped me. I fought him. I kicked and hit and screamed and pounded my fists against his chest. I begged him to let me go. That whatever miracle had brought me back from the brink of death could be done for her, that I could do it, that he could show me how. He refused. He said it wasn't possible, that she was gone. That I needed to calm down. And when I tried to wrap my mind around this, when my mind stilled and quieted down again, I heard it again.

_Merissa_.

So he spent the rest of the day fighting me. Or rather I spent the rest of the day trying to fight him. He just stood by the door of the cabin, not allowing safe passage, while I threw things at him and berated him and hit him and kicked him. He stood, like an oak, to my acorn of attempts to get to her. As the sun set, I grew weary and sat down for a moment.

I slept for ten years.

Well, it certainly felt like ten years. It was really only a few hours. In those few hours my mind dreamt of Ethan and Papa, Mama and my brothers, the inn, the village but mostly of her. Merissa, Merissa, Merissa. Of lavender fields with books full of fantasy. Of herbs and plants and the power they contained. Of the warmth of her smile and her skin. Of being so tired and sore from gathering supplies and making medicines you couldn't think of anything except sleep until she lay down beside me. Of feeling her touches over my body as it clung to hers. Of waking up to birds chirping outside the window while having her wrapped around me. Of waking up...waking...

Yet as hungry as I was when I woke up, it could have been ten years. In my 25 mortal years, I don't ever remember being this hungry. Of course, at the time I thought I was still mortal. When I asked him if he had any food he laughed. He walked over to a small dusty cupboard and pulled out a small wrapped piece of bread. I think I ate it in one bite. I looked at him through the fog of dissipating dreams. He gave me a few moments to get oriented, and then asked me how I felt.

"How do I feel?" I looked at him, still a little dazed, "Famished. Is there more bread?"

"There is," he said, walking over to the door. As he opened it, "Out there." I was so shocked, after such resistance, that he was just opening the door and going to let me go. That I was not a prisoner after all, that I was free. I stepped out into the night, and there was nothing. Yet there was everything. Animals and birds and trees and stars.

"How far away is the village?" I asked.

"Far enough," he said simply. Then I heard a crunching sound. And a beating sound. A drum like sound that was familiar but I didn't quite recognize it. I turned around slowly and saw it. A doe, forging, about one hundred feet away. It was odd how I could hear her as if she were feeding right next to me. Then my fog completely lifted, as it dawned on me that the drum like sound I heard was her heartbeat. Not only could I hear it, but it called to me. A hypnotic melody, like a siren song, drifting over my soul and beckoning me to hit rocky shores. I was very acutely aware that not only was my stomach empty, but so was my throat and my mind and my soul. Something told me only she could restore it. I knew not what that something was, but I went to her anyway. She did not shy away from me. She stared blankly into the meadow as I approached. Before either of us knew what was happening, my fangs had elongated, as well as my claws, and I had hunched down for the pounce, the kill. I sank my teeth into her and drank.

I drank like a Viking does at victory party. With vigor. With joy. And I drank like a man who has wandered the desert, with desperation. David came up behind me, placing his hand on my shoulder as I feasted, and it startled me so that I reared back at him and snarled. This was mine. She was mine. He couldn't have her.

"That's enough," he said, and crouched down beside me. My eyes never lost contact with his as he gently pulled her out of my arms and laid her down. As the last drops of her blood were being absorbed by my own, I snapped out of the trance I was in and realized what had happened. What I had done? He must have seen the fear in my eyes, for he wrapped his arms around me and led me back to the cabin. Once inside, I sat down, shaking.

"What have you done to me?!" I finally burst out after moments of stirring in my own shock.

He stared at me for a long time. He said nothing. I instinctively grabbed a blanket from off the small bed to wrap myself in, and quickly found that I wasn't so much cold as I was shaken. Actually, I was quite warm, which was unusual because I was still in my thin nightgown from the other night. Thin enough to be comfortable while inside a large luxurious bed covered in furs. Not thick enough to be comfortable in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with no fire going.

"I'm going to speak now," he said, "and you're going to listen. And when I'm done speaking, you can talk again. You can ask questions. But what you are not going to do is doubt, do you understand?"

I didn't but I nodded anyway.

That's when David finally "formally" introduced himself. Just as David. A vampire. Yes, they exist. No, they're not as scary as we think. At least not him. And he spun this fantastical tale of his life, his world, how vampires are, who they are, the difference between the sunstriders and the nightcrawlers. It was like having one of my favorite books read aloud to me, just as I had done for Ethan. It was an unbelievable tale of fiction, full of monsters and heroes and everything else that makes a good bedtime story. If I had not been so terrified of him, I probably would have laughed. And when he paused in his speech, in those pauses I heard one thing.

_Merissa_.

I tried to shake off the thought of her to focus on what he was saying. But how could such creatures even exist? I had questioned myself and him. He had laughed at me, saying "You yourself have just become one of these creatures, did the doe not convince you of that truth?"

She had, but it was still unbelievable. "No, I mean..." I fumbled to find my words, "How did it come to be?" So he told me how it came to be, at least the myth that sunstriders keep to. The legend that has been passed down for centuries, by word of mouth, never written down for record, from one sunstrider to the next as they are being made. I would be remiss, then, to not include it in this account of my life to you, even though you will never be a sunstrider.

Or a nightcrawler.

Or any other type of monster that roams this earth.

(And for the record, nightcrawlers do not concern themselves with the mythology, at least not that I'm aware of.)

So...long ago in ancient times (some kind of bedtime story, huh?), there were two young men, two brothers. The brothers had been sent by their father to travel to a nearby city to barter and trade for goods and supplies. The father had given them several pieces of gold each, and told to journey together and help each other for a safe return home.

Now, during this journey, across a hot desert landscape, the oldest brother thought only of fulfilling his father's wish. He thought only of obtaining the required goods and returning home safely with them and his brother in tow. The younger brother, however, thought nothing of his father's wishes and only of the combined amount of gold between the two of them. The older brother, who was more slender than his sibling, even slower and not as strong as his sibling, still maintained to look after him and feel responsible for him. The younger brother, who was not very responsible, had always resented the eldest for making him feel inadequate even though he was the stronger and faster of the two of them. The older brother knew his brother was better than him at many things, but the younger brother always made poor choices. The younger brother perceived their father to prefer the company of the older brother, not because of his own poor choices but on age alone. The younger brother did not understand how his father could love him less when he clearly had advantages over his brother. So while on this trip, the eldest focused on the task while the youngest plotted how to obtain both sets of gold pieces and leave the family forever.

The brothers came to an impasse in the land, a narrow passageway between steep, rocky mountain sides. The eldest turned to the younger and instructed him to proceed after him, carefully, slowly and quietly. The eldest knew there was a possibility of rockslide, and he did not want either of them to be injured. The younger took offense to his brother's warning, claiming the eldest only wanted to go first to create a rockslide and escape with his own portion of gold. To prove him wrong, the eldest allowed his sibling to go first, but warned him of the dangers.

The youngest brother passed through the treacherous terrain very carefully, with his older brother following behind. Silently they hiked through the passageway, climbing and walking through the rock plated mountainsides. Despite their diligence, as they approached the halfway point on the path, a rockslide did happen. The brothers saw the rocks falling, and each ran in the opposite direction of the other. Both brothers ended up with their legs trapped under a heavy pile of rubble and debris. Neither could escape themselves nor help each other out.

The eldest brother called out for his sibling, to check to see if he was alive. The youngest brother attempted to see if he had lost his portion of gold.

A demon appeared to them both. He offered both brothers the same deal. "I can free you," he told each of them. "For a price."

The price the demon offered was a life for a life. He told each of the brothers separately that he can free one while the other dies, or they can both live but the one who makes the deal must pay with a life of servitude to the demon. The younger brother, while trapped and broken and in pain, took a few moments to decide. "Kill my brother, let me live," he said, "He is frail and weak and would not survive this world much longer anyway. I am virile and strong and far too young to die now or live the rest of my life as your slave." The eldest brother took no time at all to decide. He told the demon, "I will pay your price. I will serve you to eternity if my brother may live. I will do whatever you ask of me so that he may be free."

The demon agreed to both brothers, and they were both set free. Neither brother knew of the deal made on the other side of the avalanche. As the younger brother was released from the rocks, he took his gold and attempted to run out of the gorge. But the demon, being a demon, ensnared him in another rockslide, with no brother now to bargain with. Once again, the younger brother was faced with death or a life of servitude. He agreed to be the demon's slave and was immediately transformed into a grotesque beast, with fangs and claws. The sun burned him where it touched his scaly skin, and he was forced to cower in the shadows.

The eldest brother, upon being freed from the rocks, dropped his gold and reported to the demon for duties. As the demon was weaving his magic upon him, to transform him into the same creature as his brother, a bright light appeared between them. The light, an entity in and of itself, spoke to the brother.

"I cannot undo this that you have done," it said to the brother, "But I can pour the mercy of God unto you, that your selflessness bear you some comfort. You will live forever knowing what you have done, who you have bargained with, but you will be able to rest and take strength in what is left of your humanity." As the light disappeared and the transformation continued, the eldest brother did not shriek in the sunlight. He stood.

The demon disappeared. The brothers never saw each other again.

That's the legend. It was all too fairy tale and fable when I heard it the first time. Now it just sounds corny. But it is what it is and it has fueled David and others like him for millennia. David believes, because he is a descendant of the original eldest brother, a sunstrider, that one day his noble actions will redeem his soul. He believes that nightcrawlers are not redeemable, not worthy of redemption, that it is not a possible feat. He believes that there will be an end day, and that his maker will pardon him for his actions.

I don't know if I believe that. Mama always believed in God and the Saints. Merissa believed in the natural order of things. The indigenous peoples of the New World believe in a mother earth and balance. There I was, being told I had been turned into an immortal monster of folklore, and that I had eternity to save my soul.

From something I didn't do and didn't ask for.

Yet despite my continued disbelief, David took me under his wing. For the next fifty years or so, I stayed by his side. We traveled from town to town, settlement to settlement, staying sometimes only a few days, sometimes a few years. If David thought there was something of value for me to learn, we stayed until I learned it and then we moved on. Those first few towns were a struggle, as every single person that passed by me tempted my pallet, and the sounds of their beating hearts overwhelmed me with thirst. I knew, now, how easy it would have been to have my pick. To pluck one lonely sheep out of the masses, but David kept control over me. Over those first years he taught me how to hunt, how to differentiate between the blood of innocence and evil, between the two smells. He taught me how to choose to feed on the evil, how it sustains equally to that of the innocent, and how to fight against the flood of badness that invaded your brain during a draining. Every now and then, when I would get out of control and take an innocent, David would punish me heavily for it, usually with a bullwhip. As I grew, the faster I healed the harder he would hit until I had the craving for the sweet blood completely under control and the smell of innocents didn't even phase me.

David taught me how to fight, hand to hand and with weapons. He taught me the things I didn't already know about survival and was occasionally impressed with my knowledge of plants of herbs and how helpful they can be. He taught me how to hone my senses, how to still see where I was going when running fast, how strong I could be, how I could single out sounds with my new super hearing. Over the years, he was a disciplined instructor, and rarely showed praise or pride in my education. Eventually, slowly, I could tell his concept of me as a burden was dwindling and after the first twenty years or so our strict teacher-student relationship developed into something more like big brother/little sister.

After twenty years, when my physical training and had been completed and my mental training just begun, David began deepening my mental training to where I could access my telepathic skills. I was less disabled from the draining anguish, from a sudden rush of high emotion in a crowd of people, and from outcries of fear and panic. I learned to block out what was unnecessary and focus on what I needed to find, just like with my hearing. It made hunting easier, and rather than just tracking my prey I was able to set traps for them and have them come to me. We fed on the evil of men and conquered the evil of monsters throughout the world, and it gave us both a sense of purpose.

He didn't speak much of his life before he had turned me, only that he knew he was a direct descendent of the first sunstrider, that he believed in his mission, and that he had spent his hundreds of years roaming the earth in search of salvation. Anytime we reached a settlement or villa or culture that had new religious concepts, David was obsessed with studying them while I practiced training and gathered supplies. When we would, on rare occasion, come across another sunstrider, particularly if David had already known them, we would swap travelling stories and have small parties of sorts. It was the only time I really heard him laugh, and sometimes it seemed forced, as if his laughter was a courtesy done for guests and friends.

Especially in those early days, there were many times we would come across terrain barren of human life. Long treks with no other soul along our path, and we would have to survive off the blood of animals. That first doe I had consumed before even knowing it was ambrosia I had never known of before. Then after acquiring the taste for the blood of men, animal blood by comparison was gritty and cold like gruel in Russia. It gave us strength enough to survive, but not thrive, until we reached another civilization. On some long cold nights with nothing but a deer or rabbit between us, David would put his arms around me and tell me stories and myths of this shadow world he had brought me into, of other creatures long extinct (mainly thanks to man) and the lessons to learn from it. He said just because we were all once men didn't mean we had to continue to act like them. David didn't hate mortals, but he held a healthy contempt for them. He felt like they were misguided children that needed to be taught and protected, even against themselves.

The hundred years that followed the first fifty were different. David was different. We still traveled and hunted together, but more like equals. He would even take his own private small journeys and agree to meet me at checkpoints at designated times. It had become easy for me to keep my composure, my control, and feed as I had been taught without him near. When we did rendezvous, we would exchange stories of things we had learned, different cultures, languages, customs. I began to make my own associates and would get to do the introducing when we met up. David was always cordial to my new friends, but then in private he would criticize my choices in company. "You're so much better than that Eliza," he would say, "Don't waste your time." I would always retort back to him that what did I have if not time, and he would smile and let the subject go.

It became like this until the early 1900s, us travelling separately and then meeting up again and again. One day, during a regular meet up and visit, David seemed very excited. More excited than I think I had ever seen him, because he never showed much emotion other than disappointed, disgruntled, and pretty much all around disengaged from the rest of the world. He spoke to me of this network that was forming, as the world was getting bigger and smaller at the same time, this network that was going to coordinate the efforts of all the sunstriders all over the world. How this council had developed of some of the oldest striders known, who were pulling their resources to be benefactors of this new secret organization. How much better it would be, how easier, how faster, for the striders to eradicate evil from this earth when we all worked together. This new concept was like a drug to David, and for two or three years it's all he talked about. He began sending me telegrams about it, something he had never done before (sending messages), and each one was longer than the last. The network was coming closer and closer to a reality, and he was going to be a part of it.

I arrived in Paris one spring afternoon. It was the first time I had been in Paris this time of year and was eager to see it. I sat outside on a café patio, sipping tea and eating bread when David appeared out of nowhere. All that time and he could still sneak up on me. He grabbed my hand, and like an excited child on Christmas morning, drug me down two streets until we were standing in front of small building in the market district. It was a small goods store, but you would have thought it was the Holy Grail. David explained to me that it was just a front, a façade, that it was the Paris office of this new Network he had been talking about. That he worked there, they had accepted him as one of their own, and he had talked them into giving me a spot on their team as well.

I wasn't sure if that was what I had wanted, but David wanted it for me, and so that's what happened.

We spent some decades in Europe before being transferred by the council to the States. Beside our normal duties and assignments, we began searching for undercover Nazis when the First World War erupted, and those tasks evolved into the Network we have today. A shadow under even men's shadows, fighting the good fight along with good men. At least that's what we tell ourselves.

I'm not really sure how much of a good fight I can tell you from this drippy dull room, but I've lost my patience for sitting and listening while I wait. My captors didn't bother to empty any of my pockets, so along with some useless weapons I had a few scrapes of paper and pen. Writing to you seems just as good as anything to pass the time, and that is one thing an immortal learns to do well.

Entry 11

So I have all of my gear and a few other random supplies, but the one thing I don't have is my phone. The room is sealed tight, with small air vents. The drip comes from condensation from a corner vent. I have been here for at least two days, the two days I've been awake for, and have had no visit from the head man. I get a small bucket of blood once daily, and that is all the communication I have from my captures. I am not sure how many of them are crawlers, but I suspect now that they are all rogue striders, based on my one illuminating visit from the head man. Also, I began to recount certain clues from recent events and it occurred to me that some of my interactions with the beasties I had killed did happen in the daylight, a fact I had not picked up on previously because of being distracted with thoughts of Cera. I didn't have brainpower to commit to feeling stupid or regret over allowing myself to miss such a huge fact, but instead I felt assured in that my gut was onto something all along. I had fought for my intuition with David, hadn't I? I knew something was different.

I don't know why I felt the need to write to you about David, a person you will never meet, but seeing as how the head man appears to be fixated on him, I had him on my mind as well. Plus, I needed something to occupy my time with. Something with which to fill my mind. In the stillness and quiet here, the puzzle pieces become distorted and fuzzy. I am not entirely sure how long in total I have been here, three days at least, but I would rather not stay.

Trying to put together this mystery, I recalled the recent events. The appearance of this first crawler...strider...whatever he was that had found me on the docks. Had he been sent to find me or was it just coincidence? He had seemed so lost, so confused while standing in the ebbing tide that night. Then the woman, who had been attacked. David and Gruff and I had all assumed she'd been turned on accident, a feeding gone too far. I wasn't so convinced now, because head man had at least two dozen monsters under his thumb and the opposition rarely shows you his full hand. And then there was the one Ian killed in the camp ground, that had no scorch marks on his body. Perhaps he wasn't as lucky as we first assumed; perhaps we were unlucky to realize how fortunate he was.

As I continued to mull over the facts, I heard the door creak open. I had not been tied down this time, and there was no chair for me to be sitting in anyway. My back was to the door as it creaked, and the smell of cigar faded into the room.

"You tranq'd me," I stated plainly and calmly. Apparently head man, for all his knowledge of me and David and whatever else, had not been informed as to how much I love being shot. I made the statement as a fact, to point out that I did not approve.

"Excuse me?" he said, and I heard the sound of a lighter being flipped.

"You shot me, with a tranquilizer. Not a big fan of that."

"I'm sure," and I could hear him inhale on the tobacco as it burned, "But it takes a lot to keep you down. I've seen you in action."

"Really?" I turned to face him. "When?"

"Oh, here and there," he smiled, "Over the years."

"How many years, exactly?" I guess I could play this back and forth game with him, for now.

"Oh, nothing is exactly anything when you're as old as we are. As old as I am." This was a sizing up conversation. See, it's funny how in the mortal world, being older is considered a weakness. Here in mine it's considered the biggest strength. The older you are, the stronger you become due to longer training, survival techniques, and just time in general. We don't age; we gain power. Yet I've always believed that just because someone has been around longer doesn't mean they're stronger...just luckier.

"I see," I replied, acknowledging to him that I understand his inference that he is stronger than me, "But you still tran'q me...and that makes me unhappy."

"Well," he smiles wickedly at me, "I could have, if I had wanted to, wiped that self-righteousness right off that pretty face of yours, in a variety of entertaining ways, but I don't want to hurt you. I wanted to see you." Translation: he shot me full of tranquilizers to test my strength.

"See me what?" I clenched my fists.

"Just to see you. And talk. I had heard legend of both your beauty and your battle skills, so I put my...men...to the test." I said nothing in response. "Besides, Eliza, I need you to give your boss a message. I know you're only here under orders, because why would the Network send its fiercest warrior to this dump if it didn't know something about what I was up to? So will you give dear David a message for me?"

I smiled and stifled a laugh. He thought I was here because the Network knew whatever it is he'd been up to. He feels cornered. He has no idea I'm in Biloxi for you, that David would love to have me in New Orleans or LA or New York, anywhere but here. The Network is every bit as clueless as I was until a few days ago, but he doesn't know that. "So that's it," I step closer to him. "Attack me, shoot me, hold me for a few days, and then just release me, just like that, so I can give David a love letter for you?"

He smiled. "Well, I also would appreciate it very much if you would leave my men alone. They're not doing anything to you, after all."

"No, no they're not. You're right. Haven't bothered me at all. But they have a taste for innocent mortals, and you know we can't have that. You obviously know the Network. You know the rules. You know how it works."

He grinned at me. "I know how it doesn't work. And what's a few innocent mortals in the mix?"

"It's everything." I take another step closer.

"You sound just like him," he puts the cigar out. "Figures. Doting little girl gets turned and follows her sire all over the world. Now does what he says without even questioning his motives. Yes, David found a great replacement."

Replacement? What the hell is this guy talking about? And how does he know so much about me and David? I didn't have time for this cryptic nonsense. Either he was going to strike or he was going to release me and I was ready to get on with it. "Whatever. What's this message?"

"The message is, from your lips to his ears, directly," and he stepped close to me and whispered into my ear.

When he told me his message, which I didn't understand, I asked, "And who is sending this message?"

"My name is Draekus. Remember it."

"Draekus, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am," and he stepped aside, holding his hand out toward the door as if he were about to escort me to the ball. I walked calmly past him, ready for any trick or ambush he may have waiting. There was nothing, just a fenced in back yard of a house in an older subdivision. Furthermore, I was still in Biloxi, and could tell by the damp sinking feeling of my feet in the earth. Southern Mississippi was so flat the ground just held water constantly. I turned around to get one good last look at him, "And, by the way, Miss Eliza, young Eliza, should I discover that anymore of my friends have been harmed, I'll have to begin hurting your friends."

"I don't have any friends," I said and started to turn away from him.

"Oh," he replied as I took my first steps away from him, "Not even certain mortal friends with sunshine hair that smell of lavender?"

What the-how did he know about her? "Whatever" I pulled off my best shrug of indifference and then ran like hell to get away from there. I wasn't sure how much Draekus really knew or how much he just pretended to be ignorant of. I knew for sure, though, that Cera was in danger. If Draekus had been watching me for weeks now, it was possible you were in danger also and I couldn't risk that either. Yet I couldn't just leave, because if Draekus didn't get some sort of sign that I had delivered his message he would hurt you and Cera for sure. I wasn't sure who this Draekus even was, or how powerful he might be, but he defiantly had an axe to grind with David. And if he was as old as he implied he was, I should have heard his name somewhere in all my travels. The older you were the more infamous you were also, until someone killed you, then you became folklore or forgotten. The name sounded familiar, much like his smell, but I couldn't rack my brain enough to recall where I had heard it before.

I didn't know if it was still safe to return to my apartment, but I had to at least scope it out. I had other phones there and needed to get in touch with Gruff and David. When I got to the apartment building, my neighbors' cars were in their usual spots. There was no sign of my encounter from days past, no smell of the place being bathed in blood. The entire neighborhood seemed untarnished by the fight, and the surrounding sounds even syncopated like they were supposed to.

I approached my door with caution and found a yellow post-it note attached to the door. The message was handwritten and the writing seemed frantic:

El, where are you? What happened? Call me ASAP! -C

Cera had been here, apparently after I had been abducted. That was what, three days ago? So I haven't been at work either and she probably thinks I'm avoiding her. So this is lovely because now I can't just keep her safe by whisking her away somewhere or simply disappearing. I mean, I can't just find out where she lives (which I could), knock on the door, say, hey, how ya been? Sorry I haven't been around but I was kidnapped (which I was) by this really nasty vampire guy (which really exist) so I hope you understand (which she won't) but we have to leave now because I'm totally in love with you (which I am) and he knows it, so you're in danger. Are we good? Good. Get in the chopper!

I opened the door carefully, and found that the apartment was vacant of occupants. And nothing appeared to have been disturbed. So for all that stalking me and finding out where I lived had been with the sole purpose of kidnapping me after all. There's no telling how many other Network secrets they could have discovered if only they had looked. I retrieved one of my back up phones from a drawer and called Gruff. I gave him a brief overview of what happened and requested a pick up, for myself. He told me he wasn't in close proximity, that it might be a few hours. I didn't like it, but it would have to do. Now...what to do in the meantime?

So if Draekus was able to track me all this time without me knowing it, he's probably tracking me now, to see if I go to David or not. If I just sit here and wait, he may think I'm not going to do it at all, and call my bluff about not caring for Cera. But if I leave too soon, he'll think I'm scared shitless and know that he has all the power. He knows enough about the Network to know how much time it would take for me to get a pick up, and I believe he knows...or presumes to know...enough about me to think I would want to tell David this news in person. Of course I do, but not to go running, crying, to big brother about the big bad bully. I want to go in person to draw him away from you and Cera and to get more answers from David. Starting with: who the hell is this guy?

The name sounded vaguely familiar. I sat down on my couch and accessed the secret panel underneath the coffee table, which transformed the top into a lighted keyboard and my TV into a display monitor. I logged into the Network's mainframe, navigating my way through the archives attempting to find out anything I could on Draekus. The only name I found that matched at all was an ancient log entry about a sunstrider named Draekus Demayo. He had been a merchant in Italy when he was turned. Before the Network, striders functioned in master/apprentice roles, much as David and I had for all those years. Knowledge and purpose were handed down from master to apprentice who then became the master and so on and on throughout time. The Draekus from the archives had rejected his master's teachings, abandoned the strider ways, and fled Rome. It was written in the archive that he was later hunted for his crimes and executed. If this was the same Draekus, the archive was wrong. And if it's wrong about this, what else is the archive wrong about?

And it makes Draekus about 1000 years old, which makes him powerful and knowledgeable.

But what does he have against David? David's not that old. As I tried to dig further, I suddenly heard the sounds of the chopper blades above me. I grabbed my bag and headed out the balcony, where the rope ladder awaited. I climbed onto the ladder and the chopper flew away from the building as I climbed into the rig. Gruff handed me a headset.

"Or you sure about all this, El?" he asked. "We just got you back on the ground."

"I know, Gruff," I pulled a tab on the bottom of my sandal. A small metal piece fell out and I handed it to him. "Check it out."

He slid the tab into a slot on his phone. It was my homing device, and it had been on me the whole time I was with Draekus. The cavalry never came because it was just a residence I was being held up in, no cause for alarm. But the device was also a voice recorder, and I had managed to click it on when I had swiveled to face Draekus right before leaving. "I'll be damned," Gruff said after he heard the audio, "David's not going to like this."

"I don't like this," I replied, "Who is this Draekus guy, anyway, Gruff? The archive only states he's some rogue strider. What gives?"

"No, darlin'" he yelled over the chopper blades, "He is _the_ rogue strider. The first one to rebel against the ancient sunstrider ways. But I thought he was long dead." Gruff has only been a part of the Network for about thirty years. And he knew about Draekus just from a small audio clip. Maybe I do need to spend more time at the complex. Shudder to think.

"I assure you, he is very much alive." With that, we travel the rest of the way in silence, the whole time me doing research from my laptop. I don't find much more than what I had already, but it feels like if I read and reread it maybe some new fact I overlooked will jump out at me.

By the time we reach the complex, my eyes are sore from reviewing information. Gruff takes my bag for me as we get out of the chopper. "Have you told anyone else what's going on?" I asked him.

"No," he shook his head, "Figured this wasn't something David would want leaked out before he had a plan. I haven't even told David you were coming. He's in conference."

Oh, goody, an ambush. David loves those. I sighed as we entered the rooftop elevator. "Hooray for me."

"Hey, I thought you two made up already, kid?" Gruff pats me on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure this is going to undo that." Especially when I have to tell him about Cera. I don't have a choice. Draekus making reference to her is on the voice recording and I have to play the feed as proof of the threat. Great.

Once inside the underground part of the complex, Gruff departs my side to go do some tech task or another. David is in his private conference room, where he conducts business with the council and other district leaders via satellite communications. To my knowledge, no one but David has ever been in that room, but my knowledge has obviously not been that spot on lately. I walk through the corridors, eventually realizing that I'm slowing down with each turn I make. I don't feel sluggish or tired at all, but the closer I get to that room the more anxious I get. Not because I'm nervous, but because it's going to be a fight with David and I really am getting tired of fighting with him. We never used to fight, but ever since he's been put in charge of the North American branch of the Network, we seem to be locked in this tango of constant disagreement. He tries to run the place like a military installation and that just isn't how I work.

It didn't used to be how he worked. We used to be a team. A small covert team on our own in the world, kickin' butt and taking names. It was nice. He had his mysterious moments even then, things he wouldn't talk about, but we were at least usually on the same page.

As I thought about what I had lost in David, I approached the outside of his conference room. There is a small entry panel on the outside of the door, just like in the science floor, to pass your palm over to unlock it. People think David is the only one who can open that door, so they never bother to try. Gruff and I can open the door too. David set it to be that way, in case of emergency. In case we were raided while he was on conference so we could tell him and get him out or in case the raiders managed to get in there so could we. David knows Gruff respects him too much to open the door and I don't care about the conferences enough to bother, so he feels safe in allowing us to be the ones who can.

When I brought the first crawler here, well, I guess the first strider that we thought was a crawler, David was in conference then. I had to wait for him and when I did it became too late. I could not afford to wait for him now, as two or more lives that I deeply care about are at stake. Not to mention that Draekus just pissed me off. I tried to think of my opening statement, something that would keep David from blowing up on me, something that would grab his attention. I also knew that if he was communicating with the council, he may not want what we have going on to be known just yet. That's the problem with secret organizations; they keep secrets from each other from within, not just from the outside. Even if he were just paling around with another district leader, whatever I say they can communicate to the elders if they choose, so it has to be an encrypted message. Something David will understand but the others will not. Because even if I whisper something, they have the same tech we do and could enhance the audio. If he's in there alone, well, then it's me and him inside a small box. Fun.

Draekus gave me a very specific message to deliver, with the latter part of the message being unusual. Maybe only that last part will be enough. I take a deep breath, and sliding my palm over the passbar, open the door.

The room is about fifteen by fifteen feet. At the end of the room is a large led screen that covers most of that wall. The side walls are lined with a mahogany paneling, cut into large squares so that each wall has nine squares. The light from the screen reflects off the paneling slightly, creating a tunnel effect. In the center of the room is a desk, shaped like an arc, bowed against the screen side of the room. On the desk is a clear, plain cylinder glass with water. The desk is made of mahogany also, and the chair pushed up to the desk is brown leather with silver trim. There are a few small over head lights, which provide a dim glow for the room rather than creating specific bright spots. I can see the top of David's head from the back of the chair.

"Eliza?" the person on the screen is another district leader, someone I had met a long time ago. Unfortunately, someone I had slept with when neither of us was in a position of power. Camille Santiago, the Latin beauty of Brazil, was staring at me from this large theater screen, smiling and seemed happy to see me.

"Hi, Camille," I say casually, and David swings his chair around, facing me and I can feel the anger in his gaze. "Can I borrow David for a moment? I'm so sorry to interrupt."

"Of course, of course, no es nada, David, you just call back anytime, mi amigo, yes?"

David responds to her without taking his eyes off of me, "Sure, Camille," and hits a button on the armrest of his chair. The screen goes blank, and the light generated by the screen evaporates in a dull gray glow. The room is much darker now, but not so dark I can't see David's glare.

"What the..."

"He's here, David. Draekus."

David's expression of anger deepens. "You're wrong. Draekus has been dead for a long time. Now, what do..."

"No, he's not. He says to tell you 'ring around the rosy'" I watch and wait, praying this makes a difference in his demeanor. David hasn't been exactly receptive to much of anything I've had to say lately and I need him to get this. I need him to be by my side on this one, and help me wipe Draekus out.

David's face does change, from anger to fear for a millisecond to anger again. But this time, the anger isn't directed at me; it is the anger of action. "What happened?"

I handed him the homing chip. He swiveled around in the chair and put the chip in a small slot in the top of the desk. The audio played through the screen speakers, and when it was done, he replayed it again. David replayed that audio clip four times and then sat in silence for around five minutes. I knew he was thinking, deciding. Yet I didn't know what he was deciding about, whether to believe it was Draekus, whether to do something about it, I didn't know. When he finally turned around to face me again, his tone was calm yet determined, and the David who was my discipliner was gone. The David who was my teacher had returned.

"Tell me what happened before this. Tell me everything. What you did, what he did. When, where. All of it." He said this to me with softness in his voice. So I told him about the kidnapping, about the two dozen or so rogue striders who followed me home. I told him about the threat Draekus made to Cera and who Cera was. I told him about how we missed that the crawlers were actually striders, and I tried really, really hard to not have a "told you so" attitude about that part. My brain was screaming that none of this would be happening now if David had listened to me then, but I knew that attitude would get me nowhere. I didn't have time to argue with David right now, and I didn't really want to when he was finally listening. Really listening. When I finished recounting the story with all the facts, he was silent for another few minutes.

I broke the silence. "Well?"

"Well," he rubbed his forehead, "I guess we better prepare to take out Draekus."

"Great," and I started to leave the room to head to tactics, so thankful that he, too, was going to be gracious and not chastise me for my involvement with Cera.

"Oh, and El," he added as my hand was on the door handle, "A mortal? Really?"

Damnit. My hand was on the freaking door handle. So close. "Yeah, David. She's..." I struggled to find a way to describe Cera to him so he would understand. I don't know that he is capable of understanding. In all these years, I've never known him to take a mate; he's never talked about past relationships. Maybe that's what he did when we separated during our travels, who knows? I've never even caught him checking someone out. The lower ranking striders joke amongst themselves that he's a robot due to his lack of love interest. David loves the Network, that is his bride, so trying to get him to relate to my feelings of Cera would be impossible. "She's great." And I leave the room.

I use the communication links throughout the corridors to pull up the current assignment rosters. I wanted to know if they had changed since Ian and I had looked at them two weeks ago. Nada. Good. That means the most experienced striders were still here, at the complex, and I was going to need them on my team. Just as I was in full tactic planning mode, I heard running footsteps come toward me. It was David trying to catch up with me. When he did, he grabbed me by the arm and shoved me into the next open room he could find. It wasn't a hard shove; it was a shove of urgency.

"Look," he said, "We have to talk before you go full out commando on me."

"Really?" so now the lid on my good behavior was blown and all the angst I had held at bay was exploding out. "Not that you've ever talked with me when you were making any of your plans."

"I don't have to share all my plans with you, I'm the director and you're..."

"Just a strider? Just a soldier? You and I both know I'm not just anything. And I am certainly not just any of those things to you. What is going on, David? We used to communicate. We used to talk. We used to be the only ones to ever have each others' backs."

"Yeah, I know. But taking care of a whole continent is a lot different than taking care of just you and..."

"Taking care of me? David, you haven't had to take care of me for a long, long time."

"Yeah," and he laughed and I could see his muscles relax and some of the tension in his shoulders fall away, "but I do have to take care of your messes."

Yeah, ok, I'll give him that one. That was true. "Yeah, but having me with my messes is better than not having me at all."

And I guess he gave me that one, because he smiled (a rare thing these days), and said, "Yes, yes it is."

"So maybe we do need to talk. Like we used to. David, who is this Draekus guy? And why does he have it out for you so bad? How does he know so much about us and the Network? I need to know what kind of threat we're dealing with here if I'm going to make an effective plan." I stared him in eyes, trying to soften my tone and show he could trust me.

The room he had bumped me into was a gathering room. A room for reading or playing cards or using Wi-Fi or whatever else. It was a small lounge, with a few sofas and tables with upright chairs. He motioned to one of the sofas. "Sit down. You're going to want to."

I sat down at the end of the nearest couch and he sat down next to me. He took my hands into his, and the motion reminded me of the striking difference in our body types. I was right under six feet tall; he was 5'5. We were both in shape, but David's body was leaner, and in the clothes that he wore it was hard to tell he had muscles at all. Ever since he became the North American Director, he wore khaki pants and a blue oxford shirt with brown boat shoes every day. Every day. He wore tactical suits when he went out, but that had only happened two or three times in the last century. No one ever saw him in his pajamas. The man ran ten miles on his personal tread mill every morning, in his own quarters, out of sight. Then he showered, and put on his little outfit, and ran the show. To pass him in the hallway, without knowing who he was, someone could have easily mistaken him for a tech or researcher.

He looked at me with somber eyes. It was an expression I had never seen on his face. I couldn't place the emotion behind it. "Eliza, you are not my first...student."

"I didn't think I was the first person you-"

"Please, let me speak." I nodded. "No, you weren't the first person I've turned. Soon after I adjusted to the transformation, I turned several. Some on accident. Some on purpose. Just because I could. I was young and scared and had no idea what I was doing. But Draekus was the first person I taught. I trained. The first person I shared all that I had learned with and the first person I really travelled with."

He paused. He took a deep breath and continued. "Our ways, the code of the sunstriders, had been passed down from person to person. You would turn a person, tell them what they were, tell them what they were supposed to be and do, and then set them free. I didn't set Draekus free. I didn't force him to stay, but I didn't force him to go, either. Then the council of elders was established, and we had rules to live by. And the rules made sense. The rules were made for balance. Made in the hopes of a salvation. And we all agreed to the rules. The elders were so powerful, we lived by the rules or they killed us for it. We travelled the world for years, much like you and I, and he eventually got tired. He didn't like the code. He didn't understand it. Draekus has this whole superiority complex about striders being the next step in evolution...the next step to God. He began breaking the rules, going against code, feeding on whoever he wanted and turning whoever he wanted. This was long before the Network was established. The elders, they had these, men, that worked for them. Like bounty hunters. And if you went rogue, they found out, and they sent these men to get you. All those times, when you and I were together, that I separated and left you on your own, that's when these men had a lead on him. I went to go help them kill him. He was vicious." And then David chuckled a little bit to himself. "El, he's the reason the Network exists. The elders realized, if a rogue like him could escape them, they needed better resources. They needed unity amongst the sunstriders. I got to be a part of the Network, I got to be here, because I helped them hunt him down. We thought he was long dead."

I took in everything he said. In doing so, I realized what that expression on his face was. Regret. He blamed himself for the carnage that Draekus brought, he felt guilty for his own violence, and he thought he had laid those parts of him in the past to rest. He had turned a man who became not only a monster, but the worst of us monsters, strong and without rules.

As a sunstrider, in the Network of today, there are rules. You eat food. You can take two kills per week. You follow orders and contribute to the cause and the cause takes care of you. That's why I don't need money or an actual paying job or anything like that. You pool resources. If I leave Biloxi as my assignment, someone else will take over watching the city and they will get my apartment. You don't turn anyone, unless there are extraordinary circumstances. You kill bad guys or contribute to the means to kill bad guys. You don't feed on innocents. And you don't feast into madness. Those are the rules. Apparently, some of those rules were edicts by the elders long before the Network existed. I knew them as rules to live by under David's tutelage. Some were rules to survive by, some were based on the concept of one day being able to redeem our souls.

David pulled up the archive files from a comm link in the lounge room. He typed in some strange code and a file appeared called "the catalyst." It was full of article after article of information on Draekus, his massacres, hunting him down, anything I could ever want to know about this villain. Based on the brief overview I got of this mystery file, Draekus didn't believe in any rules.

"David," I said to him after a grueling silence, "Let me get him."

"If you can," he smiled a half smile at me and then sighed. "Come on, let's go put together a team."

Entry 12

The tactical room was humming with electricity. Support personnel were buzzing around the room like good little helper bees, moving from this outer terminal to that, checking stats and maps and any other kind of information feedback that would help us. At the center comm table, a computer linked glass top hexagon shaped beacon, stood me, Gruff, Ian and David. Ian and I were reviewing what we knew about Draekus and his rogues to David and Gruff and we were all collaborating about what to do next.

We didn't know if we should be on the offensive or defensive. The message Draekus had given me to tell David basically made us aware that he was here and that he was ready. But ready for what? We knew if we didn't make some sort of show, Draekus would think I had not delivered the message but we didn't know where the party was or what we should wear. We needed to get a message back to Draekus, but had no idea how to contact him. He had found us, every single time, and we were shooting in the dark. Each tick of the clock made me more anxious to get this battle on and over with, because I feared for Cera's safety. I feared for yours, too, it was easy to gloss over in front of the others when Ian would say something like, "Don't worry, El, we'll get to him first". Despite his advice, I could tell he was worried also. This was the guy David thought he killed but hadn't. He alone was something daunting to go up against, but he and a small troop of rogues?

"Ok," I interrupted a report reading from a support tech, "Just see if you can find out where they are. That's a start." The tech left the center circle and I turned back to the others. "We have us, and we have Sanders, Gordon and Mitchell still here at the complex. That's our team. We just need to know where to go from there."

"No," David disagreed. "We can't take everyone. If he's been watching like we think he has, we can't leave the complex without defenses. And I'm not putting Gruff on the front lines."

"Aww, bossman, I've-" Gruff attempted to disagree.

David and I, simultaneously responded "No!" to Gruff. When I had said "we" I meant the striders, not Gruff. He isn't a front line man, irregardless of his military background. He's a mortal. He's my friend. Enough of the people I love are in danger right now and I will not sacrifice him for the sake of the others.

David puts his hand on Gruff's shoulder. "My friend, my dear old friend, if I have to disembark with Eliza, we will need someone here who knows this place like I do."

Gruff, with his arms cross, was pouting. "I know it better than you do."

"I know, so I need you here to protect it. I need a man to run the show, like a director."

Gruff huffed. "Fine." It is rare for Gruff not to be Mr. Yes Sir!, and when he isn't he looks like a spoiled child who didn't get his way.

"So Gruff stays. But I still need the others. They're strong striders, and there are at least two dozen rogues, plus Draekus himself," I fight for my point.

"At least two dozen? What you mean at least? You said twenty. There were twenty rogues with Draekus." There was a hint of anxiety in Ian's voice.

"Yes," David confirmed, "She did. But we have no way of knowing if that is the extent of Draekus's work. They could be his best twenty. Or his most recent twenty."

Ian countered, "They could be his only twenty."

David shook his head. "They could be his only soldiers, but the fact is, we don't know. We just don't know. So we need to prepared."

"See? You just made my point. We need the others with us." I felt confidence in my conviction.

"And we need to fortify the complex, too."

"Why, David, why?" I knew exactly why, but I wanted the focus on Biloxi. I wasn't sure how much patience Draekus would have to see if I had done his bidding, but I wasn't gambling on Cera's life or yours.

"You know damn good and well why," David was getting frustrated with me.

"I don't," Ian remarked.

David turned to him, "Because he sent this vague message, through Eliza, which he specifically instructed she deliver in person, with no further details. Sounds like he wanted her to lead him straight to us."

"Oh." Ian is actually quite smart, but his brain kind of goes into this neutral no man's land when he gets nervous.

I sighed. "And we don't even know how to send him a message back." I thought about how to get a message to this maniac, that I had done what he asked and that we were coming after him. I wanted to put a message in a bottle and send it through some vortex that would land in his lap magically. I imagined pulling out the little paper, written in crayon, with the words "Do you want to fight us? Check this box for yes and this box for no" like children pass in grade school. He'd check the little 'yes' box and send the bottle sailing back through space and it would appear in front of us. We'd cheer up and down, "Hooray! He said yes!" like little school girls and then we could get back to business.

That thought made me think about space and time, and sailing through it in a bottle. Which made me think about sailing, which made me think of that wonderful day on the island with Cera. Hell, it's no wonder he could find me or anyone in the Network for that matter. She had found me, and she wasn't even looking for me. Then it dawned on me exactly how we could get his attention.

"I know," I spit out into the silence, "Guys, I know how to reach him." I explained my plan then, and everyone reluctantly agreed. It wasn't much, but for now it was all we had. It would draw him out at least, and that was the most important thing we needed. We loaded up some gear, and taking two choppers, we headed south.

Sanders, Gordon and Mitchell rode in the first chopper. Their mission was to get on the scene first and scope for tactical advantage points. Recon. They were good striders, good soldiers, and had worked together before. Gordon and Mitchell were your average army commandos at this point, though they hadn't started out like that. Neither had been in the military in their mortal lives, but in their strider lives they had taken to it smoothly. Gordon was in his late twenties when he was turned, and had been a fitness instructor. He walked out onto a street one day, not paying attention, and was struck by a bus. He was in a coma for six months after that. He was one of the striders who was chosen to be so, given the choice to die a natural death or live forever serving and protecting mankind. It was a no brainer for him, since he already spent most of his free time volunteering at homeless shelters and soup kitchens.

Mitchell, who was younger when he was turned, was a chess genius. He developed a rare form of cancer with no cure, little treatment, and given three months to live. His strategic skills are what the Network found attractive. This is what the Network does, turns already extraordinary yet dying humans into valuable commodities. Both of these men were eager to become sunstriders and both had to die to do it.

Sanders, on the other hand, well she's different story. No one is really sure who turned her or why. Gordon and Mitchell found her while on assignment, starving to death in a back alley in Las Vegas. They almost killed her, mistaking her for a crawler, but she begged for her life. Begged for answers, and attempted to fight them off when at first they didn't believe her. She had agreed to be bound and exposed to sunlight to prove her worth, and when the sun arose on that day, the two men found themselves with a new companion. The three of them have been running ops together ever since.

All three splendid specimens of my race. Not as good or as strong as me or David, but they will be one day. Other than following orders, the three of them primarily kept to themselves and that's why I liked them. They didn't get this weird star struck look on their faces when I came to the complex like everyone else did. Sometimes I think the support techs would ask for an autograph if they weren't afraid of me. I didn't ask to be popular, but its times like these, when I have to take out the big bad guys, that make it so.

Ian, David and I trailed in the second chopper. While the trio was doing recon, David and Ian were going to shadow me. The plan was to draw Draekus out by using his bait against him. He would be watching Cera, to see if I would come and rescue her. To see if I would take her out of harm's way and maybe not tell David. And that's exactly what I was going to do. If he has her staked out, to know her every move, then her moves would become my moves, and he'd be watching me again whether he wanted to or not. I needed to get to her, get her protected and safe, and I needed him to know that I had her. That he could not blackmail me into doing his bidding anymore. The idea was that he would be forced, then, to reveal himself to get whatever it is that he wants and that's when we'd pounce.

We hoped.

I just kept thinking what if it was already too late?

We had obtained her address from intel and were getting close to her house. The trio had sent a message that they found a battleground and, forwarding us the coordinates, were heading there next. We wanted a battle with Draekus; we wanted it done. But we wanted it on our terms, not his. They had found a small open field by the Biloxi River, an area not heavily populated. We could use aspects of the land to our advantage and get Draekus to meet us there for a showdown. It was as good as a plan as any.

We had the place. Now we just needed a time. In discussing this with Ian and David, David brought up his concerns. "We don't know for sure how many men Draekus has with him, nor their strengths or weaknesses."

Ian chimed in, "We have weaknesses?"

"We don't for sure know if they are rogue striders or crawlers or what they are."

"What?" I couldn't believe what David was saying. "What do you mean we're not sure? I saw it myself. Draekus, in the sunlight, with his minions."

"You saw Draekus in the sunlight. You saw at least one in the sunlight, that you brought back to the complex, not realizing you had seen him in the sunlight. But we don't have confirmation there's not a mix."

I laughed in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure it's not a mix, David. I fought these guys. They're strong. I think it's safe to assume..."

"Nothing," he interrupted me, "We assume nothing."

"What difference does it make?" Ian rebutted, "If there's a mix, all the better for us. Striders are stronger. The more of them that are crawlers, the better."

"It makes a difference, young Ian," David corrected him, "Because it means he has allies. Even with the crawlers diminished strength, thirty, forty, fifty of them plus their strider friends and Draekus to the six of us? It makes a difference."

David was right about the numbers, but I really didn't think we were dealing with crawlers after everything that had happened. "David," I pointed out, "You did the exams. You showed us the bodies. Were those crawlers or not? Because Draekus knew we had taken them out and did not appreciate it."

David tapped on his hand held tablet. He never went anywhere without that thing and we were sure it controlled the whole continent. "Look," he showed me the autopsy files, "You know crawler and strider looks the same under a microscope. That's what I showed you that day." The image of the cellular structure from both bodies appeared on the screen. Then he swiped the screen, and the UV test results appeared for the same two creatures. "One of each." One of each. One crawler; one strider. The boy on the docks, who was so confused, the one that triggered this feeling in my gut that something was different, something was going on: strider. The woman in the alley, who was bitten and drained and turned and killed before I could back to her: crawler. We were dealing with a mixed bag, an alliance never known of before in history, and I had found it. I had screamed it at the top of my lungs that it was there, even before I knew what it was, and David had disregarded me and patronized me like a child. And he knew the whole time I was right.

And now he was looking at me, and I could see on his face that he could see on my face me putting these pieces together. Furthermore, he knew I wasn't going to do a damn thing about it while I needed him to help me save Cera. "Yeah," he confirmed his point to both of us, "It's a mixed bag."

"It's a mixed bag, all right," I grumbled behind clenched teeth. David had the information and the power to do something about this before we were in this place. This place where resources are having to be allocated and we know next to nothing about the enemy and an innocent mortal, my innocent mortal, was in danger. He knew before all of this, and did nothing. So for now, I will do nothing, until we are back in a place where there is no danger.

For now.

Ian broke me out of my stare of death toward David, which I'm sure he saw but chose to ignore. I'm sure he could feel my resentment echoing in his brain. "But it could be a fluke, right? It could have just been a random crawler in the right place at the wrong time?" He was asking the question David and I knew the answer to. Whether Draekus was working with crawlers or just taking advantage of their existence, nothing in our world happens on accident. Nothing is a coincidence. Ian, in his immortal life, is still too young to know this. I had no doubt of it.

"Probably not," David answered him. "But it is the hope."

I knew David felt he needed to atone for his actions; I could see that in his determination to move forward with this plan. Yet he did not know the extent of my own determination in saving Cera. I really didn't care about the past, or David's issues, especially when he didn't feel the need to include me in them. Over 400 hundred years. That's how much time I've spent with him. Four centuries. I've barely gotten to spend four weeks with her, but right now I would trade her for him in less than four seconds. I would push him out of this chopper right now if I felt it would do any good.

Then, thinking about the danger Cera was in, made me realize something. I had kept my secrets from David, too, all these years. I didn't know why he had kept his from me anymore than I knew why I kept mine from him. With the Network being all knowing, all seeing, keeping my secret now was a given. But before, there was no real reason to, just something I felt I wanted to keep to myself. Good thing I did.

We landed in a parking lot of a small general merchandise store just a few blocks from Cera's house. Exiting the chopper, we reviewed our plan and headed our separate ways. I was going to approach the house, seemingly alone, to talk to Cera. I was going to try to convince her to go with me, somewhere we could talk, and thus rushing her off with a support team to safety. Hopefully, in the process, we would be watched by Draekus or one of his men, and he would make an appearance. As far as we could tell, she was his only leverage. As far as I knew, he didn't know about you.

So I headed toward her house while David and Ian trailed me, hidden in the shadows. By now it was almost sunset, and I could almost hear Ian running plots through his head. If we had been able to do this earlier in the day, we would know for sure anything we encountered would be a rogue strider, but we still didn't know if or how many crawlers were laying in wait. With it being almost nightfall, anything we encountered could be either and there was very little way to tell. Just as I came across this last thought, Ian came on over my inner ear intercom with the same thoughts.

"I mean," he said, when I agreed with him, "there has to be another way to tell."

"There is," I said, "They smell different."

"Yeah," Ian agreed, "But didn't you smell the difference before? Your senses are stronger than mine."

"Yes, Ian," I whispered, "I did smell them all. Everything smelled like crawler. Up until the night they kidnapped me. But they didn't smell quite like strider either."

"Well," he added, as if he had been studying a manual, "We all smell a little different. They are just similar keytones. Like the difference between the humans we protect and the humans we feed on."

"Right," I said. "It isn't an exact science."

"Right." I supposed the chatter was helping to keep his nerves calm, but I was trying to focus. David apparently agreed, because the next thing Ian and I heard was him telling us to shut up. In the renewed silence, I began to think about what Ian had said. I had smelled them. And they were crawlers. Up until the point when I was kidnapped. Reflecting back on it gave me that gut instinct feeling again, that there was something of a key to the puzzle there and I just hadn't figured it out yet. Maybe the men who attacked me were crawlers, who had their scents masked. I never saw them in the sunlight for sure. Human hunters use all sorts of things to mask the smell of man, in order to sneak up on deer and other creatures. Or maybe they were striders the whole time, made to smell like crawlers. Either way, crawlers and striders have never formed an alliance and envisioning Draekus' men dousing themselves with eau du monster seemed more likely than any crawler or any strider getting along, even with a madman like Draekus.

I turned a corner onto a street that put me two blocks from Cera's house. I had neither seen nor heard any sign of any creature other than us and that concerned me. This newly revealed enemy had apparently been tracking me for weeks, and even learned things about my life before I had (such as the location of Cera's home), so I would rather know for sure it's here than not know at all and wonder.

One block away now, I could see the row of mailboxes that lead up to the house. I couldn't see her house just yet, but it wouldn't be long. I had changed into a fresh white t-shirt and jeans, and strolled down the street with ease. This was an average residential area on the eve of summer, and children were walking and biking up and down the streets, people coming and going, and I was supposed to be blending in. If this plan worked as it should, I was supposed to knock on Cera's door, get her to leave with me, we were going to get her to safety, and she wouldn't know the difference. Sometimes it is difficult to work a plan with three agendas. Difficult, but not impossible.

Take Draekus out. Which meant drawing him out. That was David's main focus. It was a goal he thought he had already achieved, so to learn that not only was a psycho super killer on the loose, but one you thought you'd already put down, well, there became a vendetta to reach. David wasn't only fighting Draekus, but the task itself, the failure in it.

Keep Cera alive. Which meant get her away from Draekus. This, of course, was my main focus. After everything David and I had been through the last few weeks, I was about to give up on the Network myself. Sure, I had threatened to leave before, when David's rules and regulations became too stifling for me and I felt the suffocation of authority on my throat. But I never really intended to leave for good. I was never going to "go rogue". Even if I left the Network, I would always be its ally. Usually, I enjoyed the arrangement. They provide me with resources, I provide them with the dead bodies of evil men. It's a great exchange. I have no problems following the code of the sunstriders, but sometimes David's enforcement of the Council of Elders' directives and the interpretation of how those directives are to be achieved is ridiculously taxing for me. It was the kinda of the thing that came with the job that made it not so perfect. Like, great benefits but crappy hours. Good pay but no parking. That kind of trade off. Now, however, I had something not worth trading for, and I worried that was exactly what David had in mind. Trading his sense of victory for my love.

Protect the Secret. Which means making sure the general public has no idea that any of this is going down. This is a priority for everyone, and should still be for even Draekus, so whatever fight is in store for this day has to happen quickly, quietly, and not draw any attention to any one of us. Mortals, as a whole, cannot know what lies underneath their perception of the world. We have seen what damage can be done when the human world knows, what damage occurs for both sides. The Salem Witch Trials. The Crusades. Even parts of the Holocaust. All of those things happened because a large group of mortals discovered and believed in some small section of magic and mysticism, a belief rooted in ignorance and fear. Humans turn on immortals, immortals turn on each other, immortals then turn on humans; it just goes round and round. It is in everyone's best interest if the mortals just don't know, at least until they grow. And it is this idea that will drive David to help me protect Cera. This and his sense of heroism, his sense of protection. Sometimes protecting the innocent also means protecting them from knowledge.

We have to pull this whole thing off, saving Cera and taking out Draekus, without revealing ourselves. Tricky. Difficult. But not impossible. Just wish we knew all the variables involved.

I stand outside of her house and look down at my phone. I want to verify the correct address, because that would be a stupid, stupid mistake to overlook at this junction in the plan. The domicile is a simple brick construction, with a large roof overhang to shade a concrete deck porch. The porch is outlined with brick pillars, which help to support the overhang, and three steps lead from the approaching sidewalk to the porch landing. With each foot placement onto each of the three steps I repeat one directive in my head: Save the girl, get the bad guy, no one knows.

I stand for a moment under the shade of the porch, and glance from side to side. I still have not heard, seen, or smelled anything that gives any indication Draekus or his men are here. That doesn't mean they aren't, but I haven't proof that they are. I knock on the door. Cera's MGB is sitting off to the left of the porch, resting in the little cracked driveway. I could hear cars passing by in the street. Three blocks away was a jogger's footsteps. Two blocks in the other direction was a pet owner walking a dog. A big, hot thirsty dog. I could hear the panting and the jingle of the links on the lease. There were distant sounds of children laughing and yelling. I heard Cera's voice inside, talking on the phone. I couldn't tell who she was talking to, his voice was so frantic. She was trying to calm him down, whoever he was, and wasn't very successful. I heard her agree to meet him somewhere, and realized this was my chance. I knocked on the door. I heard her tell her caller she would see him soon, hang up the phone, and then her footsteps toward me.

She opened the door, and when she saw me through the screen door her face lit up. "Hey!" Cera opened the screen door, grabbed my hand, and drug me inside the front of the house. "Where have you been? I have been so worried! Are you ok?" I stammered through some ums and ers and I'm fines when her worried expression disappeared. Her excitement to see me faded some, but the concern transformed from worry about my health to worry about us. "You're not ditching me again, already, are you? I told you I was gonna come by to hang out and you said you'd be home. But you weren't, and I haven't seen you at work." I was trying to say something, anything, but she was talking so fast I couldn't get a word in edgewise. "You can't keep doing this. This isn't how you make and keep friends, Eliza. You have to-"

I finally just reached up and put my hand over her mouth. "I know. Ok? I know. I came over to talk to you and take you to show you where I've been and what's been going on."

I took my hand off her mouth. Really, I was going to take her for a walk and then out of nowhere one of the support tech teams would shoot her full of sedative. We would take her to a hospital and have some story about a mugging or something and there I would be when she woke up, the worried friend. We still haven't had an honest conversation about that kiss; I wasn't about to tell her now about everything else.

"Oh," she paused, cocked her head, and thought for a moment, "Oh, good. I was on my way out anyway. Let me grab my bag." She began looking for her small over the shoulder sling bag. The living room was furnished minimally, with a small yellow couch, a red chair, and a few unique nesting tables here and there. None of the tables matched and each was a different array of colors. The art work on the walls was the same, and right by the door was a taller blue and green table with a bowl on the top that held some change and mail and a shelf on the bottom with a few pairs of shoes. She was looking under tables and around the bigger furniture, looking for her bag. The bag was hanging on a hook behind the door I was standing in front of, but neither of us knew that at the time. I watched her search this warm room for the object unseen, and thought whimsically to myself that I was really the object unseen here. Lavender filled the room, and the last rays of the sun streaking through blinds against the walls.

I should have helped her look for the bag, but in that moment I was frozen in her presence. Watching the movements of the muscles in her body as she pursued an elusive catch, brushing her hair behind her ear so she could see when she bent down, I could feel my own tensed and prepared muscles begin to relax. Being around her had that effect on me, making me relax and forget what I was doing. Taking her in was good for me; it broke down my hard exterior. But it wasn't good right now, for that hard exterior was there for a reason, a reason I it needed right now. I shook off my daydreams of being with her and stepped further into the room to help. When I did, I heard the bag knock against the other side of the door, and pulling it closed some, I pointed to the bag. "This bag?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "That's the one." She dug through it for her keys and then stopped, looking up at me. "Wait, if you don't care to drop me, you can drive and then take me to my next stop, yes?"

"Oh, I walked," I explained, and her head tilted to look at me.

"You are a mystery," she commented as we exited the house and motioned to the car. We walked down the steps (save the girl, stop the bad guy, no one knows), and began to walk to her convertible.

Leaning on her mailbox, out by the street, was a tall man smoking a cigar.

Entry 13

The man leaning on her mailbox wasn't Draekus. He was an older man, shorter and with a lot more gray in his hair, wearing a faded khaki Members-only jacket over his white polo and plaid shorts. He nodded at us as we got into the car, and when he did so he raised the cigar with him. The gesture itself was as common as could be, but the location is what told the tale. He could have been simply just another resident walking by, but he had propped himself up on her mailbox and was waiting for us to leave the house. And his cigar...it was one of Draekus' smokes. No doubt there. The message was "I see you" and we all understood it. Ian, in short nylon jogging shorts and Nikes, ran by and bumped into the man. They had an exchange which seemed innocent enough (so sorry, are you ok?) while Cera pulled out of the drive. She waved at the man as we left.

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded. "He lives across the street. Nice old guy. Walks around every day. Where are we head ed?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, turn here," I pointed left at the intersection. "How long has he lived there?"

"I don't know. A couple of months. Retired I guess. Why does it matter?" She looked at me strangely.

"Left again," I pointed at the next stop sign. This u turn gave me the vantage point I wanted to see. As we rode down the street, I saw the house Cera said the old man lived in. Down this new avenue, I could see a few basement windows peering out from the ground. The same windows I had peered out of for a few days. We reached the end of the road. "Right, sorry."

"Why are you so distracted?" She asked, and put her right hand on my knee. The electric tension pulled me back into her attention, but it was a luxury I just couldn't afford right now.

"Sorry...I just...you ever get the feeling that something just isn't right?"

"No, not really." We were almost at the checkpoint. I could see the first chopper and a support team bus (ambulance) waiting in the parking lot.

"Well, it's distracting." I pointed to pull into the parking lot. As we pulled up into a space, a masked mugger approached Cera with a gun and demanded her purse. She began to hand over the bag when the mugger shot her anyway. It was a support tech, and he had doused her with a sedative. He and another tech took her body into the bus, flipped the lights, and took off. That was the plan. There it was, mostly flawlessly executed. Save the girl.

"Ok," I said into my ear comm, "She's out. What's up?"

David responded. "Well, the old man at the mail box really is an old man. Said some guy sold him the house for cheap and he moved in a few weeks ago. The description he gave of the guy fits Draekus."

"Yeah?" I debated filling David in on my discovery. "Where was he last week?"

"What?" David didn't yet understand.

"Ask him where he was last week." While I spoke with David, the Trio stood outside their chopper waiting my instructions. I motioned up to them with one finger, meaning they could leave now and head to the rendezvous point. As they packed into the vehicle, I could hear David and Ian talking to the old man.

David came back on the comm, "He said he was on vacation last week. The guy that sold him the house was supposed to be finishing up some repairs that were a part of the deal, so they were here and he wasn't. Why does that matter?"

"Because that's the house I was held captive in." I gave David a minute to process this new clue. "Where'd he get the cigar?"

Apparently when David knew Draekus, he was already a big fan of the tobacco product, because he approached the old man himself about it. I could hear through the comm link, "Hey, the cigar, where'd you get it? Why are you hanging out over here?" I could hear the tone in the old man's voice when he answered; it was a tone of utter confusion. The man that sold him the house had given him a box of these cigars and had asked him to look after the girl across the street. Draekus had told the old man that he had watched her grow up and was concerned about her safety. None of that was true, however, because Cera had moved into the neighborhood just before the old man had. He played on the old man's sense of citizenship, and used him to startle us. He knew that one day soon we would be there and would see the old man smoking his cigar.

"Clever," I said to myself but both David and Ian heard it.

"Yes it is," David responded and handed the old man back over to Ian. Ian helped the neighbor back across the street to his own home, apologized for the mix up, and returned to David's side. "But there's still no sign of Draekus or his men."

So here we were with a dead end. We had gotten Cera to safety, but we still had no idea if Draekus knew that. If we had actually managed to get her away without him knowing, it would be harder to drive him out, but she would be ok. Of course, she couldn't remain in her house or with her job or any of her existing life as long as we didn't know where he was, so it was a moot point to think we'd saved the girl forever. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I replied and started running back their way. I wanted to leave Cera's car where it was for now, hoping I could return to the scene as a plausible course of action.

It took me about five or six minutes to reach them, and when I found my cohorts they were scouring the neighborhood. I joined, and about twenty minutes later we had reconvened on Cera's front porch.

"Well," Ian started, "There's just nothing here, is there?"

"Not that I can find," and I glanced at David hoping he had found something, anything, that would point us in the right direction.

He shook his head at me, telling me he didn't find anything either. "Well, the point was to send a message. So let's send one." David pulled out a small memo book from one of his pockets and a pen. He scribbled some numbers on it and then tore the paper from its binding. He put the paper just inside the door jam and it stuck out like a little tattered flag. I peered at the paper and saw David had written his cell number on it. "An invitation to the party."

"That's a fine thing," Ian said as we walked down the stairs. I skipped over the first step. "An invitation to the party you called yourself."

"Yes, it is, Ian," David half smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Yes it is." We walked back the rest of the way to our own chopper in silence, still waiting and listening for any signs of the inevitable.

While walking, I had forgotten I was mad at David. Forgotten that he had withheld information from me. Cera was safe now, and I could focus on this hunt within a hunt. I was getting antsy for it to be over. As we approached the chopper, Ian took a box from one of the support techs. It was a small little box and I wondered what nifty little gadget would come out of it. Then Ian took a slender white stick from the back of the box and jammed it into the top. A juice box? I walked over to Ian to check it out and realized very soon it wasn't your ordinary juice box. I took the box from Ian as he sipped from it and held it up to David.

"Really? Are you kidding me?" I pointed to the box.

"What?" he stated, "It's a good idea. It's a safe, portable delivery system."

"This is getting out of hand," and I handed the box back to Ian. He frowned at me, but took his box and finished it.

"It's good," Ian added. "Not great, but good. Quick, easy. Nice to have when you need a little boost. Like, say, when you're getting ready to go into battle?" He grabbed one of the boxes and tried to hand it to me.

"See?" David chimed in as he grabbed some gear and put it back into the chopper. While we were gone, the techs had unloaded a bit, trying to be prepared.

"No, thanks," I scoffed at the box.

"Goodie, more for me," Ian smiled and popped open the second box. The synthetic blood was bad enough by itself. It didn't need to be packaged like a kiddie drink. That was just plain demeaning.

"But I do need to feed, I guess, to be at my best." I resigned to the fact that we may have to make a little pit stop before reaching the rendezvous point.

"We don't have time for a hunt," David instructed as he loaded the last box. "So unless you already have a mark picked out its juice box for you." And he stepped up into the chopper. Ian shrugged his shoulders and stepped in after.

"Actually, I know just the place for a pick me up." I hopped into the chopper and told the pilot where I wanted to go. She grinned and gave me a thumbs up. Most of the support tech people were striders also, just not ones that necessarily wanted to be warriors or soldiers. Yet the basic instinct of a strider was the same as a nightcrawler, to hunt and feed, so occasionally when the support techs got to be out in the field, they really enjoyed it. David and Ian looked at each other with curiosity. I sat back down on the bench and explained. "Biloxi isn't as big of a city as most of the ones I've been assigned." David started to talk but I stopped him. I knew he'd try to use this moment to make a point about how he's right that I need to be in a bigger city. "So, there isn't always some horrible evil person waiting about the corner to become lunch. I've had to find resources."

"Resources?" Ian questioned. David said nothing but I could see the gears turning in his head.

"You'll see." A few moments later we arrived.

"Gulfport State Penitentiary on your left, folks," the chopper pilot called out.

"State Pen?" Ian questioned again. David smiled.

"Geez," I rolled my eyes. "Ian, come on, man, I know deep down you're a smart guy, what gives?" He still just stared at me.

David spelled it out for him. "Big giant building, full of bad guys nobody would miss, captive..."

"Oh," the lights came on, "Oh! Awesome!"

"But how do you get them out?" David beamed like a proud parent.

"Ah," I scratched my head, "Well, I monitor the parole releases. I know when they're coming out. After they've been set out into the wild, this lion snatches up her gazelle and the herd never even realizes he's gone."

"Oh, yeah," Ian added, "Because then when they don't report to their parole office, the system thinks they've absconded and don't bother to look for a body."

"Bingo," I smirked at my own genius.

"Yeah, El, its...smart. Very smart." David shook his head. "So is someone getting paroled today?"

"Yeah, no, I don't know. That's the problem here. But we don't have to hunt. We know where they are. Less time, right?"

"No," David said, reaching into a cooler behind him, and handed me a juice box. Then to the pilot he said, "Take us back." Now he was annoyed that we had made this little side trip just because I was snubbing his juice box. It was a good idea. I just wanted us to be at our best and I never feel at my best when I have to live off the synthetic blood. I feel cloudy and slightly disoriented. No one else seems to notice a difference, but I do.

While I was still pouting about not getting a fair meal, David's phone rang. There was a brief second where we all looked at each other and when he pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at it, he nodded to us, signaling it must be Draekus.

"Hello," David answered the phone.

I don't know what Draekus said, but I watched as the color drained out of David's face. Even with super hearing, the buzz of the chopper blades was too distracting at first for me to eavesdrop. I think deep down David was hoping I was wrong, that it wasn't really Draekus we were dealing with. That it was some phony betting on the name or some mistake or maybe even a new bad guy with the same name (yeah, because that's a crazy coincidence, and we don't really believe in those). I think hearing the voice of his former pupil confirmed it for him in a way nothing else could. So I focused in to catch the conversation, because I wasn't sure David's emotions could be trusted right now.

Me worrying about David. That was funny.

Whatever it was Draekus first said was inconsequential; it served the purpose to confirm his identity to David. It also provided shock value, apparently, because David grew silent. I heard Draekus break the silence by saying, "I've been playing with your toys, David. I think I broke them. You might want to come pick them up."

I signaled to the chopper pilot to pick up speed. Ian looked at me and mouthed the word "What?" David said nothing. Then I heard Draekus again: "Oh, David, come now, don't be so surprised. You left the bread crumbs. I just followed them." David hung up the phone. His expression of confusion and disappointment changed to a determined yet steaming rage. He said nothing about the conversation.

We landed at the rendezvous point to discover a battered chopper and our team laying around the grass, all injured severely. Not dead, decapitated or otherwise permanently damaged. They would heal. They would all heal, because we didn't take any human support techs with us. We didn't want to endanger any mortals, even those that are dedicated to the cause. Just like our other abilities, each strider heals at a different rate, but each strider does heal. My own healing abilities are quite remarkable, which is why it takes so much tranquilizer to put me down. I would still rather be shot, point blank range, from a standard ammunition round that tranq'd though. A standard round heals within the hour and doesn't leave me incapacitated. Our people here have been beaten, shot, and had limbs nearly severed. They will all heal back to 100% within a few days, I'm sure, but it doesn't make the scene any less devastating.

The small cleared field by the riverside was almost stained completely with the blood of our people. The chopper lay on its side, smoking, and had multiple dents and scratches on its body. Weapons and equipment were strewn about the field, mixed in with the broken bodies. As we approached the scene, David instructed us to check everyone out while he checked the perimeter. He wanted to make sure it wasn't another ambush. Ian and I began checking things out while the pilot remained in the chopper, ready to go at a moment's notice. I imagine that's what our team attempted to do and the bastards brought the chopper back down.

Gordon and Mitchell were unconscious upon arrival, and their bodies were covered in deep cuts and scratches. Ian and I removed them first, loading them onto the chopper and hooking them up to IV machines immediately. Sanders was awake, but both her legs had been broken, so she offered to let us take the other unconscious members of the team into the chopper before her. As we drug bodies across the field and were hooking them up to blood supplies, Sanders told us what had happened.

She said they were there, just waiting for us, and just as the sun set suddenly they came out of the river and ambushed the team. There were at least twenty of them, if not thirty, she recalled, and they were just simply out matched. She said there was no sign of Draekus, so she didn't know if he was there somewhere, watching it go down, or if he was elsewhere. Sanders looked around at the carnage and smiled. "At least," she said, "We know we'll live to fight another day." When I asked if she knew what she was fighting, she shook her head no. Ian and I helped her up and carried her to the chopper. While Ian was inserting her IV, she looked up at me and said, "They had our strength, but they had crawler viciousness."

Once everyone was loaded onto the chopper, Ian and I went back through the grass recovering as much equipment and supplies as we could. David came back to the chopper, telling us he had called for a clean up crew to get the rest and we should just head back to the complex to regroup.

"What about Cera?" I asked. "We still haven't seen Draekus. We don't know if she's safe."

"I know," David said. He sighed heavily and then continued, "We'll have to bring her with us. We have rooms in the complex that can be fashioned to look like a regular hospital. If we're careful, we can still maintain the ruse while keeping her safe."

I couldn't believe it. That was the smartest thing he'd said all day.

Just as we were getting onto the chopper for good, I caught a scent. "Hold on for a moment," I signaled the pilot. I put my head outside and inhaled deeply. I knew that scent; we all did. I told the chopper the cut the engines.

"What are you doing?" Ian said, "Let's get out of here."

"No, wait, listen," I put my finger to my lips in a hush gesture. As the chopper blades slowed to silent, I could hear them. Voices. There was a commotion nearby, and I grinned as recognition crossed my mind. "Come on," I waved as I exited the chopper.

"What, El?" David said, following behind me.

"You guys go on," Ian said, motioning to our fallen comrades, "I'll stay with them."

David nodded and we started walking along the river. I could tell David was listening, and he grinned, too, when he realized what was there. The river bent east around a small knoll, and once in the middle of the bend, we could see them. Up ahead, splashing in a low laying area of the river bed, were five young men and one young woman. The men were throwing rocks at the girl, calling her derogatory names, and a few men had unzipped their pants, preparing for more fun. The girl was crying and screaming, slumped down on her knees in the water, and covering her head with her arms. One man throw another rock at her head, which knocked her out. I looked at David like a kid at a candy store.

"Lucky us," he looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"I never get this lucky," I smiled at him, "A fine meal laid out before us, just at the right time?" I gestured with my hand like a model on a gameshow. Our conversation caught the attention of the group. A few of the men, the younger ones I guessed, took off running. David took after them. David is very, very fast. His lack of bulk allows him to be almost aerodynamic when he ducks his head and shoulders. He chased them around another bend, and within seconds I heard the screaming. The remaining three men, who had watched this happen, turned back to look at me and realized what was in store for them. Unlike the machismo I faced in the alley, the instincts of these men told them to run, and they tried to climb out of the riverbank to escape. David finished up and had his hands on two of them before they even made it out of the water. He was holding them up with each hand by the backs of their heads.

"Well, come on," he said, grinning from ear to ear, "It isn't often I lay out a sanctioned feast for you." I came over and made a quick meal of each of them. I drank thirstily until I knew I could no longer, and then turned to find the third. David dropped the bodies of the first two into the river, and then rinsed his hands and face with the running water.

I snatched the third in no time at all, and after making a quick meal of him as well, I returned to the chopper. David had a wet towel waiting for me and was on the phone tell the clean up team about the new bodies. We were going to meet up with the removal team, who had Cera in the back of a bus, and then head back to the complex. The chopper flew over town with ease. The bus driver had been instructed not to proceed to a hospital, as originally planned, and was sitting at a checkpoint waiting.

When we neared the checkpoint, I could see the bus sitting idle. A dark figure was leaning on the side of the rig. My heart jumped into my throat, despite the renewed strength in my veins from my feast. When a circle of smoke drifted up from the rig, I knew what I had suspected to be true. The chopper circled around the site preparing to land. I didn't have that kind of time. The woman I loved was sedated inside that bus, and the biggest bad guy I had ever met stood guard outside of it. I jumped out the open side of the chopper, hearing David and Ian scream at me as I did.

Landing hard on my feet beside the rig, I straightened up slowly to gather my balance and gain good footing. Draekus threw his cigar on the ground, smiling as he stomped it out with his combat boot.

"You better not have touched her," I growled at him.

"Don't worry, young Eliza," he sneered, "I wouldn't dream of playing with your toys. Besides, my issue isn't really with you. I'd rather have you on my side."

"So that's it, is it?" I reached behind me to pull a knife out of a back strap holder. I held the blade behind me for just a moment. The chopper was landing several hundred feet away behind me, and I knew David and Ian would both be piling out to rush to my side. I put my other hand up in their direction, signaling them to stay where they were. I couldn't risk another epic battle that had the potential to harm Cera in its wake. "Trade me for the girl?"

"Oh, no," Draekus stepped closer, "You can have the girl. Consider it a token of good faith. She's no harm to me anyway. I can only use her against you, which as you can see I have, but David will eventually tire of that, and well...David always eventually gets what he wants."

"He wanted you dead and that didn't happen."

"No, it didn't." He chuckled to himself a little bit. "Look, there's a lot you don't know about your high and mighty leader. I just want the chance to show you."

"I don't need to see anything you have to show," I lied. I knew there was a truth somewhere I wasn't seeing, and Draekus may have a piece of that puzzle. Yet obviously I couldn't trust him, so I needed this to play out delicately.

"I think you should think about it. I'll give you some time," and he turned to walk away.

My instincts told me to take Cera and run. Away from all this mess, the Network, the last four hundred years. They told me that I couldn't really trust Draekus, but they also hinted that something was going on with David. I trusted David, completely, to have my back in battle. But I have been on the wrong end of David's rage and I know what it can be like. The fresh blood coursing through my veins began to bubble with anticipation, and finally I decided that whatever David was hiding, it wasn't worth sparing the life of a madman like Draekus. I lunged at him with the knife.

He blocked the blade, slinging it around the front of my face. The tip scratched across my forehead, causing a large gash. I recovered from his block and threw down the knife. We engaged in hand to hand combat, each using deadly force blows and each able to block the other. Neither of us landed a hit for quite some time, until he caught me by surprise with a hook kick that put me square on my back. Once this happened, David could no longer adhere to my wish for him to stay back, and he was on the scene in a flash. He pounced on Draekus when he went to retrieve my blade and the two men went down in a pile. David had curled his arm around Draekus' neck, and sitting atop of him, I could see he was trying to pull his head clean off.

Getting back to my feet, I watched them struggle in awe of the sheer power before me. David had been the one to teach that move to Ian, how to snap the neck and twist just so to dislodge the entire head from the neck with leverage and strength. But Draekus wasn't some newling crawler or strider like the one Ian decapitated and had the power to fight back. He bent his head forward, preventing David from getting the snap just right. Eventually Draekus was able to flip David over him, causing David to release his grip and get slammed head first against the side of the rig. Draekus still had the blade in his hand, and still on his knees, swung around and jabbed the knife in my thigh.

I may have super fast healing powers, but shit still hurts. I screamed out, and Ian rushed to my side. He held his hands up as a show of not wanting to fight as Draekus got to his feet.

David was pulling himself out of the rig. Apparently his impact had created a hole in the side of the bus and his head had gotten caught in the hole. He had taken his time to disengage from the metal. Smart, I guess. Nothing like decapitating yourself before you even have the chance to defeat your enemy.

"Three days," Draekus was taking in heavy breaths, "Three days to decide." He looked at David just as he had freed himself and then took off running. He was just as fast as David. I had never seen anyone as fast as David. David creates his own wind when he runs. Expecting David to chase after him, I looked down at my leg, where the blade was sticking out. But David didn't go in pursuit, so I looked up again.

"Aren't you going to go get him?" I asked. I was breathing heavy also. We don't need to breathe. The oxygen is a nice little boost in the blood, but if you cut off my air supply I wouldn't die. The leading theory is that breathing is so ingrained into our brains as a necessary function that it continues to tell the diaphragm to expand, causing the lungs to take in air. David considers it the constant reminder of our humanity and encourages newlings to allow it to continue happening.

"No, not now." He brushed debris off of him.

"What?!" Ian was just as shocked as I was. "He's...and you...what?"

I tilted my head at him. "Isn't he like your great white whale or something?"

"This isn't about revenge, El." He started to walk back to the chopper. "He said you have three days. That will give us more time to prepare."

"Or three days to get the hell out of dodge," Ian said, putting my arm around his shoulders. "Here," he said just to me and putting his hand around the handle of the blade, "Let me pull it out."

"No, leave it for now," I said as he helped me to sit on the tail end of the rig. "Then I won't lose it."

"You're nuts," Ian said. Then he called out to David, "So what do we do now?"

"You are coming with me to the complex. We have work to do." Then David looked at me and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "I know you're not going to change teams or whatever, but you do have a choice to make. Why don't you take a day or two to make it and we'll fill you in on the plan right before?"

"Choice? What choice do I have? I'm not running off with that maniac."

"Yeah, I know, El." David pointed to the rig. "You have to decide what to do about her. When you tell him no, he's going to continue to use her as leverage against you. So...dump her, drain her...whatever. But you need a clear head."

Draekus was right. David didn't care about protecting the innocent that had been swept into our world. All he cared about was that his best fighter, beside himself, was ready for battle when the time came. Yet he had heard what Draekus told me, which means he had to know I'd feel this way as he said these things. Did he not care if Draekus was right?

Entry 14

The support techs parked the rig outside of my apartment. Though it would seem odd, we decided to bring me and Cera back to my apartment. We could bring her back around and I could say I fought off the attackers. Another tech brought her car around, as if I had driven it here. As much as I knew she'd be crushed, we even smeared some of the syntheshit on her seats to appear that I had bled all over the place. (You don't have a car like that and not just absolutely adore it.) Right before she came to, I pulled the knife out, which was the only thing keeping the healing process from beginning. I was hoping it would heal before she awoke, but it did not so now I was stuck with one last thing to cover up and having no idea how.

Naturally, she was a little more than freaked out by the experience. I told her she had been knocked out and I had fought the assailants to narrowly escape in her car. I apparently used the last of my remaining strength to haul us into the apartment and now here we are. After a long argument about going to the hospital or not, she became dead set on tending to my wounds and didn't believe me when I told her they would be fine. I eased onto my couch and stretched out. Trying to relax, I breathe deeply as I watch her rummage through my apartment for first aid supplies.

"Where do you keep bandages and peroxide, things like that, Hon?" she called from down the hallway.

"I don't," I replied and leaned over to inspect my leg. The gash put there by Draekus was already starting to heal. I wasn't sure which would be worse; her seeing it heal or it being completely gone by the time she returned. I sighed heavily knowing this was the point of no return. I either had to tell her or leave her. Telling her would send David through the roof and leaving her would make me weak. Neither situation was optimal to begin with, but especially not appealing now.

She came back to the living room with a puzzled look on her face. "What do you mean 'you don't?" She was cradling a wet washcloth and some old t-shirts. "At least I can clean you up and stop the bleeding." She sat down on the couch beside me and moved the hair away from my forehead. Of course that wound, which wasn't as deep, was long gone. Something she realized as the dried blood that remained was washing away. "What the-"

She stopped and focused her attention to my leg. Despite the depth of the wound, the last of the healing process was going on as she removed my clothing from around the site. The blade had pierced through to the other side of my leg but due to my recent feasting, my healing powers were at their best. I watched her take in the spectacle of my skin closing up.

Too late now. "Cera, I have to tell you something."

"Eliza, what the hell is going on? How did you do that?" She stood up and stepped away from me.

"Please," I reached out my hand. I decided to go with my gut. "Sit down by me. I'll tell you everything." Such a simple request, to sit down, and I have never felt so open and vulnerable as I did in those moments watching her decide if she was going to listen to me. Eons of being guarded, private, secretive...holding my emotions at bay even from myself. Now all I wanted to do was purge my heart and soul to this woman...this creature who so held all my attention. Yet at the same time I didn't want to tell her.

I just wanted to move on like, "Oh, well, will ya look at that? Go figure" and hope the incident would pass. But Cera, sweet Cera, was too intelligent for that and would not simply overlook such a phenomenon she had seen with her very eyes.

She stepped closer and her features softened. Perhaps she saw the panic in me. She held out her hand. "Well, sure, but first let's get you cleaned up." I took her hand and she pulled me up from the couch.

"But I really think-" and Cera looked at me sternly. "Ok," I resigned. "A shower does sound good."

"Look," she said before we sauntered down the hall. "I trust you. You just saved my life. Whatever it is, I'll be fine with it."

Sure. Honey, just so you know, I'm a centuries old blood sucking monster who hunts humans for a living and enjoys every minute of it. Those guys that attacked you, they are too. But they're not the bad guys. Tra-la-la-la-la. Just kiss me and it'll be fine. Of course, she would have never been in the line of fire if I had not kissed her first. If I had dismissed her on the island. She was only going along with me to tell me she's not into me or not into girls or whatever it is straight girls say to their lesbian admirers. Now she's here, and only being kind because she thinks I did this heroic thing to save her life, when really she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and that was my fault anyway.

So I try to back out. "You really don't have to do this. I'm fine. It's been a scary night. Maybe you should just go home and get some rest."

Her head tilts a little as she looks a me. Her bottom lip sticks out slightly and she looks wounded. "Do you want me to go home?" she asks.

"Well," I can't make eye contact with her now and so I look down, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I know I was a little forward the other day and I understand if you don't...if you're not..." I leave the statement hanging. I've run out of words to make this space between us more awkward.

"Do you want me to go home?" she repeats.

I know what the answer is. I don't know what answer she wants. After debating it a few more seconds, I answer, "No."

"Ok, then," she turns me around. "Let me take care of you. It's the least I can do." And she pushes me from behind toward the bathroom.

"Ok, ok," and I can't help from giggling. "But I can bathe myself."

As I enter the bathroom I turn to close the door and she steps just inside so I can't shut it all the way. "But what would be the fun in that?"

In my surprise I can say nothing. She comes closer to me and pauses. Then closer still and pauses. I am frozen in my stance, not sure what is about to happen. She brushes a few locks out of my face and strokes my cheek. She is searching my eyes intently, but I do not know what she is looking for. I open my mouth to speak and find her lips planted firmly against mine. There is a brief break...a look of assurance...and then a firmer kiss. I pull her closer to me and soon we were locked in full embrace, her body so warm against me.

I am in such a state of shock that I have been unclothed, bathed, and robed by Cera before I can realize what is going on. As I lay on my bed with her sitting beside me, I contemplate how anything that comes out of my mouth at this moment is going to ruin any hope I ever had of being with her. So I lay in silence, listening to her breathing, waiting, hoping, she will speak first.

She does not. She just looks at me and smiles. She runs her fingers through my hair. When I look up at her with a questioning look she just shakes her head. I sit up and take a deep breath. "I thought you were coming over here to tell me to stay away from you."

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Well, I...I kinda pushed myself onto you. I kissed you and then told you nevermind. That's confusing. And I...you'll never be ok with what I have to tell you."

After repeatedly reassuring me that she could handle whatever newfound fact I had for her, she leaned in for more kisses. I reveled in the softness of her lips. I grabbed at her hips and pulled her closer.

"Stop," she says as she pulls away. "I...I have someone. He's asked me to marry him."

I swallow my responsibility hard. It is thick in my throat. How stupid of me? I've gone and dragged her into my dark world, without even an acknowledgement of her life outside of me. Now I've asked her to cheat as well. "Do you love him?"

She looks down for a moment. When she looks up at me, it is apologetically. "Yes."

"Then you should marry him." I say this without doubt, without pause. When you love, truly love, you sacrifice everything else you hold dear, including your desire to be with the one you love.

"But I-" I stop her by putting my hand to her lips.

"Then you should marry him."

She removes my hand. "I thought if you had this huge big secret it would make it easier if I told you mine first. I do love him. But I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't know what it is...I mean...I've never..."

"Been with a woman?"

"Yes."

"That's not an issue. But if you love someone else, you really should be with that someone else. I'm...difficult."

The corner of Cera's mouth turns up at this statement. "I know. It took weeks to get a full sentence out of you. You're so mysterious. But I feel...connected to you. Like I'm supposed to be by your side. Like I always have been."

I think about this for a few minutes. It has been so long since I felt connected to anyone. Hell, I think. With watchers on my tail and the last few days of events, David's gonna quarantine me anyway. Might as well tell her the truth and let her decide. So I pull her back to me and kiss her once more, for she may never allow me to again.

"I get that," I reassure her, "But my life...it's...dangerous. So if you have someone, someone you love, someone safe, then you need to be with him. Not me. You'll get hurt."

"I thought he was safe," she said, "I moved here to be close to him. We've been online dating for awhile, and I thought it was time, but lately he's been...different. And the more distant he got, the closer you did, and it became clear I needed to let go of him."

She paused for a moment. "You let him go?" I asked, more to confirm to her that I had been listening.

"Yes," she nodded, "I broke it off with him, and he panicked, saying I couldn't leave him now, that he needed me, that I was the only thing keeping him sane...and he started talking some crazy nonsense. So I told him again, that I couldn't do this, and he proposed in desperation. I told him no, but he insisted we were going to get married. I was getting ready to go over to his house and finish things for good with him when you showed up."

"All that over me?" She smiled and nodded in response. "But when I kissed you the other night, you acted like it didn't even happen. And at work the next day. I'm confused." And I really was.

"Well," she swallowed, "I had to. At that point I wasn't sure what I was going to do. But I knew I had to break it off with him for good before there was going to be anything at all with you. But then you disappeared for like, a week, so here I was, past the point of no return, not hearing from you and still trying to get him to let go. Then you show up, and then we get mugged and here we are."

I sat there, thinking this whole exchange over. All this time she had been thinking about me as I had her, consumed by our "what might be." She realized I was taking it all in and gave me pause, but still expected answers.

"So where were you? What is going on?"

"Ok...but when I tell you this you're not going to believe it. And you may think I'm full of shit or you may realize what I'm telling you is the truth and be scared of it. And you should be. But you have to promise to hear it all. Every word. Then if you want to leave and never see me again I'll understand."

"Hon," she almost laughs, "It can't possibly be that bad."

"Just promise?" And she does. And I tell her. I tell her everything, from the beginning to the edge of this very night. How I became a sunstrider. How I adore it. How I feast regularly and who I feed on. About David and Gruff and how the others were hunting me when she caught up with me and just happened to be in the wrong place. The only thing I don't tell her about is you, because I could never betray you like that. Despite how desperately I am in love with this woman, I could not endanger you by her talking to David about you.

It only took me a few hours to recall the last several centuries. Cera sat in silence, taking it all in. She only asked a few questions for clarification and then let me continue on. I was almost sick to my stomach with anticipation when I was finished, waiting for her decision. She stood up and peered out the window for a few moments. Then she turned to me and gave me a look over.

"I'll tell you what I believe."

"Ok," I said questioningly.

"I believe the universe tells us things. And the universe pointed me to you. And I don't know Fate has such a sense of humor that it would do so just to have me listen to hours of bullshit. I believe I watched a very deep, otherwise life threatening wound heal in a matter of minutes. I believe you would never harm me. I-"

"Oh! Never! I-" She interrupts me interrupting her.

"Let me finish." She was very stern. I felt like a scolded child. Very few people have been able to make me feel that way. I mean, very few people...throughout history. "I believe if the universe wanted you in my life it was for a damned good reason. So I guess I believe you're stuck with me. At least until it gets weird." And she laughs.

I'm so relieved and overjoyed I fall backward onto the bed. She then comes back to the bed and flops down beside me. We kiss again. And again. And...

We...connect, like really connect...for several hours. To finally embrace her made me explode like tiny little electrical flashes all over my body. Most of the energy of my feasting had been used up in the fight and the healing from the fight, but the last drops of exhilaration were poured into being with her. I traced every inch of her body with my hands. We kissed as if that was all there was to do in this world but kiss. We were learning each other in this new way, and every nuance was a fresh and exciting discovery.

In the twilight of the evening, I get up from the bed to crack a window. A warm ocean breeze trickles into the room, and satisfied with the air flow, I return to bed. I prop my head up on my arm and look at her. She rolls over, flowing lavender over my skin, and grins at me. "Can I ask you something?" I inquired, which were the first words we had spoken in hours.

"Sure."

"Why do you always smell like lavender? Like really smell like lavender."

"Oh," she giggled, "I grow it. Always have, since I was a little girl. I use it now for its essential oils to make my own shampoo and soaps. Why do you ask?"

"Well," I leaned up a little bit, "I always know when you're nearby because the smell is so fragrant."

"Wow," she said, "Is it that overpowering?"

"It's intoxicating."

"Ok," she pulled herself closer to me, "Can ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"So," she says, "Really a vampire?"

I laugh. "Yes, really a vampire. But we prefer the term sunstrider."

"Right, right. Vampire that isn't damaged by the rays of the sun. Sure." Here tone was playful. "I thought vampires couldn't get all wrapped up in...passion...without feeling the thirst. And here I am...completely biteless."

I squinted my eyes at her. "Yeah, no...that's um...I promise you are perfectly safe with me. I'm not going to bite you."

She laughed. "Ok, fine. But I'm still looking for some proof. I didn't see fangs or anything. And I checked."

"Yes you did," I confirmed.

"So," and she knelt her head down to inspect what she could from where she was, "Do they only come out when your feeding or can you retract them at will?"

Smiling, "Well, I can retract them at will, but they get in the way, and it hurts, and-"

"It hurts?" she was surprised.

"Yeah, it hurts, they have to break through the gums every time."

"Every time?"

"Every single time, yes."

"Wings?"

"No wings."

"Awww. Claws?"

"Oh, yes, those too." I could see the gears in her head turning as she decided what to ask next.

"Reflection?"

"Yes, I have one. And a shadow. And I can eat real actual food as well."

"Really?" she inquired, "Oh, but I saw that. And I saw a huge knife wound heal in a matter of minutes. But that's all I've seen. Come on...you gotta give me something."

I stroked her cheek and hair pondering what feat I could use in this bizarre lover's show and tell game. "Ah, well, I have super strength and speed, and good hearing and sense of smell, too."

"Yeah?" her eyebrows raised in excitement. "Show me." So I raised up from the bed and told her to hold on. I went to the end of the bed and, grabbing the end with one hand, lifted it to about my eye level. Then I gently put it back down. "Oh, that's not so supernatural. I've had boyfriends that could do that and they weren't vampires."

"That you know of," I teased her back. There wasn't much I could do within the apartment that could be an appropriate demonstration. She had seen the healing, and I really didn't want her to see me all fanged out if I could help it. "Oh, I don't know," I finally gave in.

"Well, you'll have to show me something sometime. For now I guess I'm just dating someone who claims to be a vampire but all I've seen is some wicked fast healing tricks." She beamed at me.

"Sunstrider," I correct her. We lay there in silence with the breeze whisking by our toes. Cera eventually closed her eyes as she laid her head against my heart.

"You have a heartbeat."

"Well, yeah...I live off blood. Gotta have something to pump it."

"Doesn't make any sense," she said while yawning.

"I can't rejuvenate my own blood like when I was human," it sounded like such a strange thing to say to her. Even though I had spent many years teaching newlings about themselves, to tell a mortal, in this kind of intimate space, it was just weird. She yawned again. "Go to sleep."

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled. Then she fell asleep against me. I watched her for a short while before drifting away myself. It was a night without dreaming, a peaceful slumber.

I woke up in the morning with the sun beating on my face from the open window. As I rolled over, planting my face into a pillow, lavender infiltrated my senses. I smiled in my sleepiness and reached out for her, but she was gone. Opening my eyes, I stumbled out of bed and threw on a t-shirt and jeans. Then a new smell came, a much heavier smell, and I must have made a face because she stood in the doorway laughing at me.

"It isn't that bad," she said.

"What?" I asked, still groggy.

"My cooking. Tell me you can't smell bad cooking."

The smell would have probably been enticing to anyone but me. She had fixed a full blown breakfast for sure, and the mix of us and lavender and blood and food was overwhelming. "It's not that," I replied, rubbing my forehead, "It's the mix."

"Ok," she said quizzically. "Pop quiz. What's out there?" She was referring to the meal.

I stretched and yawned. "Eggs, bacon, ham, toast, grits, cantaloupe. You went all out."

"Ok, bacon's easy. Anyone could smell that. Yes, I did go all out." It was that moment that I realized she was completely dressed, ready to go out. She was wearing a blue pin stripe business suit with crisp white collar and cuffs on her shirt and a standard pair of matching heels.

"You're leaving?" I asked as I sat down at my kitchen counter.

"Well," she responded while fixing me a plate. "Some of us have to go to work this morning."

"How long have you been up?"

"A while."

Great. A morning person. "Oh," I said taking the plate she was offering, "You can't leave. He's still out there."

She raised her eyebrows, "Draekus, right?"

"Yeah, big baddy," I sipped from a glass of water she had poured. I was obviously still a little out of it. "You have to stay here with me."

She nodded. "Sure. And lose my job. Not everyone has some mysterious secret society funding my living."

"No, really," I took a bite of toast. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I think you just want me to stay here with you while you're on this little prewar vacation."

I hadn't really thought about it that way before, but it did sound great. "Well, that too."

"I'll be fine," she reassured me. "He didn't come after us last night and he said you have, what, three days?"

"Yes." I ate some more toast. "I don't want you to take this lightly. It's a real threat."

"I understand," she said, changing from a jovial to a very serious tone, "And I will be careful. I'll call you if anything happens."

I squinted. I didn't like this idea at all. Not one bit. But Cera was mortal. She was still human with her human life and human sense of time and meaning and human obligations. I mulled over letting her leave while she ate her breakfast and I picked at mine. When she finished, she put her plate in the sink and refilled her orange juice into a lidded cup she found in my cabinet. Must have been left over from Ian's stay because I never had a cup like that. She then picked up her bag and looked at me.

"By the way," she said, "You owe my car a bath. A big one."

Oooo. In trouble with the Missus already. "Yeah, sorry, I..."

She waved her hand. "Not a big deal. But you are going to clean it."

"Yes ma'am." I responded and laughed a little. She started to walk out the door, giving me seconds to decide whether to put my foot down or not.

"What are you going to do today?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Train. Call David. Do some research I guess."

"Sure, ok," I could tell she was thinking about what that meant for me and picturing it in her head. "Well, I'll come right over after work."

"Ok." I guess she was going to work and I was staying here. Damnit.

As she opened the door and turned around to wave goodbye, she made one statement. "Last night, in case you were wondering, was amazing." She winked at me and out the door she went.

Entry 15

_Day one_. When Cera left my apartment this morning, there was a brief feeling of overwhelming joy. Then there was a crushing, debilitating void. After having been so close to her, having been in our own little universe, the absence of her was paralyzing. I sat on my couch for what felt like the longest time, just staring at my blank TV, missing her. I knew I should get up and do something but instead I sat there, waiting for her return, so I could be alive again.

It was a pathetic two hours or so. Here I was, one of the strongest creatures alive on this planet, defender of the weak, someone who could do extraordinary things, and I had been reduced to a pining puddle frozen in her wake. Later on, when I told her about this, she laughed at me and said she thought it was sweet. Sweet? No, it was sad. My whole existence, my life, my routine, was falling apart because of this new threat and I didn't really care. As long as I could be with her, it did not matter what else went on in the world.

And not only that, but she was human. In a different world with different needs and concerns. She wasn't obligated to save the world, to rush to the rescue, to put herself in harm's way. Yet she was the one, the one to shake me, to pull me out of my routine of duty and responsibility, to remind me why we protect the humans. I realize now that while having her in my life was a blessing, having me in hers was not. By loving her I had thrown her under the proverbial bus, right in Draekus' sight, so now even if she wanted nothing to do with me she didn't have a choice. If I had just not kissed her that night, that first night in the late, dark hours. What was I thinking?

My fear for her safety accomplished two things: it made me shake off my afterglow and hazy wallowing in missing her and it reminded me that she was not the only one whose safety I had jeopardized. You were here in Biloxi, too, and although I had no indication that Draekus knew about you, I had to make sure you were ok.

The problem is that if Draekus is still watching me, which is a good possibility, then going to look after you is going to be tricky. It will lead him right to you. There's a good chance Draekus is still trailing me because of his habit of making cryptic plans. Three days. So I have three days to decide if I'm going to join forces with him, but I have no appointment. That means in a window of time around sunset on the third day he will just appear and expect an answer. In the meantime, he'll want to know what I'm up to, what it is I'm doing with my three days to help with my decision.

Of course I'm not going to join forces with this maniac.

I'll be so glad when this is all over and things can go back to normal. It's a dream to think that, because what I consider normal is all gone. There will be a new sense of the norm, after things have settled and changed. I won't be able to go back to delivering mail, keeping an eye on you, having routine hunts. No, that's all gone now. David knows about Cera. He knows, and he'll expect me to do something about it, especially if he finds out that she knows everything. The feeling of missing her in my gut changed as I realized I would have to say goodbye. If not to her, I would have to leave here at least, which meant leaving you.

I pondered my plan of action. One last check on you, my secret, silent goodbye, at least for now. It would be some time before I would be able to catch up with you again. David would make sure to keep me far away from this place. Time is not the thing that wears on me. I do not wrestle with my immortality as some do. It is the constant moving and relocating and settling in to a new place. David rotates his teams, generally in an annual cycle, to keep us fresh. Even before the Network, when it was just me and him, we were always on the move, and I never really understood why. I mean, I get that we can't stay in any one place for forever. The no aging thing tends to raise suspicions. But a decade, plus or minus a few years, really isn't that much of a stretch. Having a random apartment here or there and a standard assigned quarters at the complex isn't the same as having a home. I had a home once, and I never want to forget what it felt like.

I knew you'd be at work right now, so if I stopped by your house you would not be there. Which could be advantageous, because I could see clues to your state of being. The last few times I saw you, things didn't look so good. Yet I didn't want to lead Draekus to your home, so I needed another reason to be there. I racked my brain for a solution and came up with nothing. As I was stirring through some completely implausible ideas, I got startled with the phone ringing.

"Hey, El," it was Ian, "What's going on?"

"That's what I should be asking you," I replied, "What do you have so far?"

I could hear him sigh through the phone. "Well, we have resources. We've alerted the Network to what's going on and striders that can leave their posts are coming in from all over the country. Supplies and weapons are being flown in. We have the means, but no ideas what to do with them."

"What does the Council think?"

"Well, of course they want this taken care of. They want it done. But they don't think there's a need for a world wide panic. Until he starts travelling, they consider it an issue only for this district and are not going allocate help from anywhere else."

"Sounds like the Council. Has David come up with anything of a plan yet?"

"Not really. We have no way to contact Draekus, no idea where he is, nothing."

"Yeah," I agree, "There really isn't anything to do without knowing more. We don't even know what we're gearing up for."

"I know," Ian said, "And David's so frantic. Wish you were here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it would be a big help." I could hear a hint of despair in his voice.

"What help can I be, Ian? For whatever reason, Draekus wants me on his side and has given us a reprieve for me to decide. He's more powerful than we expected, and we need to prepare for whatever it is he has in mind."

"El?"

"What?"

"Are you going to...I mean, I have to ask, are you going to join him?"

"No!" I couldn't believe he doubted my allegiance. "Why would you think that? I thought you knew me better than that."

"Well, I didn't think so, but you and David have been so off again on again lately, basically at each others' throats, and you seem so distracted. You're not on task with us on this one."

"Ian," I try to put as much assurance in my tone as possible, "David and I have been like this since the beginning. That's nothing new. We're like siblings."

"I know, this just seems different."

"Well, it is a little different. Ian, I love her. Her being in the middle of this makes it different."

"Yeah, about that," and I could tell he believed me and his tone was lightning up, "Why didn't you tell me about her? She's a little hottie."

I laughed. "I didn't know I was, that we were...I didn't know for sure. And she's a mortal. You know David would have gone through the roof if he'd known."

"Eh," he shrugged it off, "I hang out with mortals all the time."

"Yeah, but I don't. And I don't get attached even when I'm 'hanging out'. And David knows that. He wants me to always stay focused."

"You might want to think about that right now, for the sake of your hottie girlfriend."

Girlfriend? "Yeah, well, I'm trying. Keep me posted. I'll let you know if anything happens here."

"Sure. Bye El." Ian hung up the phone. I thought about our conversation. Draekus hadn't given us a contact point. All we really had was a phone number, from him calling David. Surely David has tried to call him back, find out something. The phone number was probably disconnected by now though, because that's simple standard operations when involved in our kind of secret world. Yet he had David's number, so between that and knowing where I was, I was confident Draekus would contact us when he was ready. I had no clue, however, as to why he wanted me or what he thought he was going to do with me if he got me. He had the chance to make me an offer when he kidnapped me, but he didn't. That was just one of the many mysteries of my opponent, answers I intended to get soon.

Another mystery, one I might be able to answer sooner than the questions surrounding Draekus, is are Cera and I actually together? It was a declarative, defining issue I hadn't thought about yet. I was with her, and wasn't that all that mattered? I shook it off. Debating the intricacies of human labels with myself wasn't something I wanted to pay special attention to right now.

Draekus' actions had seemed so random at times and so well put together at others. Having both nightcrawler and sunstriders attack innocents, letting me go after obviously tracking me for weeks, appearing in Cera's neighborhood but not continuing the fight. I thought about the locations and times of the attacks, the victims, every possible aspect of the case. I'm sure there was a connection somewhere, but I couldn't find it here. It was like he haphazardly chose where he was going to strike, with no rhyme or reason. There was such a lack of pattern, that even if some of the events were accident, we would never know which was intentional and which was not.

That's when it hit me. How I was going to check on you without leading him straight to you. I wanted to check out your home, but not lead him right to you. If I randomly picked other homes to scope out, across town, across neighborhoods, he would not be able to tell which one was the important one. All I would have to do is make sure I was very careful not to show any one dwelling special attention or inflection in my face. This could work. Getting excited about my plan, I got off the couch, got dressed, and started packing for my little adventure.

Hours later, I had combed through half of the city, breaking into about every third or fourth house. I didn't want to disturb anyone, so occasionally I had to skip over more or less homes than I wanted to because they were occupied. Sometimes I scoped out each house as if it were your house, learning about each family or couple or person as I did. There were soccer moms and military dads, karate kids, bookworms, golf fanatics, dog lovers, cat lovers, people who had no idea how to clean and people with apparent OCD. There were typical Southern gentile homes with elegant molding and antique furniture and there were struggling college kids sleeping on air mattresses. The variety and range and sheer vast uniqueness of each home was intriguing, each with its own fascinating idiosyncrasy. I couldn't help but to smile at some homes, with their obvious sense of warmth and family. This was your community. These were the people you grew up with, the people you called home. It was nice to know that most of them were good people.

Finally arriving at your house, I reminded myself to show no emotion. I had never been inside your house, though I have peered in through various windows on occasion. Your home had always been kept up well, nicely but sparingly decorated with warm colored fabrics and deep wooden furniture. There was always a soft lighting in the home as you worked on different projects or relaxed. Everything in your home was always a reflection of you, bold but subtle, strong but sparse, open yet comfortable. The home I stood in on this day was none of those things, and I worried about its reflection in you.

All the overhead lights were on, shining bright throughout every room and corridor. Some of the lamps that had previously provided softer, warm glows were thrown onto the floor. It was in the middle of the day, so sunlight peered through cracks in the curtains, all of which were drawn closed. Leftover food and drink containers spilled off of every flat surface, not all of them empty. I found several molded plates and take out boxes. Dirty laundry competed for floor space with the food trash, with the sure loser being the floor itself. What was once gleaming beautifully crafted hardwood was now a landscape of upheaval and I tried to carefully navigate it to leave no trace of my presence here.

There were liquor bottles of every kind and size distributed throughout the home and by the kitchen sink was an ashtray full of used up butts. You have never been a smoker before and really only a light social drinker. Something was definitely going on with you, something new, and something that apparently bothered you quite a bit. Among the debris that is now your abode, are several other broken things and tons of books, magazines, newspapers, and pages upon pages of printed off internet articles.

I beg an shifting through these, figuring they would provide the biggest clue to what was troubling you. Medical journals. Books on the Occult. Conspiracy theory collections. UFO sightings. Reports on feats of unimaginable proportions occurring all over the world. Books on religions from all over the world. Spiritual guidebooks. Various anthologies of psychological disorders. Books on cultural myths. Your home was cluttered with readings from just about every topic that wasn't basic math or literature. Whatever I was trying to find out about you, it appeared you were trying to find out about yourself.

Still shocked about what I had found, and not knowing what had happened to you, I decided I had seen all I needed to see and that it was time to leave. I couldn't afford to linger here much longer and needed to move on to the next home. I took a deep breath and exited your residence with as little emotion on my face as I could muster.

I went through another dozen homes or so, until I had covered roughly three quarters of the city. I was confident I had trolled through enough homes to seriously narrow the possibility of Draekus knowing which one was yours. It was a time consuming task, and though I probably should go ahead and do the rest of the city, it was almost time for Cera to get off work and I needed to be available when she was. I pulled out my phone and text her: How's ur day going?

She responded: My presentation went great.

Me: Good. Any signs of big baddy?

Cera: No. I'm fine. Told U so.

Me: Sure. C U after work?

Cera: Of course.

I put the phone back in my pocket. I was walking back to my jeep when it occurred to me that if I made a few grocery stops, I could route myself around your work and your favorite coffee shop to see you without anyone noticing that's what I was up to. Plus, it wouldn't take that long so I'd still be home before Cera was. I needed to see you, to lay eyes on you. I needed to know that you were ok, in my completely grandiose, "Yeah, I know you've got some mortal problems but at least you're still alive" sort of way.

Reaching the jeep, I hopped in and put the vehicle in gear. As I pulled out of the parking spot and onto the street, I felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Something was wrong, very wrong, or something very bad was about to happen. Yet here I was, the self imposed heroine of the story, without a plotline to follow. I didn't know what was going on with you anymore than I did Draekus.

I drove past your work site and didn't see your car. I called the front desk, asking to speak to you, and was informed you were no longer employed there. Apparently today is the day of red flags. I stopped at a few market places to pick up ingredients for dinner, which put me in the same plaza as your favorite coffee shop. After I did some shopping, as I was taking my bags to the jeep, I noticed your car was parked out front. I was elated to have hit this jackpot. While loading my bags, I honed into the coffee shop, hoping to hear something, anything, from you. Turns out you were having a heated argument with the cashier because your debit card had been declined. You were angry and distraught and I waited to see what you would do.

I began rifling through my jeep, looking for trash, so to appear as if my lingering here were a natural event. I peered over my sunglasses to watch you as I pulled empty shake cups and cracker wrappers off the floorboards. You burst out of the shop, huffing and puffing, throwing your wallet in the front seat of your car as you started to get in. Your hair was a mess, your shirt was wrinkled and stained, and there were dark circles under your eyes. You paused for a moment, as if you had heard something, and then jumped into the car. You sped off through the parking lot, almost hitting a few cars as you vacated.

Just as I was hopping in the jeep, my brain stopped my heart from making a huge mistake. I wanted to chase after you, grab you, tell you everything would be ok and then demand you tell me exactly what everything was. You seemed desperate for some kind of resolve. Losing your job, being in such a state of desperation, having your entire world crash down around you. I did not know who or what caused this crash, but I fought the urge to swoop in and rescue you, like I had done not so long ago in this very parking lot. What could I have done? With all this power and strength at my command, all my resources, all my allies, there still wasn't anything I could do for you that would make things better for you. I was bound to you and yet bound from you, stuck in this perpetual limbo.

I didn't chase after you after all. I drove home in tears.

And I am not a crier.

After having gotten home and cleaned up, I put away the groceries and began cooking. I wanted to make a nice meal for Cera, have a sweet romantic evening. When this day was over, I only had two left. Two days before whatever was going to happen did happen, and this life would be over and a new one would emerge. Most people in my position might not have looked at it the way I did, but everything in my gut told me this was the end of this particular cycle. That the reintroduction of Draekus into my world changed everything, that David wasn't telling me something, and that I wouldn't give you up for anything. These facts shifted the balance of the current way of things for me and I was quite positive they wouldn't be able to shift back. Moreover, I also knew I didn't want them to.

I had prepared a simple pasta meal, which a rich cream sauce and some lightly seasoned grilled chicken. This was a meal I could eat without getting nauseous, so it was something Cera and I could enjoy together. To accompany the meal I prepared a fresh green salad, something I knew Cera enjoyed. To finish the meal off, a soft chocolate mousse that I anticipated having inside a bubble bath. Cooking the meal was surprisingly fun. I've been cooking my entire life, since I could stand beside my mother and reach the table tops at the inn. David took me all over the world and I learned a thing or two in those travels as well. This was such a simple meal, but I had also learned that the simple things in life are the things most clear and most missed.

Besides wanting to have a nice evening with her, perhaps one of my last, I wanted one evening to not think about you. There was nothing I could do for you now, not that I've ever really done anything for you at all. I couldn't help you. I couldn't hold you. I couldn't stop what was causing you so much grief, whatever the thing was that was haunting you. So I am guilty of not wanting to think about you. Guilty of not wanting, for one night, to worry about you. To pretend you don't exist. I don't exist for you, so I want to drown myself in existing for her.

Cera came to my apartment, very excited from her day. She prattled on and on about her presentation, about how positively upper management had received it, how hard she and her team had worked on it. Then she gossiped a little bit about some of the coworkers we both knew, people we had previously made fun of that day on the island. I listened intently, sipping on a bottle of water, while she recounted almost her entire day, as if it were just another day at the office. Just another mortal day, full of joy and bustle and nonsense and trivial matters. Not a day where a crazed superhuman mad man was watching her. Not a day when her...girlfriend...was the target of said madman. Not a day when anything was out of the ordinary at all and a warm dinner awaited her.

I poured a glass of wine for her as she talked, and when I handed it to her our hands touched for a moment. She grew silent in mid sentence and I could tell a new thought had crossed her mind. Cera's expression went from the hundred miles an hour excited to a calmer, more serene softer look.

"What?" I asked her.

"I like that you're warm," she smiled and sipped on her wine.

"Warm? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," she tilted her head a bit, "you would expect, based on all the stories and lore and whatnot, that your skin would be cool to the touch."

I laughed softly. "No, I'm warm."

"You're very warm," she nodded. "And I like it."

"Good." I reached out for her elbow and grasping it firmly but not harshly, pulled her toward me. She put the wine glass down on the kitchen counter with her other hand. As she was close enough to me now, I put my arms around her and embraced her. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her just for the sake of holding her. We shared a short kiss (too short) and then she pulled away from me.

"Right, so," she bent down to take her shoes off, "Let me get something more comfortable on and we'll eat, yes?" I nodded. I took the shoes from her as she disappeared into bathroom with her backpack. I put the shoes on a mat by the door. "Wait," and she popped back into the hallway, her jacket off and shirt unbuttoned, "Have you already eaten today?"

"What?" I had, right then, no idea what she had just said.

"Have you already eaten today?"

I had munched on some crackers while trolling through the neighborhoods of Biloxi. And had consoled myself with a milkshake after letting you take off. "Yeah, I had a few snacks."

She had gone back into the bathroom to finish changing. "A few snacks? Is that how you put it?"

It dawned on me what she was referring to and I laughed. "No, no, I actually had a few snacks. Crackers and a milkshake."

"Oh," she replied. "But nothing else? No...one...else?"

"No. Not today."

"Ok," I heard her call out in a muffled tone. I imagined she was pulling a t-shirt over her head. I sighed. "Are you going to?"

"No, probably not. Wasn't really in my agenda for the evening."

"So," and she came out of the bathroom wearing some slightly tight fitting lounge pants and a tank top, "You don't have to eat everyday?"

"Yes I do." I smiled at her, waiting for her to puzzle it out.

"So....what's happens if you don't eat for a day when you need to?"

I pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit down. "I have to eat, everyday. Not feed. There's a difference."

"Oh," she realized what I meant, "So we're down to semantics."

"There's a difference," I repeated. "I have to at least have food everyday. That's eating. And I should have a steady influx of blood throughout the week, that's feeding." I was preparing her plate as I explained this and then placed it in front of her.

She took a fork and began twirling it in the pasta. "Soooo..." she paused, "When was the last time you fed?"

I sat down across from her at the counter with my own plate. "Early last night. On those boys. I told you."

"Oh, yes," she ate a few bites of pasta and swallowed them down with a sip of wine. "So you're good, for now?"

"Yes, I'm good. Are you worried?"

She shook her head. "No. Just wondering when I should be."

"You should never be."

"I know." She grinned a big mischievous grin at me. She wasn't worried. She wanted to see it. She seemed excited about it.

"You're really curious about it, aren't you?" I asked, eating a few bites of the pasta dish myself.

"I'm curious about you."

"Well," I began a conversation that I knew may not go so well, "I'm not sure it's such a good idea."

I was right. She threw her fork down on her plate. "Oh, come on, why not? It must be exciting to watch. Isn't it exciting to happen? Did you not tell me that it's the most wonderful feeling?"

"For me," I pointed to myself, "Because I'm the one it happens to. Not so great for the person getting drained."

"Well, of course not, but they're all bad guys right? So you shouldn't have this mountain of guilt or anything."

I got up from my seat and came around to her. I took her hands into mine and looked her in the eye. "That's the thing, Cera. I don't feel guilt. And I do love it. It's a fantastic feeling. But I know how it looks. And it looks...scary."

She looked me dead in the eye. "I can handle it."

"You say that, but I don't know that about you, not yet, and I never want to see you fear me."

"Oh, El, come on-

I interrupt, "Please, Cera, I'm not ready for that yet." I would never be ready to lose her.

"Ok." She kissed me, and we went back to our meal.

Entry 16

We had a very pleasant evening after all (I got my chocolate mousse and Cera in the bubble bath wish), and while bathing in everything that was her, I had completely forgotten about Draekus and David and the nightcrawlers. I had, for those twilight moments, forgotten about you. Though I had said as much of a goodbye as I was capable of, something still lacked in it, and the roots of doubt had weaved their way through my subconscious and awoke me from a most peaceful sleep. A deep slumber where my body was entangled around Cera's, so much that the startled gasp of me waking up disrupted her as well.

Yet she did not awake fully, and blissfully rolled over mumbling something incoherent. She is such a deep sleeper; I believe Draekus and his...creature army...could raid this apartment right now and she wouldn't notice. I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. Parched for both water and knowledge, I chugged from the bottle while my mind raced with memories and facts about you and the recent events. Like with Draekus, I had the nagging feeling that there was something right in front of me that I just couldn't see. I didn't know what it was that had had such a disturbing effect on you, but I also didn't know that I could just simply leave it be.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. With the mortals I've watched in the past, I mean. Sure, many a thing can happen to a man that can tear his life or his grip on life apart. Yet so little can do so this fast and with this much impact. One day, you were fine. A simple man with an average life, trying to make your way in this world. The next you're an angry, crazed vagrant living in a pig sty, drinking your way to your death. There was definitely something I missed, something huge, and it shook me out of a bed with a beautiful woman.

I throw the bottle in the recycling bin and plopped down on the couch. Surely you'd be home in this dark hour, I thought. Home, I'm sure, but probably also awake, given that I doubt you're sleeping much either these days. It would be very easy to pop over there and have a closer look. Of course then it would be even easier for Draekus's forces to do the same here. This is the moment where reality really hit me, like a ton of bricks on my chest. The realization that no matter what I did, how strong I was, how fast I was, what I knew or what I didn't, that I could not protect you both. I needed help.

As you can imagine by now, I'm not exactly big on the whole asking for help thing. I mean, look at me. I am a sunstrider. I am "The Great" El, feared around the world, even by some of my own people. It's embarrassing to think that there is something I can't do myself. I have taken down creatures feared by armies. I have crushed the might of men who have crushed countless others before me. Even then, who do I reach out to? Who does such a warrior as myself trust with my most vulnerable secret? Who can be both sworn to loyalty and yet have the skills needed for such a task?

I smiled. Well, I only have two real friends in this world. And Ian, well, he's recently acquired a seat in my heart's hall of trust, so maybe not a job for the newbie. I doubt he would be able to handle the epicness of the situation anyway, and would want to talk about it first.

I pull my phone out. Speed dial #2. The only speed dial I ever bother setting anyway. I knew he'd be awake. I don't know that the man has ever slept. Sometimes I think he's not really mortal at all, but is something else and doesn't want to share. Having never known any other mortal capable of the things he is, that's my only explanation.

"Morning," he answers the call in chipper spirits, "Surprised to hear from you. Thought you'd be too busy honeymooning to remember us little folk."

"Haha," I comment, yet so relieved to hear the familiar jovial warmth of Gruff's voice, "I need a favor."

"Need a pickup, already?" He asked with genuine curiosity in his voice.

"No," a swallow the lump in my throat, "This is a personal...a real favor."

"Ok, what's up, kid?"

I smiled. He's always treated me in a fatherly fashion, which is funny considering how much older I am than him. "Well, I'd rather not say over the phone. Is there any way you could come here?"

There was a pause. "Well, I guess I could wake the team up and-"

"NO," I said a little too forcefully. "Just you."

There was another pause. "What's this about, El?"

"I'd rather not say over the phone. I know David probably has you working around the clock, but I-"

"I'm already on my way," he answered. "You know I'm loyal to David, El, but you also know I know my priorities."

"Thank you," I sighed in relief. The tightness in my throat and chest simmered slightly. "Try to be quiet when you get here. Cera's still sleeping."

I heard a hearty chuckle on the other end of the line. "Wore her out did ya?"

"Gruff," I grumbled, "I'll see you soon."

I hung up the phone and leaned back on the couch. Gruff is extremely loyal to David. I may be David's best field agent, but Gruff is sort of like second in command. He's basically in charge of operations. It is unusual for a mortal to hold such a place in a division's hierarchy, but Gruff has earned his spot through blood, sweat and trust. Like most of our mortals, we acquired Gruff quite by accident, and he has proven himself a most resourceful and reliable ally to have.

So David has also this mystery shrouded around him, still, even after these four hundred years. And he thinks he knows everything, and has this principle about information that not all knowledge is meant to be known, or to be known by everyone. But he's not the only one with secrets, because I have you. Gruff has her.

Gruff is special. Not just because he is my friend, but because, as mortals go, he has unique talents and abilities. He grew up in Iowa, the only child of a single mother, and a very bright boy. Always smarter than his peers, he flew through school with ease, and yet managed to not be outcaste like some of his intellectual peers. Gruff has always had a charm about him, a warmth I've rarely seen in other humans, even when I was one.

As a young man, Gruff graduated high school at age 13. He went on to earn an engineering degree from MIT by age 16. Between then and age 18, he worked for the U.S. government in some secret think tank facility. When Gruff turned 19, he decided he didn't want to spend his life in the confining walls of the government; he wanted to see the world. He resigned from his position, but the government, knowing what he knew, couldn't simply allow him to return to civilian life. So they offered him a compromise; enrollment into the armed forces, allowing him to travel yet maintaining a watchful eye.

Now, you have to imagine (because I've actually seen the pictures) this tall, lanky nerd from Iowa who had his nose in books his whole life suddenly being thrown into the U.S. military in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. It didn't take Gruff long to fill out, buff up, and move on up the ranks. He eventually became a Navy Seal and got to work all those "top secret" missions we're not supposed to know exist.

One day, while on leave while posted somewhere in Europe, our young Gruff meets a woman and falls madly in love. They eventually marry and have a child, a baby girl, and life seems eternally blissful. Life moved on this way for Gruff for years, him traveling the world for his work while his wife and daughter remained at home in Europe. He never took them with him, like some military men do, due to the dangerous nature of his work. Yet no matter what mortal peril he battled, nor how smart Gruff was, he wasn't quite prepared for the path his life was leading...or rather, landed in.

When Gruff's daughter was about six and the Cold War had recently dissolved, Gruff's Navy Seals were assigned to sniff out and disassemble the remaining splinter cell Soviet groups. These were rogue groups who insisted on maintaining the status quo and hence continued to gather ammunitions and create hostile plans against the US and its allies. During one such raid, the Navy Seals discovered something they had never been trained to encounter.

The intel the Seals had received told them that something suspicious had been going down at a warehouse nearby. People had been seen entering the building yet never exiting. A handful of the same people were consistently lingering around the outskirts of the building. Word on the street was twofold: some were warned to stay away, far away, while others were promised a great financial opportunity. The Seals had seen those patterns before as arms dealers were smuggling shipments about the country. The Seals assumed this would be another simple "round 'em up" bust.

They were so very wrong.

The Seals didn't find insurgent Soviet arms dealers; they found a butcher shop. It is a place where the slightly more evolved nightcrawlers set up a small base, congregate in small numbers, and lure in their prey. It doesn't happen very often, as nightcrawlers usually cannot maintain a distraction from the thirst long enough to become organized. But when it does, it is a gruesome affront to humanity. I have had the experience of busting a few of these myself and it is never pretty or fun.

So the Seals bust into the building, guns blazing, expecting to find crates of ammunitions and Russian spies but instead they find the waste of human carnage and five or six still hungry nightcrawlers, fangs drawn, to welcome them in.

The crawlers tore the Seals apart as if someone had fed injured lambs to wolves. Of course these soldiers fought with every ounce of strength and combat training they had, but it just wasn't enough against the small horde of well fed crawlers. Gruff, however, was able to hold them off the longest. Long enough for the area's assigned strider to appear, kill the local beasties and come to his aid. The strider thought he was completely unconscious, and therefore thought he could get help from a local hospital, shaking off what he had seen as wartime stress. Gruff, unlike his compatriots, knew exactly what he had been dealing with. He knew enough not to get bitten.

As the strider was dragging what he thought to be a barely alive human by the legs out of the warehouse, Gruff had gained enough strength back to grab the strider's arm and startle him. "I know what you are, "Gruff manages to grunt at him. The strider drops his legs and turns to face him. "And I know what they were," he points to the carcasses of the crawlers. The strider just stares at him blankly. "Leave me here, my people will come after me."

The strider shakes his head. "That's exactly why I can't leave you. Besides, you need medical treatment I cannot provide."

"Damnit," Gruff lets go of the strider's arm, "Just leave me."

"I can't," the strider picks him up, allowing Gruff to lean on him, and escorts him out of the building. Gruff was not afraid of the strider, an attribute the strider noticed immediately. "So, how does an American soldier know so much about all of this?"

Gruff knew because his wife had told him, shown him some things above reproach, but also knew not to say as such. "I've been here or there," Gruff replied.

"Well," the strider said as he inspected the damage to Gruff's body, "I could use a man who has been here or there on my own team."

Gruff chuckled. "You offering me a job? Thanks, but," he shook some dirt off his sleeves and legs, "But I've got a job."

"A good one? I've got a better one for you," and the strider proceeded to tell Gruff about how he was leaving soon for his new post, a position of authority with access to a cornucopia of resources.

Gruff thought about being under the thumb of the government. About his family, and what the government would do if they were to learn the truth about them. "You don't have the kind of resources that will set me free."

The strider grabbed Gruff's shoulder, turned him square to face him, and told him simply, "Yes, I do." There had to be something in the strider's eyes that made Gruff believe him. He left the Navy to work with the strider, despite warning from his beloved wife that she would leave him if he did.

That strider who was so convincing, that made a soldier leave his post, a husband leave his wife, and a father leave his child, was David.

I remember the day, almost a month later, when David arrived in Boston to take over the North American Division, with this soldier in tow. I remember the stern determination in his face as he got off the helicopter. And I distinctly remember how when I asked David, quite brazenly, "Who the hell is this?" and the stern look disappeared into a broad smile as Gruff himself answered, "Not dinner." In that moment, I decided, immediately, any mortal that could stand up to five crawlers, manage to convince David that he would be an asset, and still have a sense of humor in the face of a potential predator was just the kind of mortal I could tolerate hanging around.

Gruff and I became fast and true friends as we also became David's most trusted council while he acclimated to being in charge. That was a lifetime ago for Gruff. To me, closer to yesterday. Of course, I don't make friends easily, so it is something that tends to be memorable for me. Thinking about Gruff's life with us, about all the adventures we have had together, reassured me that I could trust him with this task. I knew I could trust him to protect you, and I knew because of what I knew of Gruff I could trust him not to tell David about you.

You see, while Gruff was engaged in saving the world from monsters more than us, his wife and child had moved to the Americas as well. Despite leaving him, the wife, still madly in love, had kept a secret contact with him and he had asked her to move closer so he could at least watch in on them. He sent them money every week, large sums of money, as the Network had compensated him generously for his services. With his technical savvy and combat skills, Gruff had managed to provide for his family from afar without anyone being the wiser. His wife raised their child in comfort in St. Louis for many years, where a certain especially powerful strider happened to be stationed at the time. I looked in on them periodically, at my friend's request, but I couldn't stop what happened to them.

When Gruff's daughter was around 15 years old, the Council put a hit on his wife. Apparently the old man had married himself a very powerful witch and she had pissed off the Elders. Generally, witches and vampires are not enemies, but we're not exactly friends either. Witches make use of and manipulate the forces of nature (for both good and bad) and us vampires, well, we are kind of an affront to nature. The whole never dying thing, to a witch or a changling, even, throws nature's sense of balance and timing off.

Changlings. That's a whole other story.

So these orders came in, that the hit was going down, that no one from our division was to get involved or get in the way. Gruff and I protested, under the principal of jurisdiction, and David's response was to shrug his shoulders and say, "It's the Council's orders." Gruff and I never really knew if David knew or understood the significance of this hit, and neither of us wanted to directly point it out for fear of what the Council would do to Gruff.

I watched the house that night, the home of the family of my friend. I awaited as assassins poured out of the shadows, creeping silently toward the abode. My senses had always told me both woman and child were innocents. It was my duty to protect the innocent; it was the duty of the Council. Confused and angry, I peered into that still night, unsure as to what I was supposed to do. Although I didn't know why the orders were to be, I knew what they were. Kill the woman. No exceptions.

I was in that moment, right when it all seems hopeless, when you are pushed to the brink and there isn't a way out except off the edge. And it was in that moment that I realized there was something I could do. It would never be enough, but it would be something. Damnit, I had to do something.

Revealing myself to them from my hidden perch in a nearby fragrant tree, I landed in front of the house just as the assassins were making their final approach. "STOP," I commanded the group.

The front runner of the three men arose from his crouched position. He stood about three inches taller than me and his posture gave clear indication that he was intending to intimidate me. "You have no authority here."

"No, I don't," I agreed. "But the word does. The word of the Council has more power than either you or I."

"Yes," replied the assassin, "That is why we are here. We have been summoned to execute the will of the Council. Now get out of the way." He attempted to brush past me.

I grabbed his arm. "Is it not the will of the Council to protect the innocent?"

The assassin sneered, "This witch is far from innocent."

I gritted my teeth. "That may be true," and I paused to swallow the thought, "But I assure you, her child is. Even if you didn't get the blood of the child on your hands, I doubt the Council will adhere to her witness of your intended deed here this night." I bore my fangs a little.

The man stepped back a moment, pondering my imposition. "Very well," he finally responded, "What would you have us do?"

"Let my team take the child. Witch or not, both are still mortal. Gas the house. We take the child, you kill the witch in her sleep." It was the best I could do. Mercy, of some sort, for both.

The assassin mulled this over, regarding the reactions from his cohorts. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of hesitation, he agreed, "Fine. You have twenty minutes."

We put this course into action, and as the girl was being extracted and the assassins moved into the home, we drove away as fast as we could. Above the sirens and chit chat of my allies I heard a small voice in my head. Not my own voice, but the voice of another woman, a familiar woman, telling me thank you and...it was ok. I shook it off.

The plan was executed flawlessly; the child was removed prior to seeing her mother executed. My team, Gruff's team but without Gruff, hauled the girl away and to a hospital, telling the child her house had burned down and her mother passed. To everyone's surprise, the teenager crossed her arms defiantly and told the team, "That's bullshit. I saw those men outside the house." Then she looked dead at me. With narrowing eyes, she said, "And I saw you, too." That was a little harder to shake off.

The girl had inherited her father's high intelligence and propensity for technology. She had apparently rigged the whole house with her own special monitoring system. She also, apparently, knew exactly what dangers were truly awaiting her. It wasn't like we could just dump her into the social services system with that kind of knowledge. We brought her back to the complex. Gruff "reluctantly" took her under his tutelage, seeing as how they had similar skills. Because the child had been given her mother's name (by choice) and her mother's looks (by the grace of God), no one was ever the wiser. Thankfully the girl's mouth didn't shoot off about recognizing her father or the whole ruse would have tanked. I never saw the child again after that fateful night; the business of our business swallowed her up. I'm sure she's around somewhere, because Gruff talks freely about his girl, the adopted daughter he raised. She must be in her thirties by now.

Neither Gruff nor I trusted the Council again. We trust in David, because he has saved us both, but we are always on the guard for the Council's alternative motives.

I was deep in the memories of Gruff's past, of our past, that I didn't hear his truck pull up to the drive or the chopper land anywhere. I was shaken out of my memory trance when he knocked on the door. Instinctively, I jumped to my feet, and when I caught the familiar scent of my friend, my hackles nestled back into calm. Opening the door, I raised a finger to my lips, signifying quiet. Motioning him in and to the couch, I sat down with my old friend and took his hands in mine.

I swallowed all my fear and doubt; all the things that had caused me to call Gruff here on this night, and looked him square in the eyes. "I need a favor."

"Well, El," he smiled, "I knew that. Get on with it. What? What's so important?"

"I need you to watch a house for me."

"El," he looked quizzically at me, "There's all kinds of men on both your house and Cera's house."

I smiled at him. Sometimes I forget that he is mortal, or that he is aging. I had noticed some time ago that his hearing was at times a little fuzzy. "Not the house," I corrected. "A house." Gruff just stared at me blankly. "There's a house on Dupree Avenue that-"

"I know the house, El," he interrupted as his blank stare became a furrowed brow. "847 Dupree Avenue. I know where it is. I know who lives there."

Shocked and confused. How did Gruff know about you or your house? How much did he know?

"His name is Byron," Gruff continued. "And I know just about as much about him as you do."

Entry 17

_Day two_. So....let's recap. I'm madly in love with a beautiful woman who's equally (I think) in love with me who just happens to be mortal. An evil madman rogue strider with an army of who knows what or how many wants me to be a part of his legion of minions. My best friend on this earth knows the biggest secret of my heart and neglected to tell me he knew. My boss isn't really being a big help with all this and I have today and maybe tomorrow to get it all fi gured out.

Is that it? Have I covered it all?

Foreseeing how things play out is generally one of my many skills. However, the situation I have found myself in now has entirely too many variables. All of those surrounding me.

Having learned that Gruff knows all about you actually is one of the better things to happen through all of this mess. You aren't some giant secret looming over me now; I have at least one person to talk to about you. Plus knowing how important you are to me will make him more protective of you, so I know you'll be safe from Draekus. And David. There is no telling what he would do if he knew of your existence or that you were the reason why I was even here and refused to leave.

Refusal isn't going to be an option soon.

Even if we manage to defeat Draekus, and I'm about 50/50 on that right now, David will do something about my involvement with Cera. He'll make me leave or make her disappear or who knows what else. I knew this fact, sure as I knew the thirst or the sun or the depth of you in me, but I tried not to dwell on it too much. After all, it wouldn't matter how mad David was at me if we were all dead.

David has always treated me differently than his other striders, perhaps because we have been together the longest. The others under his command have only been for the last three to five decades or so, whereas we've been together for centuries. He treats me like his little sister: no one can pick on me but him. I have different rules, different standards, under the guise that he only wants the best for me. Ian can sleep with any mortal he takes a fancy to, for example, but mortals aren't good enough for me. Other striders get to pick their protection zone, their city to guard. I have to fight for my choice, because David feels I should have a zone that reflects strength, power and some sort of dignified warrior status. Biloxi isn't good enough for me, he thinks, and neither is Cera.

Truth is, I'm not good enough for her.

Or you.

You both deserve so much more than I have given you, or that I can give you, and now you may both be fated to destruction because of your link to me. No, I don't have guilt about killing men. I don't have guilt about needing to drain monsters of their blood, drinking them dry, in order to live. But I do have guilt about breaking hearts. Souls at least get rest when they die, but a broken heart sometimes stays forever.

Gruff took his leave of me early in the morning, before Cera awoke. I did not tell her what we discussed or that he had even been here. Once again, she insisted on going to work. Insisted that she would be safe. Surely, she argued, even a madman isn't stupid enough to go into a heavily populated office building and make a move in broad daylight. I couldn't force her to stay, and though I begged, through a variety of various means, her will was solid and she went to work.

If I didn't know I would probably get cut off from her sex I would simply kidnap her, force her against her will to stay, even if it required restraining her. But her sex, it is a powerful thing, almost as powerful as her will, and both keep me in my rightful place with her.

Restless, I spent the morning working out. While having lunch, I spent the day checking in with the Complex, getting tidbits of news here and there from Ian, David, and others. All tidbits of nothing really, because we still weren't any closer to knowing where Draekus was, how many resources he had, or what exactly he had in mind. David tells me he has striders gearing up for a fight, giving me specifics as to manpower and weapons numbers, while Ian tells me the whereabouts and empty findings of intelligence scouts. These conversations remind I should prepare my own wares while Cera is out of the house. I desperately need her to understand the gravity of the situation, and showing off my weapons collection may do this, but simultaneously and equally desperately I don't want my world to scare her off.

As I gather and sort my gear, I think about timing. Draekus says three days to make my decision. Three days. He made the offer in the evening, so the clock probably began ticking in that moment. There was that night with Cera, telling her about me and my world, because I couldn't heal fast enough to hide my injuries. There was last night. So I would have tonight, probably, and then tomorrow night would be the end of my time. Time is like that for us, it's a cycle not a predetermined benchmark. It isn't like on Monday I need a report due on Thursday, so that's three days. It's like on Monday at 2pm I said I needed a report due on Thursday, so from Monday at 2pm to Tuesday at 2pm constitutes one day, Tuesday to Wednesday, etc. By 2:01 on Thursday you would be fired. Somehow I knew whatever Draekus did do in the meantime, he would not approach me personally until the dusk after a full three day cycle. So I had all of today and the better part of tomorrow. What time I didn't have with Cera would be spent preparing for whatever was to come.

What time I did have with her would be treated as the last.

I had guns, knives, grappling hooks, ropes, Tasers, lasers, tranquilizer darts, bows of various shapes and sizes with arrows of a deadly variety. I had protective gear, because even if I was a real son of bitch to kill, shit still hurt. I had simple mechanic gear and I had hi tech electronic gear. I had straps and holsters for every piece of gear I owned, all in black, and I could have on me at any given moment about half of my entire arsenal and still have enough mobility to use it. I have bo staffs, nunchucks, swords, axes. I have sledge hammers, crow bars, wenches, and nets. I think I even have a chainsaw around here somewhere, though I cannot recall at the moment why. Of all my previous façade employments, none of them were even close to that of lumberjack.

Yeah, I don't know that Cera would appreciate my arsenal the way I did. It was beautiful. All sharp and pointy and shiny and sturdy. All the finest weaponry any warrior worth their salt could ask for. Some of these pieces are almost as old as I am and I acquired each through some new adventure, some new task, some mission. I wondered what weapon I would acquire from this escapade.

After attempting to steer away from some of my more nostalgic pieces for the more practical and deadlier ones, I had put together my selection for the final showdown with Draekus. The crown jewel? A katana made two centuries ago for me by a thankful master in a Tibetan monastery. An especially brutal crawler had taken to plucking off pilgrims as they trekked up the mountain to visit the sacred temple and I had plucked him right off the mountainside. The sword was perfectly balanced, made for my size, strength, and style. The handle was crafted into a dragon image, with the blade ejecting from the hilt as fire would from the mouth. This sword would cut your breath in half if you exhaled too close to it. I intended to take Draekus' head off with the weapon, an extension of my own will.

I put my selections away in a duffle bag, putting the leftovers back in storage. Another day, another battle, I said to my lovelies as I closed the trunk and shoved it back into my closet. The modern weapons I did not choose went back into their hidden slots and spaces throughout the apartment. Having my workout and my weapons selected, I decided a shower was next in order.

The water poured over me in a cascade of refreshment, but it did nothing to clear my mind. Restless, I needed to be doing more. Unfortunately, there was really nothing more to be done. You were being guarded. David, Ian and everyone else at the complex were investigating and preparing. Cera was at work. My gear was packed. Now there was only waiting. Naturally I am not a very patient person yet over the years I have learned, despite being immortal, not to wish my life away. However, in anticipation of the upcoming battle, there was a jitter in my veins that would not calm down.

After a thorough towel drying, I walk into my bedroom. The window has been left open to allow fresh air in from this morning. It is late spring here now, and by this time of day the air is anything but fresh. It is heavy and sticky and had filled my bedroom with denseness. I closed the window and turned on the ceiling fan. I laid down on the bed for a moment, letting the air from the fan kiss my freshly washed skin. Laying there with the artificial breeze on me, my mind still ran rampant.

Deciding to apply some meditation techniques I had learned, I sat up and positioned myself in the center of the bed. Crossing my legs and resting my hands palms up on my knees, I attempted to settle my brain into a deep, soothing state. Just as the room had cooled to a comfortable temperature and my racing thoughts began to slow, I felt a sudden change in the air pressure. Normally, this would have caused me to jump to my feet and prepare to duke it out with the intruder, but I also smelled him and recognized him immediately.

With my eyes still shut, I acknowledged his presence. "Hello, David."

He chuckled slightly. "Hello, El." His tone seemed soft and light. I haven't heard that tone in a long time. It was the soothing voice my strider "adolescence" had grown up with and come to trust. Yet for all his charm, which he only had when he was trying, it did not negate the fact that my defenses were up. They would always be up when it came to Cera, and she, of course, was what he came here to discuss. Despite knowing I was no threat to him, he was still smart to take this tone for this subject.

"What do you want, David?" My eyes still closed, my room beginning to get hot, my body still naked sitting upright on the bed.

"For starters," I could hear his rustling fabric, "You could put something on and look at me."

I opened my eyes and gave him a dismissive look. He was holding my robe. "It isn't like you've never seen me naked before. We have been together for a long time."

"Yes, I know," he smiled and handed me the robe anyway. "Humor me, you're like my little sister." I took the garment from him and wrapped it around me. "And you're right," he continued, "There isn't much I haven't seen of you. Until now."

"What are you talking about?"

"You," he gestured toward me, "With this...woman..." (oh, here we go) "...she has a hold on you like I have never seen before."

"Well, she's pretty amazing."

"She's a mortal." It was a statement of fact. Not a question or a protest.

"Yes, she is." My confirmation was not to verify for him that a human was all that she was, but that I heard him make the point that she was human. "And I love her," I added after a pause. For a brief moment, a flash in time, there was a wince across his face. It was as if her mortality was a knife in his side and my loving her was the twist that ground it in.

"Really, El?" and he sat on the bed beside me. "Are you going to leave us for her?"

"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Come on, Eliza," (oooo, he was getting mad) "You can't bring her with you to the complex. And she can't be put into the fight with Draekus. After that, you'll have to relocate. What's the point?"

Now I was getting mad. He basically just called Cera useless. "The point is I am in love with her and I will protect her!"

"Oh, Christ, El...she can't be more than a toy for you! Look at all the trouble she's caused, all the lengths we've had to go to. She is one mortal girl, nothing more, we can find you another."

That's when I lost any benefit of the meditation I had gained. I leapt off the bed and pounced on David, striking him square across the jaw. It was an instinctive move and as we both tumbled to the floor from it, I realized what I had done.

I just hit the boss.

"Big brother" or not, he was still my commanding officer. More importantly, he is my superior in all things combat: speed, strength, training, technique. Ever have that moment where you do something stupid, I mean, just really, really dumb and realize too late and wish you could take it back? I scrambled to my feet and planted myself in my best defensive pose while my brain screamed at me oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!

David rolled over on my floor to his back and simply stared at my ceiling. Then he started laughing. From giggling to right out horse laughing. I held my position. He stood up and dusted off his pants and untucked button down shirt. Looking at me in my stance, ready for his strike, he tilted his head and smiled. "This is what I mean," he reaches his open hand out to me, "I used to know what you looked like, no matter the mood or condition." I took his hand, slowly, and relaxed my pose. "This girl makes a difference on you."

I took his hand into mine and made direct eye contact. "Why does it matter so much? You've never been anti-mortal before. Ian gets to date whoever he wants; hell, Gruff is the best friend you've got in this world."

He sighed. "Because she can't come with you. She doesn't have the useful skills Gruff has. And Ian doesn't date mortals; he shags them and moves on. And he does it on their own turf. We can't just have random mortals hanging out on our facilities. She can't come with you. I can't bend anymore rules for you. Certainly not one this big. It's not like having a pet or something. She can't come with you."

David's repetitive use of that phrase struck a chord inside me. She can't come with you. Since David has been the Division Leader, his behavior toward me has changed. He had no issues showing me favoritism before, even when we first joined up with the Network. And he never had issues with leaving me because throughout all our travels David often left me at some random place on the globe to tend to his own business. Yet since he took over the Division, his constant nagging to know my exact whereabouts (not only know but control) and forced stays at the complex and...that's when it hit me. She can't come with me, but I could stay with her. That's what David is concerned about. He's worried that I'm going to leave him. David sees that, whether I join Draekus or not, I'm leaving him to be with Cera. Then, by the way, why hasn't he asked if I've considered joining Draekus? Pretty much everyone else has, even Gruff, just to double check.

"I'm not leaving the Network, David," I put my hands on his shoulders, "I'm not leaving you."

He stares at me in silent acknowledgement. I can tell he doesn't want to show vulnerability to me; that this whole visit has been a way for him to put his foot down in place of sharing his feelings. "Besides," I decide to give him an out, "the place would fall apart without me."

David smiles. It's a simple, boyish smile that I thought had grown extinct. "Hardly," he replies, and leans in and kisses me on the cheek. This act is always awkward, considering how much shorter David is than me.

"Any more news?" Changing the subject during tender moments is probably the only thing that has salvaged the relationship between me and David all these years.

"Unfortunately not," and he turns away from me, "So I need to get back."

"Right," I respond, and getting hot, throw the robe off again. I throw the garment onto the bed and turn to say goodbye but David is already gone. Taking a deep breath, I say out loud to my empty apartment, "I need a damn milkshake."

I have a few hours to kill before Cera gets off work. Throwing on a pair of camo shorts, a white tank top, and a pair of Chacos, I head down to the Sonic. It's around 2:30 and it will be happy hour there, meaning I'll get my shake at half price. Immortality and infinite resources does not preclude my mother's lessons on getting a good deal. Few people on this earth know how to snatch a bargain like a Scottish mother with a house full of boys.

With chocolatey cold goodness in my hand, I take a stroll around town. I had to rectify what was I going to do? David was right; having no intentions in leaving neither the Network nor Cera left me in a limbo I had never encountered before. It wasn't like Cera and I were married, or were ever going to be married. We had just begun even being together. As I toured town, people watching, I especially noticed all the people going about their day with their loved ones. Couples and families enjoying time together. Time they undoubtedly considered precious, while monsters like me shrug our shoulders at it nonchalantly. (Eh) Somehow, someway, I would figure out how to spend as much time as I could with Cera. But that's something to figure out after the battle. Right now I need to focus on how I'm going to win it. For her sake, for the sake of all these people.

Draekus may be strong. He may have friends and resources. But I come from the same strong stock he does, and I have friends and resources, too. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch.

On the way back home I stopped for Chinese. Figuring a laid back, simple night was in order, and I didn't want to spend time cooking anyway. When she came over, Cera kicked her shoes off at the door as if this were her home, too. She changed in the bedroom this afternoon, not the bathroom, while shouting to me about her day. She then asked about my day as I assembled a pile of tiny food-filled boxes onto the coffee table. I told her about my workout, my meditation and my walk. Not telling her about David may not have been the best move on my part, but while we were pretending that we weren't 24 hours from what could be the biggest fight of my life I thought I'd play along. It was probably her way of coping at the moment, to pretend everything was normal. After all, it was only three days ago that she learned my whole world even existed.

I believe the stress of that knowledge was wearing on her, too, because after getting a belly full of Chinese and snuggling up with me on the couch to watch a movie, she fell asleep. After being serenaded by her cute little snores, I decided some rest might do me some good. Drifting off blissfully with her in my arms, my warrior brain began a mental checklist for battle preparation. Training: check. Meditation: check. Sort of. Allies in place: check. Arsenal: check. Some sleep? Working on it, as I yawn. I nod off on the couch with the lingering feeling that I'm forgetting something.

We slept peacefully snuggled up together for a few hours before the nightmare hit. I was climbing, with my bare hands and feet, up a steep rocky cliff side. The edges of the holds I had to use were slicing through the flesh of my palms, leaving dry open wounds. The wind was beating against my face, carrying screams for help from the voices of my friends and loved ones. There was no sun, but an intense heat muddied the air and slightly scorched my skin. As I climbed higher and higher to seek refuge, I heard a rumbling from above me. Just as I reached the peak, I saw where the noise was coming from. A mighty river had been unleashed on top of the cliff and it was roaring straight toward me. A deep, rich angry raging red river of blood just feet away from knocking me off the edge of the cliff.

I awoke with a jump, knowing now what was missing.

I need blood.

Having scooped Cera's sleeping body off the couch, I gently placed her into bed. It still amazes me how heavy a sleeper she is; I don't think I ever slept that soundly, even when I was a mortal. I made sure she was comfortable and then made ready to set out for a hunt.

I changed into some darker clothing and went to review what weapons were left over from my battle pack. There really wasn't anything that seemed appropriate for a feed hunt, and I sighed at being bored with my toys. Guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way: a simple stalking, pouncing on my prey, sinking my fangs into a jugular. I realized then, as I contemplated this, that I was licking my lips in anticipation. Yes, I definitely needed blood.

Generally, though, I wouldn't need blood, or wouldn't crave it so. I've had a few good feeds recently, and under normal circumstances, they would sustain. But I've also done a lot of fighting (and a lot of other things) that consumes my energy stores. This is the way of the universe, what was used up must be replenished. So the more fighting a strider does, the more fuel they need. And any...extracurricular activities...well, same thing. The joke around the complex is that Ian's extracurriculars are going to dry up the syntheblood supply.

I left the apartment as quietly as I could. Heading out into the city, hungry for prey. I decided to head west, away from the soon to be rising sun. Biloxi can be a sleepy little town at times, and finding a mark with limited time may prove to be a daunting task. To be at my best, my strongest, I needed to feed before the battle and not exert a ton of energy in the meantime.

I headed toward a section of town where I knew to be a hangout for the homeless. The homeless themselves, even the few that are drug addicts, are generally innocents. But there are men who prey on them, manipulating the desperation within them for evil gains. Drugs, cheap labor, someone to make a fall guy for other dastardly deeds. I use this bait tactic often, being cat that catches the canary by laying out the seed.

The night is still and a sticky film from the humid day lingers in the air. There are no stars shining this night due to a heavy overcast and the moon rarely makes an appearance. These conditions make walking around the city like trying to find your way out from under a warm blanket. Although I see and feel on a magnitude higher than normal, but in this dense air, I rely more on my senses of hearing and smell. My nose searches for the odor of trash, the stench of ill will, and the aroma of adrenaline infused blood. My ears seek for the rustling of night creatures (natural and unnatural), the footsteps of approaching attackers, the quickening of heartbeats.

I came upon the area I was seeking, not having found anything along the way, and snuck quickly and quietly through the neighborhood. A few wandering vagrants roamed around, mostly drunk or stoned, while the remaining slept in their hovels. I combed the streets for three hours without a trace of what I was looking for. Not even a whiff of evil previously come and gone. This city was at peace for the evening, a calm before the storm.

My tummy grumbled. My veins ached. I made one more circle around the west side, to see if there was a morsel unseen, with no luck. Disheartened, I headed back to my apartment as the sun began its approach. Two blocks from my place, I suddenly caught a familiar scent. It was the scent of stagnant water, of mildew and of rot, an odor I smelled once as a captive in a basement. Before I could even be on my guard, there stood a dark figure in front of me. "You're early," I barked at him. I wish I could have said something more clever, but Draekus did surprise me. It doesn't happen very often that I am surprised, and there was more shock and fear in my tone than I would have liked.

"Don't worry, little one." A clear reference to my age, since he only stands about an inch or so taller than me. "I'm not here to collect you...yet. It isn't time. Yet I wonder what it is you're doing out here, all by your lonesome."

He knew damn well what I was doing. And if he wasn't here to collect me, then chances are he's out doing the same. "Just out for a stroll," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Yes, well," he smiled slyly at me, "I hope the walk has cleared your head." He pauses to stare at me. "I do also hope," and he approaches me slowly, putting his hand on my cheek, "Sweet Eliza, that you come to your senses by sundown."

I turn my face away from him and swatted his hand away. "We'll see."

His facial features change from smug and harsh to soft and almost sincere. "You really need to think about my proposal. Good and bad are not as clear cut as you think they are. You're on the wrong side." Before I could rebut that statement, he leapt onto a nearby bench and from there to the top of the closest building. I considered following suit, but the few gleaming rays of sun now hitting my face through a break in the clouds stopped me. They were a reminder that Cera would be waking soon and I had (potentially) less than a day to spend with her.

Entry 18

_Day three_. Despite only having two more blocks to go, by the time I arrived at my apartment I was a walking hornet's nest. I was tired, hungry, thirsty and pissed off. Stomping up the stairs to my door. I was reviewing in my head the various ways I could put an end to Draekus. I flung open the door hard to find Cera standing in my kitchenette, holding a frying pan of scrambled eggs, with a stern eyebrow raised.

"What?" I barked at her.

She then raised both eyebrows at me. "Excuse me?" and she slammed the pan on the stove top. "Would you like to try that again while I'm fixing your breakfast?"

"I'm sorry," I lowered my tone.

"Have a rough night?" she inquired sarcastically.

"Yeah," I grunted.

"Where'd you go?"

"Out," and I sat down on a stool by the counter hoping I would still get breakfast.

"Well," she huffed as she retrieved a plate from the cupboard, "While you were out, without leaving a note by the way, thank you very much, I awoke here by myself, no girlfriend in sight and no known protection from whatever is out there..." She hastily landed a plate of toast and eggs before me while she continued ranting.

She said it. Cera said the word girlfriend. I know, I mean I believe, she said a lot more than that, but my heightened senses only told me three things: the sight of her lips, the smell of fresh food, and the sound of that word. I decided to let it pass, for now. I'm pretty sure she's mad at me right this moment, and I'm going to eat this food before she changes her mind.

"So?" and there was silence.

"So...." Oh shit! She's expecting an answer and I didn't catch the question. I hesitate, "...what?"

Cera's jaw tightens and her knuckles pale a little bit. I have never seen her mad, barely even frustrated, and for the second time this morning I'm a tiny bit scared. A tiny bit. A smidge. Not worth admitting to her. She takes a deep breath and then speaks again. "Where were you last night? What did you do?"

I shove the last bite of eggs in my mouth, following it with a chunk of toast. With a muffled mouth of food I manage to get out, "I went to feed, ok?"

"Oh," her features instantly soften, "Well damn. Why didn't you wake me? Been waiting to see that." She walks around the counter and play slugs me on the shoulder. Then she smiles at me and hands me a glass of orange juice.

I take the glass from her, and as I wash down another chunk of toast, I can't help to think to myself, Whoa! A little bit of psycho crazy in there. Gotta watch for that. "Didn't matter anyway," I respond as she throws her arms around my neck. "No luck."

"Well," she lets go, "I'm sure you'll find something soon." Her face grow serious again. "Still should have left a note."

"Right. Got it. Leave a note." I eat the last of my toast and take another large swig of juice. "I'm sorry. I'm actually sort of new to this..." I considered using the word...that word...girlfriend...and change my mind. "...relationship thing."

Cera picks her bag off the counter. "Well, we can talk more about it later if you want. I hafta go to work."

I look at her, dressed in jeans and a flowy blouse. "Work?" I say in a whinier tone than my voice has ever been. "You're going to work again? I thought with the outfit we'd have the day together."

"Well, it's Friday, which you know is casual day," I did know that; what I didn't know is that it was Friday. I'd been too busy counting the number of days, not the days of the week. "And I only have to work half a day." She then grew somber for a moment. "Look, I know you have some serious stuff going on today, but maybe we can have lunch before?"

Some serious stuff? Was she kidding me with this? "Sure," I respond as she kisses me on the cheek before leaving. I guess a girl's gotta eat, so we'll do lunch. Then I'll head off...tra lalalala...possibly to my doom. Love ya, hun. See ya later!

I sat at the kitchen counter dissecting this strange conversation I had just had with Cera. Yet only for a moment. Anteing up and having an honest talk with her about what, exactly, we were to each other was going to have to wait. I got on the phone immediately, updating my status with the boys, David, Gruff and Ian. David was not happy that I had not fed and that I did run into Draekus. I didn't tell him the whole truth regarding what Draekus had said. The statement didn't change the fact that I was going to do everything in my power to kill him, but it did give me cause to want to investigate further.

Gruff informed me that there had been no involvement from anyone with you, but that you were "acting squirrelly" and he was tempted to tranq you himself, for your own good. I'm not sure exactly what you were doing, because despite my own history, Gruff just doesn't run around tranqing good people, but like with Cera, that is an issue that will have to wait. Gruff assured me he had set up the best, his best, surveillance systems, GPS trackers, and other security equipment around you. He did, after all, have to help David as well.

Ian reported a small infantry of striders were loading up, geared up, and soon to be heading my way. David had managed to move every strider available without leaving the continent completely unguarded. He was going to remain at the Complex to coordinate efforts while Ian and I led the fight. After confirming that everyone and everything was in place, I gathered my things and headed out for another hunt.

We figured, since Draekus was obviously keeping tabs on me, that we could pretty much set up shop wherever we wanted and when the time was right, he would come to me. We decided to take over the Martins Lake campgrounds. They weren't in use this weekend, but this time of year were often utilized as a civil war reenactment site. Since, obviously, secrecy was a concern for both sides, there would probably be soldiers allocated as lookouts no matter what location we picked. The site had certain strategic aspects as well, and my team was going to arrive soon to set up.

All of this, of course, is based on the assumption that there will be a large battle. We don't really know. It could be a trick, a play to draw our attention here while Draekus is busy there. Or the monster himself could back out any moment. The bottom line is we just don't know what will happen but we have to prepare for whatever we can imagine. The only thing I had left to do was to fill my veins with fresh warm rich blood.

Heading out in civilian clothes, still not sure where my hunting grounds would be, I exited my apartment into a hazy morning. The air was already heavy with humidity and the sky was dense with moisture. I guess that the clouds would hold 'til late afternoon, perhaps, before letting loose. This time of year here is known for regular midday storms and I sighed at the slim prospect of getting to see any real sun today. Blood may sustain my body, but the sun nourishes my soul. Above all else, the ability to eat, drink, and control our other drives, our connection to the sun is our strongest connection to our humanity. It gives us a spiritual strength nothing else can.

Across the street, a police car sat in a covert, on patrol for speeders. I began walking east when I heard dispatch sound a call to action on a drug bust nearby. Ah, I smiled, having the answer to my situation handed to me. Drug dealers. That's usually an easy feed, if you find the right type. See, there are two types of pushers; the kind who get into it to feed their own habit and the kind who do for money and indifference. The former, when you trace back their history, are, at least partially, victims of circumstance. People with shitty lives who have shitty chances that in turn make shitty decisions. The latter, on the other hand, generally have skills otherwise marketable in society and they choose to be a drug dealer. These are often the bigger players in the system. Often they themselves do not have addictions, because they truly understand the affects of drugs, but they are completely indifferent to the harm it causes to others. These manufacturers, deliverers and salesmen cut every corner they can to increase profit. Unlike standard businesses that are under regulations for their production, drug manufacturers can put anything they want into their product to lower cost. This makes the drugs not only a high but more unsafe. Indifference is one of mankind's most dangerous traits.

Given that I am a creature who is sustained by a substance unnatural for consumption, I still maintain that drug abuse is one of the biggest downfalls of humanity. I abhor drug dealers for the destruction they bring to men. Yet I love them because they are so tasty.

I was going to have to go out 110 to get to where the big time dealers would be, and though I could run there soon enough, it was early morning and I wanted to conserve energy. Going back to my jeep, I mentally reviewed spots where I had found them before. There aren't many morning people in the drug world, so I figured I was going to have to lure them out. I drove through the ATM for bait before leaving the main section of town.

All was quiet when I parked my jeep on the curbside and stepped out onto Division Street. There were very few people about, and most of them were shop owners and employees. Despite the sleepy appearance of things, there was a scent in the air that spoke otherwise. A scent that told of lack of concern for his fellow man, of greed, the odor of indifference. It stemmed from a nearby two story building window and I followed the smell to the source via alley and the fire escape.

Looming silently on the escape's landing, I peered into the window, watching the man without his knowledge. He sat in this shanty of an apartment, at an old Formica kitchen table, while flies buzzed in the air. He was wearing a white tank top, dingy from his sweat, a baseball cap turned cockeyed on his head, and some loose baggy jeans. His shoes, however, were a high dollar brand name, in pristine condition, probably worth about $300 dollars. As I have said previously, you can tell a lot about a man by the shoes he's wearing. It's something not a lot of people notice, but speaks volumes about character. Before him on the table were stacked piles of bills, in various denominations, and he counted them with a grin on his face. The air in the apartment was filled with smoke, and occasionally he took a draw from the lit cigarette in the ashtray on the corner of the table.

Now this wasn't necessarily one of the bigger players that I was looking for, but he was well on his way. There was approximately $5,000 dollars on the table, a fact I knew before he finished counting his second stack. My guess was, based on his abode, that he was in this game to win it, keeping his head down while no one noticed as he accumulated his wealth. If anyone in the game had also kept their heads down, they would have noticed his kicks and his farce would be revealed. I imagined he sat here, in this very spot, every morning, counting his proceeds from the night, not having yet gone to bed. He was probably adding up his money, counting down the days until he has what he perceived to be enough, to quit the game. Problem is, greed is as addictive as the product he peddles, and enough is never enough.

"Hi there," I said to him, which startled him so badly when he stood in reaction it jostled the table and disturbed his neat little stacks.

"Who the fuck are you?!" he screams at me, putting his hand behind his back. There was a pistol there; I had noticed the smell of it earlier.

I put my hands up, to show I had no weapon, and stepped in through the large window. "Calm down, man," I attempted to reassure him. A gunshot wound was something I really didn't want to deal with right now. Not that I was scared, but I needed to get closer to him. "Word on the street is you've got something I need," and I smiled at him.

He peers at me under the brim of his hat, deciding what he's going to do next. I can hear his heartbeat slow some, showing me that he's letting his guard back down. "Yeah, well," and he begins to gather the money up and shove it in his pockets, "You heard wrong." By now, I'm guessing he's either spooked too much by my sudden appearance to want to do business or thinks I'm a cop.

I took a step closer, almost within range. "Yeah? You don't have anything I could use?"

He turned to me, stepping closer to me, feeling threatened again, "You need-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him, breaking it I'm sure, to position his back against me. As my claws extended they sank into his flesh, and without hesitation, I sank my fangs into him as well. He squirmed and fought at first, but my thirst had grown so that it was a very fast feed. The power of my thirst combined with the limited time I had did not allow me to slowly enjoy this feed. I drank him in heavily, feeling the warmth of his blood gush against the back of my throat. I reveled in the feeling of renewal while shaking off the disruption of my thoughts by his memories. When it was over, his body slumped off of me onto the ground, as useless as his life had been.

Leaving the apartment, I called for a pickup/cleanup. I couldn't help but grin at my victory, for not only was the newly gained blood good for my own cause, but when the clean up crew came they would also take all of his money. That's the thing about feeding on bad guys; they have ill gotten gains that don't get missed when they are gone. Just more resources for the Network.

Now that I was completely satisfied and ready to face Draekus with whatever he may bring, I set off to have a late lunch with my girlfriend. I wasn't actually looking forward to it; our encounter this morning wasn't exactly peaches and cream. Plus, here I am, pumped up and ready for a fight, and Cera was probably going to be just as nonchalant as she has been all week. I didn't know if I could sit through a lunch date, sipping water, listening to her prattle on about coworkers and presentations and whatnot while ignoring the fact either way this goes down, it may still be the last time I see her. Yet I didn't want to leave her for battle with this weirdness hanging over us and I knew if I didn't show she'd worry.

Wonder if, now, I could just leave a note.

I go back to my apartment to change and get the jeep. My clothes are splattered with blood, and not completely dried, so the smell is still intoxicating. Discarding them into an empty bucket, I fill the container with warm water and a stain remover to soak. I put on a presentable pair of khaki cargo shorts and a white t-shirt and double check my supplies. It will be awhile before I return here, so I want to make sure I have everything I need. Once satisfied, I load up into my jeep and head to over to the camp site. I need to check in before heading for lunch with Cera.

It's around noon when I arrive, and I was only stopping for a moment to check on progress. Ian saw my jeep first, and was already by my door when I saw Gruff heading over as well.

"Don't you have a hot date to get to?" Ian smiled as he opened the door for me.

"As a matter of fact," I step out, "I do. But I had to check on you losers first."

The banter between Ian and I had gotten more and more friendly, and I was actually beginning to enjoy his company. He had really stepped up since being stuck with me, or at least, I had begun to notice or care enough to notice. "Everything's good, here, El," he responded to my jab. "We're just laying out the last of the surveillance equipment now. Tactical is all set up."

"We're ready for him," Gruff added in as he made it to the jeep. "Now it's just a matter of time."

"Yeah," I looked around at the techs and soldiers working hard together. Some of the techs were humans, who like Gruff, had gotten their lives intertwined with our world, hidden in the shadows, living secret lives. "We've got at least a few hours, I'm guessing, before Draekus makes his move."

"At least," Ian agreed, understanding the rules of time when you're an immortal.

"Yeah, well I still need to double check some things and see if there's anything else that needs setting up," Gruff responded.

"Don't stay too long, old man," I told him. Just as he began to respond to my remark, my phone went off. It was a text from Cera telling me she was going to be at work a few hours longer, asking if we could meet after. "Well, I guess I'll be staying a bit longer myself. Cera just delayed lunch." I text her back, telling her not to be too long. We would miss our window. Our window for what, I wasn't quite sure, but I didn't want to miss it.

"Great," Gruff answered and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me toward the site. "You can get off your lazy ass and help out then."

I gave him a stern look. Ian stepped in, saying, "Well, you have been on vacation for three days."

"Yup," Gruff agreed, "Sitting around, doin' nothin'."

"She's not been doing nothing," Ian laughed, "But what she has been doing is more likely on her back than sitting." He glared at me mischievously.

I did not appreciate his insinuation as to my behavior over the last few days, but I couldn't deny it either. We bantered back and forth like this for a few minutes while we walked to site and I surveyed the progress more closely. Since I had some time to kill now, I grabbed some supplies and began helping. I didn't exert myself too much though, not wanting to lose the high or the strength I had from this morning's feast.

Around 2:30 I received a text from Cera telling me she was almost done. I made sure things were mostly satisfactory and dismissed myself from the preparation. Gruff walked me to the jeep.

"Just a few more things and we'll be done," he commented as I hopped into the vehicle.

"You need to get out of here too, Gruff," I looked him dead in the eye. He shrugged. "I mean it, old man, you get out here. Away. I can't-"

Gruff graciously interrupted me, "I've got a chopper waiting. It's going to take me and the others out of here in just a few." He reached in and gave me a big hug.

I patted him on the back, trying not to tear up. This was the first time I had ever felt a threat to so many I cared about at once. "Good," and the hug was over, "But that's a plan, not a promise. Promise me you'll be long gone before Draekus gets here."

He held up his fingers. "Scouts honor."

We nodded and I started the jeep up to head to Cera's office. On the drive over I think about those weeks I spent after she came to work there, staring at her from afar, not realizing why or how much she captivated me. If I had any clue, at all, where we would be now, with both you and her in danger, I would have left for a bigger city like David nags me to do.

Once arrived, rather than parking in the garage, I pulled into the above ground lot. I had text her when I was on my way, figuring it would give her enough time to wrap up whatever she was working on and come outside. Turning the engine off, I leaned back in the seat to wait for her. I had sat there for about thirty minutes when I noticed a familiar little hatchback parked a dozen cars over.

Sitting up now in the jeep, leaning forward on the steering wheel, I can see you sitting there, tapping your fingers nervously on the window edge. No sooner had I pulled out my phone to text him, Gruff sends me a text.

GRUFF: What are you doing? Checking up on me? I told you I had him covered.

Gruff has GPS in my jeep, and my guess is that he monitors all his trackers simultaneously, especially today.

ME: I'm here to pick up Cera for lunch. Why is he here?

GRUFF: Don't know.

Damnit. Determining why you were here was something I just didn't have time for today. Just as I was considering investigating anyway, I receive another text.

CERA: Where r u? I'm at ur place.

Starting the jeep up, I text back: STAY PUT. It is only a ten minute drive from the office to my apartment, and if we were going to get to spend any time together before I had to meet up with the others, I needed her to stay in one place.

When I got to the apartment, her convertible was parked in my spot. I pulled in blocking her, which I thought would make for a funny comment later. I entered the apartment, already speaking to her, and stopped in midsentence. Something was off, wrong, about this moment. There was something in the air that wasn't her, and wasn't me, and wasn't normal. Instinctively going into stealth mode, I made my steps light and silent, and searched for clues, intruders, whatever it was that told my senses that something just wasn't right.

Everything in the apartment seemed to be just as I had left it, but the place was void of another living soul. Cera wasn't there, but her bag was. Nothing, I mean, nothing was out of place in the home so there was no signs of struggle. It was as if she came, dropped off her bag, and then immediately left. I inhaled deeply, using my best detective sense to search for an answer to the unease in the pit of my stomach. There she was, her lavender laden smell, and there was me, and there was the muggy south Mississippi air. And there was something else, something faint, something that hadn't been here long enough to leave a strong imprint. Stagnant water and cigar smoke.

I left the apartment as soon as I recognized the scent and headed immediately for the house with the basement where I had been held captive just last week. Scaling the city without being noticed in the daytime isn't an easy feat, especially with the speed at which I was going, but I just didn't care anymore who saw me. I knew where I was going; I knew who would be there when I arrived, and I knew what little time I had to get there.

Yet the house was empty, completely, and cleaned up, with a large FOR SALE sign on the front yard. There was no sign that Draekus or his men had been there at all, ever, and more importantly, there was no Cera. The basement I had been locked in was clean and dry, freshly repainted, and there wasn't the smallest smell of Draekus and his goons. It was as if I had been at the wrong house, but I was sure I wasn't. Draekus obviously has more resources than we give him credit for, but I had already guessed that. A man who had been waiting hundreds of years for vengeance has to have accumulated some friends, some resources. It was just a matter of how much of each and how he intended to use them.

I wasn't sure why I was the focus of his plot. His need for revenge against David was clear; supposedly David was the one who "killed" him, or at least hunted him down and made him an outcast from the rest of the sunstrider world. In the records that Ian and I had found, Draekus is the bad guy in this story. He, himself, so much as said that wasn't true, but isn't that what most villains say? Don't most villains see their actions as justified, vindication for some ill done to them by society, by authority? Yet I didn't do anything to Draekus, and now he had Cera and I didn't know why.

And really, I didn't care. It has been many lifetimes since I have been able to love, really love, since watching Merissa die. I wasn't about to repeat history.

I called Ian to see if there had been any signs on his end of Draekus but there had not been. He assured me that Gruff and the other mortals had left the scene and that his team of fighters was set and ready for action. I told him what was going on and he said he would text if he got word of anything. It was almost 4 o'clock now, hours before the sun would begin to set, and I had to find and secure Cera before that happened. I wondered, as I frantically combed the city, if that was his plot, to draw me away from the battle. Did it cross his mind that he may not be able to beat me, like it did mine about him? Was he just using Cera to take an advantage in the fight? If so, he was wrong, because I am motivated now more than ever to erase his existence from this planet once and for all.

What the teacher could not do, the student must.

An hour of searching the city yielded nothing, not so much as a hint of Cera or Draekus' whereabouts, and I could do nothing without finding either. The energy I had gathered from feeding on the drug dealer this morning was waning already, due to the amount of adrenaline and speed I had used up on this hunt. Perhaps that was his plot, to waste my strength. I shook my head. Whether he had intended to or not, it had happened and I could not return to the battle site in any kind of weakened state. I would need another feed, and that fact pissed me off even more, for with another draining would make a high number for me for this week. Though I thoroughly enjoy each feed, I am well aware of what happens with increased frequency. There's a reason there are rules for these sorts of things; moderation is the key to controlling it, not allowing it to control you.

This time of day it is easy to find a drug dealer, an abuser, a past or would be killer, a rapist, any of the types of less-than men that are on the appropriate list of edible creatures. It's sort of like a menu, really. I'll take the evil man entrée, with a side of fear and just a few heartbeats short of forever for dessert. Walking into any given alley, skuzzy bar, strip joint, etc. will give any strider the benefit of picking their poison within a short amount of time. These seedy places where the low end of humanity are drawn basically serve up meals for my kind. I generally don't use them unless I have to, because the hunt is half the fun, but I didn't have time for that.

I've spent all day thinking about the time I don't have. Funny.

I lured a man from a bar, down toward an underpass of 110, with the tempting promise of time with my body, as his thoughts of beating the hell out of his wife banged up against my own of the same about Draekus. Leaning up against a concrete pillar in the shadow of the concrete road overhead, the man began to unzip his pants while kissing me. I leaned in, for what he thought was kissing his neck, and unscrupulously and greedily bit him. It took all of five seconds to drain the life out of him, and when I rolled him off of me onto the ground with his blood dripping down my chin, I heard a clapping noise.

In being distracted by the draining, Draekus had appeared and apparently, been watching me. He was clapping at my feed, and grinning from ear to ear. "It's a beautiful thing, you know," he said, taking a few steps toward me, "Watching a predator such as yourself at work." He got close enough to touch my face again and did so, wiping some of the blood off my lips. He sucked it off his finger while looking me up and down.

I lunged at him, but he quickly evaded me. I was still stirring from the feeding, trying to use the irrational rage I had inherited from my victim to my advantage against Draekus.

"Oh," he patronized me, "Now, don't erase all the grace and cunning you used to get your prey by becoming it. Especially if you want to see your little toy again."

He was referring to Cera. I noticed it wasn't the first time she'd been regarded that way by someone I perceived to be as strong, if not stronger, than me. "Where is she?" I demanded through gritted teeth.

"You'll get her back," he grinned, "Shortly, even, little one." He then took off running, with a speed I couldn't quite match. I could always see him, but I just couldn't quite catch up with him, making him just out of reach. He led me back to my apartment and then sped up more, so it became impossible to keep up. I looked at my jeep, with all my gear, and looked down the street where I had last seen him trail off. The sun glistened golden down the roadway, making its appearance faint for the first time today, and was immediately swallowed by dark clouds. That's how I felt my life was like right now, with Cera in the hands of the devil, a brief bit of golden sunshine lost in the storm. I hopped into the jeep and sped like a demon myself to the campsite.

One of us wasn't going to leave alive.

Entry 19

When I pulled up to the campsite, I was immediately saturated with the smell of blood. There was an eerie silence about the place, as if even the crickets were afraid to breathe. I couldn't hear the movement of muscle, which I should have heard something with my team being there in wait. I put my katana in its place on my back strap and placed a few other blades here and there on my body. I soon realized why there was no sound as I entered the site; there were no conscious bodies to make noises.

The smell of blood was hanging in the air itself, wafting from the outlining trees and rising from the stained grass. As I walked through the site, I had to step over the seemingly lifeless bodies of friend and enemy alike. There was no way to tell, of the enemy bodies, which were strider and which were crawler. In death, or near death, we are the same. Many of these bodies would return to animation soon enough, but all of them had lost enough blood to be down for awhile. Some had lost limbs, which is unfortunate because while not deadly they are wounds that do not heal. There didn't appear to be any strikes through the heart, but there were a few decapitations. Those bodies won't be coming back to life, and as I counted the few unknown faces without bodies I found, I did see one familiar bodyless face, Gordon. Mitchell had lost both his legs, but he would live. Sanders was out, struck in the neck, but she, too, would survive. These striders were true soldiers, not lone warriors like myself, but tailored fighting machines for the cause of the Network. And they had suffered great losses here, because of me, because of David, and because Draekus was more powerful than anyone had imagined.

As I circled around the site, thunder cracked overhead. The sky was almost black now, with no sun and dense dark clouds. Lightning struck across the heavens. I looked up from the bloodied ground to it as it warned of its power. There was a clearing of bodies toward the center field of the campsite, and as I walked toward it Draekus came from the shadows of the trees that lined the opposite edge. He said nothing, but raised his hand, pointing to my left. His eyes remained honed in on me as he made this gesture. I knew he wanted me to look and was watching to see that I did so. Turning slightly, I only wanted to barely see what I already knew was going to be there.

Cera.

The smell of her, her lavender, her sweat, her fear, glazed over all the other odors in the area, even the odor of the fresh blood. The fierce pounding of her heartbeat rocked inside my head like an earthquake and paralleled the thunder above. She was on her knees, with her hands bound in front of her, tears running down her cheeks, and a look of terror in her eyes I had hoped she would never have to have. There was no gag in her mouth, yet she was silent.

As if he was reading my mind, Draekus called out to me, "She's been told to shut up and let the parents discuss a few things." First she's a toy to him, now a child. She was everything to me and this was going to end here, now. "Besides," he continued, "I wanted her to see just exactly what she's gotten herself into with you."

I knew I couldn't get to her before he did; he had made sure I knew exactly how much faster he was than me. I couldn't risk that he would kill her before I could free her. As much as I never wanted her to see me like this, in my true form, I would have to fight him as the monster that I am, as we both were, and kill him so that he couldn't hurt her. Just thinking about this caused both my fangs and claws to extend, my pupils to narrow, my senses to sharpen as I contemplated my next move.

Then the rain came, down in sheets, with Draekus and I on opposite ends of the blood and body stained field, staring at each other, both ready to pounce.

I ran toward him, he toward me. Meeting in the middle, I attempted to strike the first blow, and he used a sweeping kick to knock me off my feet. Spinning in the air, I caught my balance while landing just as he was lunging forward with a hardened fist. I was able to dodge his punch, and land a short, quick gut punch of my own. He barely flinched from my blow, and reciprocated by getting in a shot to the side of my gut. Recovering quickly, I kicked his shin, managing to set him off balance and using a follow up roundhouse kick to flip him completely to the ground. He then took his feet, due to landing near me, to wrap around my ankles and bring me down. For the flash second I was down, I realized, though he might be faster than I, his fighting skills were even with my own. At least, they were if he was holding back like I was. I had to see what he was capable of, and if he wasn't holding back, then I knew I had him.

Rolling away from him to give myself enough space to recoup, he had done the same. I saw him pick something up from the ground, but in the rain I could not catch what it was before he quickly tucked it away. I pulled my katana from its sheath and held it out for him to see. In my right hand, it glistened even without the light of the sun, and with my left I motioned for him to come get me. He stood there, with a wide stance, his hands down by his side, his jaw tightened, as water dripped from his hair down his face. Thunder crashed again, and this time the lightning was close behind. When he lunged at me this time, it was as if in slow motion. I watched, attentively, as I saw individual drops of rain explode when he ran through them. By the time he got to me, my blade was in motion.

Draekus deflected my first swing with the outside of his arm, pushing the blade out wide where it was harder for me to control. I swung around, using my elbow across his face, and while he was pushed back from that I was able to regrip the sword properly. He leapt up into the air and landed on my shoulders, forcing me down onto my knees as he tumbled down to the ground, landing squarely. Me now on his side of the field and he on mine, we faced off again and again with little resolve. I would strike him with a kick; he would land a punch on me. It was when I managed to slice a gash in his cheek with my blade that things changed.

Standing there, with his blood on my sword, planning my next attack, he wiped his face with his wet hand and looked at his own blood. He then laughed and reached inside his jacket. Pulling out a revolver, and shaking it jokingly at me, he began to speak through his laughter.

"You know, I've never used one of these," and he displayed it again to me, "I mean, not really. Never had to. All this strength. All this speed. And here I am, being bled by someone like you. Someone who should be my sister, my ally-"

I interrupt him. "Someone like me?" I step closer. "I'm nothing like you."

He shakes his head. "You're right, actually. I guess. I don't have anyone left to love."

With that statement, he grips the gun and points it toward me. Again, a gunshot, even directly into the heart, is not going to kill me. He knows this. But it would cause me a great deal of pain and give him a fighting advantage. I lean down into a run, and leap toward him, hoping the distance I gain from the ground will throw off his shot. As I come down onto him with my sword in both hands, the gun that was pointed straight at me changes direction, to his immediate left. As my blade is slicing through his arm just above the elbow, the gun fires, and I watch as the arm separates from its body, flying into the air still clutching the firearm. Draekus's blood splatters onto both of us as he falls to his knees in pain. As his arm lands onto the battlefield, the bullet finds it mark and I hear both screams ring out above the storm.

The bullet, from a self admitted novice in shooting, has struck Cera in the chest. Forgetting about Draekus, I drop my blade and run to her side. She has fallen over from the blow, and is screaming and wincing in pain. I look back, and Draekus has stood, but not moved closer to us. I hear him say, "It is done" before turning and leaving the scene. Turning back to Cera, bleeding in my arms, my senses are alarmed again.

Thinking Draekus has returned, I tense up in defense, and then in shock. From the tree line another figure has appeared, another familiar man, and I cannot believe my own eyes as you appear. You look to be in as much shock as I am, and you kneel on the other side of Cera.

"He shot her," you say in disbelief as the water pours on all of us.

"Yes," I say, not quite believing it myself, not quite believing anything of this moment.

You stare into my eyes for what seems like eternity while Cera quivers in my arms. "You!" you realize that you have seen me before, "What do you have to do...how is Cera...." You stammer half sentences like this over and over again, while standing and backing away from us. I look down at Cera again, who is gripping me with what little strength she has while looking at you with an apologetic face. I glance at you again, and now anger has consumed your face. Then you disappear. Literally, disappear. You don't walk away, you do not run, you simply ceased to exist in that space, and there is a faint purple fog or glow in your wake. I cannot tell what has happened between the rain and the tears in my eyes.

In your absence, I am now able to focus on her. Blood has covered her shirt and part of mine as I hold her close to me. I can hear the beats of her heart slow, and I am obsessed with counting them. The woman I love is dying in my arms, and I cannot get her medical attention fast enough to save her life. Cera would be dead before I got the hospital in sight. I place my free hand over her heart, over the wound, using force to try to hold the blood in. She puts her hand over mine and looks at me for a brief moment, and smiling, mouths the words "I love you," and with one last strong breath says "forever" before fading out of consciousness. The woman I love is dying, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Yet there is, isn't there? I could turn her, couldn't I? Wouldn't she rather me turn her than allow her life to extinguish? Then we could be together forever, and that would be ok, wouldn't it? Listening still for her heartbeats as they get fainter, I think about this woman, this happy-go-lucky sunshine of a person, and what an immortal life would be for her. What would it mean to alter the very meaning of life, of living, of loving, for her? I could save her like David saved me, saved me from the persecution of monsters.

The smell of the blood she has lost is more intoxicating than I ever imagined, more intoxicating than her lavender, and it reminds me that I am...a monster. And I know it. Could I subject Cera to my same fate? Could she live with it as I have, all these years, the knowledge of the world, and of the shadows we cast upon it? Could I take the light from her? The sound of the rain pulsed heavier than her heart now, and I had but a few last moments to make this decision. No one should ever have to make this decision, I think, a choice between death and life without it. Lightning zips across the sky again, and thunder crashes as Cera's heart is on its last few beats. I held Cera in the rain as her last breath escapes her lips.

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About the Author

Jessi Jeffrey lives in Knoxville, TN, with her family. She is currently working on the Shadow Caste series, the adventures of El, the vampire hero, with the next installment titled The Newling Wars.

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